♡

“what? continue.” your voice rang in caleb’s ears, his ass pushing itself back into your hand, your finger still deep inside of his puckering hole. caleb’s hard dick swinging underneath his body, still face down ass up on your bed.

he moaned, his cheeks redder than ever, his voice whiny and pathetic, “…i-i wanted you…you’ve been ignoring m-me! i want your attention. the last week you haven’t even given me a proper kiss! and your cuddles aren’t nice anymore.

there was silence.

…

“oh? my cuddles aren’t nice anymore?”

caleb shivered slightly, hearing the tone of your voice before lowering his attitude. his ears folded down out of easy submissive, “…no that’s mean, i don’t mean that…i’m sorry…your cuddles are nice, very nice but they aren’t long anymore—ah!”

slowly, you pushed the strap past the tight ring of muscle, sinking deeper into his ass. taking it inch by inch, caleb couldn’t help but moan and whine into the pillows, his whimpers only encouraging you to continue, “i hope my dick is long enough to solve that problem.

the strap disappeared into his backside, your hips flushed against his ass as you bottomed out, caleb’s hand reaching back, “w—wait! let me g—get used to this first…please mistress.”

“okay okay,” your hand gently held his, pressing it against the mattress. his soft skin making you wish you had a real dick, to feel him properly, “d—damn it, is this how it’s like when you take me in doggy? and you said that you dislike doggy the most…” sighing, your eyes looked down at the sight below you.

caleb’s muscular back dripping with sweat, his smooth skin inviting you to touch it, the black locks he loved to get pulled, his perfect butt that you were currently in.

“ready now?” impatiently, two hands wrapped around his hips, ready to pound him.

caleb nodded quickly, bracing himself with his hands wrapped around a pillow, his face resting into the gentle cushion.

the strap was wet with the lube, your hips slowly pushed the brown dick out of his ass before slamming your hips back inside. his body jolted harshly, pushing forward with a loud moan, “nnngh—aah! oh shit!—oh my—pip…mmghhnn!” caleb’s whiny voice filled the room after the wet slaps agaisnt his body, your strap hitting his prostrate with every heartless thrust you gave him.

“…shhh, i got you baby.”

your hips clapped against his ass, the sounds of skin slapping filled the room with lust. the shake of his ass increased with the amount of force you added to your thrusts, the strap reaching his prostrate harshly, making his body tremble.

“mmhmm!! oh! pip—pipsqueak! what the hell?! y—you never said you c—could!—oh fuck!” words were a foreign element now with caleb, his head stuffed in his hands.

howveee, you were observant.

noticing his muffled noises, you brought a hand to his hair, pulling back harshly and tugging on the locks, “don’t hide your voice, let me hear you. since you loooooove running your mouth huh?”

“aahh!—yes mistress! yes!—hmmm!” caleb whined again, “oh wait! wait! i—i’m go—“

you felt a sudden splatter of liquid around the bed, the impact so sharp it stained your thighs too, and caleb’s abdomen. looking down, thick sheets of cum coated your leg and the bed nicely, caleb’s body deepened the arch.

“…i…i’m sorry mistress i couldn’t hold it! it was too much!—“ caleb began, only to instantly cower when you struck his backside, pulling his head back further with the other, “u never said you could cum though? so you’re choosing to be more disobedient?”

caleb’s heart dropped, suddenly he felt like a helpless puppy, his voice lowered in volume, “…no! i didn’t…choose…i’m sorry i’m sorry! don’t—“

his eyes looked down at the toy in your hand.

…

oh no.

“no! mistress please?!”

quickly, you attached the toy onto his dick, watching as it switched on and pumped his dick, vibrating his tip, his body trembling everywhere, “no no! you’re mean! you’re mean!— ahh! fuck! pips! pips! no—not this!—“

just as before, you pulled yourself out of his ass, thrusting slowly but deeply into his ass again, “hold it this time okay? be a good boy for your mistress. who knows c you might actually learn something.”

Some of them would show their scars – long cuts from knives and bullets that grazed their necks when husbands of those young girls suddenly came back home.

The prostitutes loved listening to those frivolous, lighthearted stories with deep longing coiling in their eyes. As most of them, including you, were simply poor women whose families found themselves in nasty money problems.

And what was the best way to pay the debt without a sweat?

Sell a daughter, of course!

Four years have passed since you found yourself here, with a body used by countless men every day and eyes losing their young, girlish shimmer. There was no telling when you would leave this place, or whether you would at all, as women of your sort were often taken from the sweetness of those filthy walls either dead or crippled.

The gentle knock on the doors pulled you out of dreadful thoughts before they opened with a soft creak.

Madam's old face slipped inside. "My dear, a special client for you," she murmured, and you knew another outlaw had visited the establishment.

A low sigh escaped your lips, and you nodded before walking out of the room. It was too dangerous to keep them in your regular bedrooms, so you followed Madam to the attic, where darkness spilt through the covered windows and only a few small rooms lay hidden behind the old walls.

Your fingers curled tighter around the small lamp as she opened one of the doors with a nasty creak. But before you could enter, her hand grabbed your arm.

"This one is… special. They paid quite a large sum to see you, and, well," something in her eyes glimmered, as if the nature of your client made her a little awkward. "Take good care of them. You've never worked with someone like that, but… well, you're a woman yourself."

And so she pushed you inside, before closing the door back.

The full moon bathed the room in cold kisses, and a few short candles gave it a cosy atmosphere. Heavy, crimson materials draped the walls and the bed, which stood lonely near the wall.

But the moment you entered, your eyes fell immediately on him.

Or… her?

Slim back was covered by a flannel shirt, long sleeves rolled up to her elbows. Lean legs dressed in old jeans, with classic, leather shoes wrapping her calves.

The brown hat lay on the small desk, and you could see the short white hair shimmering like cream in the pale moonlight. At first, she stood facing away from you, but when her eyes finally met yours… heavens.

Your lips fell slightly open as you saw the crystal-blue orbits, with a cheeky, warm smile curving her cherry cheeks.

She was oh so beautiful, with milky skin and the most lovely, sharp face you've ever seen. Multiple scars slashed her face, crossing her cheeks, chin, and lips, with a long, nasty one going right through her right eye. Something cheeky danced in her gaze as she scanned your frozen body from head to toe. Dressed in a loose-fitting white gown without a corset, to allow easier access for the client's sticky fingers.

But her fingers looked clean, kind, and gentle, and thus a sudden warmth spread across your cheeks at the thought of spending the night with her.

"You don't look scared, dove," a low voice filled the small space, as she leaned over the window. "Used to outlaws coming and going?"

You coughed faintly, leaving the lamp on the drawer. Two clean glasses and a half-empty bottle of whisky were already there. You took the nasty liquid and poured it with trembling hands.

"Well, our place is one of the few hideaways for people of your sort. Although…" you looked back at her, noticing the same cheekiness coiling in her gaze. "I've never met with a woman."

She pushed away from the window frame, slowly coming your way. Heavy leather boots clicked on the wooden floor, and only now did you notice how tall she was.

Tall and rather muscular, and if not for the face of a true sweetie and breasts bulging beneath the flannel, you would surely take her for a man.

"Do you mind?" she asked, taking a glass of whisky from your hand.

The crystal cups clinked in silence, and you took a small sip, not taking your eyes off her face. "I don't. I've never been with a woman, but I'm a quick learner."

Her blue eyes narrowed, lips curling with a hum. "Madam said you're the best dove here," she whispered, lifting her hand to curl a soft strand of your hair around her finger.

You could feel the warmth beaming off her chest. The fragrance of bonfire smoke, sweat and something sugary. Wrapping around your heart, filling it with something balmy and pleasurable, making your heart leap a little faster.

You've never taken clients' compliments seriously. They were sweet, yes, sometimes even rather filthy, and those you usually ignored with a smile, but with her, it was different.

In a way, she looked at you – with gentleness, patience, something warm and yet lined with hunger. When her finger brushed your cheeks, you shivered.

"Are you nervous?" she cooed slyly, sending another wave of heat down your spine. "We don't have to do it."

You shook your head, nuzzling into her hand. "That's what you paid for. How can we not?"

"I don't mind. Spending time in your presence is enough," her words carried sincerity, and something in your gut told you she really wouldn't mind paying solely for your company. But you… you were curious.

And when her thumb brushed your lower lip, you gladly wrapped your lips around it, sucking gently as your warm tongue slid down her long digit and along your cheeks. She hummed lowly, and her crystal eyes shimmered as she looked at the way you glanced at her from below, with the sweetest doe eyes and cherry lips sucking on her lone finger.

You pulled back with a pop. "I want to," you rolled, nuzzling into her hand, feeling the warmth of her skin against yours. "But you need to teach me how."

She chuckled, stepping closer. Crystal eyes flicked between the open cleavage of your flimsy dress, with breasts spilling over the white lace, and the eyes, shining like the evening's moon. Round and pleading, with the sweetest innocence she had ever seen in a whore.

There was angelic loveliness in your hearty face, and yet she knew that casting wicked, love-spells must've been your speciality.

Especially with people like her – yearning for the warmth and delicate touch of a woman after months on the road.

"I thought you were supposed to do the job, dove," she brushed away a few stray locks of your hair before cupping your face. "But if you want me to take the lead, I will gladly serve you. My lady."

A second later, with a gentle flicker of a candle, her lips crashed against yours. In a gentle, sweet, yet ravishing kiss as she curled her arm around your waist, pulling you closer. You wrapped yours around her neck, forcing her to lean down, and closing your lips again, and again, and again, as her tongue smooched the inside of your mouth and throat, drinking in your soft moans.

You could feel her scars bulging under your tongue when you licked her lower lip with a faint moan.

She tasted of whisky and sugar, and maybe it was the first time you truly enjoyed the kiss. It was nasty in its own pleasurable way, making your thighs clench with warmth and breath hitch.

You started walking her back towards the bed until the backs of her knees hit the edge; she sat down. Your hips quickly climbed over hers, rolling the dress up until the thin gown folded around your hips. Long, lacy knee socks wrapped your legs, and she moaned as the fat of your thighs spilled over the flimsy material.

"I can't believe some nasty bastard could have this," she groaned, cupping the swell of your ass. Her long fingers dug deeper, squeezing the skin and rolling your hips against her. "How many clients do you have every night, hm? One, two? I paid for two full days in advance, so no one else will touch you."

You cried as her lips slipped down your chin and neck, licking it gently and sucking on the delicate skin of your throat.

"Mmm–"

"Satoru," she whispered, before placing another kiss under your jaw. "Call me Satoru, dove."

And then, as if a bucket of cold water had run down your cheeks, it finally flickered.

The posters, glued all over the town, with those milky strands peeking from every corner, eyes hidden behind a brown hat.

Gojo Satoru.

The first and most famous female outlaw, wanted for multiple train robberies, bootlegging, gunfights, and, most of all, for the massive accumulation of gold.

It was difficult to tell whether she truly was as rich as everyone said, but the way her fingers gripped you with unwavering confidence, and eyes drank in the softness of your face, told you that she indeed was someone.

She chuckled, sensing a shiver run down your spine. "So you've heard of me, my lady?"

Her fingers tug at the flimsy material covering your breast, and with a single move, it slipped off your arms.

A low, "Fuck," rolled, when she wrapped her lips around your perked nipple. Another hand squeezed the other tit, rolling the hardened bud between her fingers. "Unfortunately, there's nothing to get drunk on," she smiled, looking up from a curtain of long lashes.

"Ah–Satoru, mmmm," you cried, feeling the warmth of her mouth spilling around your breasts. "There's s-still whisky if you want."

She chuckled, biting gently on your nipple till your back arched. "My lady, I wasn't talking about the whisky."

A quiet oh slipped past your lips when you understood. Her hand pulled you closer, letting her face dive into your soft breasts. Warm tongue curled, lapped, and tickled your swollen buds as she moved between them, letting out low pops and groans.

For the first time in your life, you truly started taking pleasure from such intimacy. Your hips rolled against her as if seeking some kind of traction that would let your squeezing cunt spill its sweet juices. Flimsy panties were completely drenched, sticking to your swollen folds.

You didn't know whether to focus on her heavy gaze pinning you down to her thighs or lips sucking on the plush breasts. With low moans and squeezes of your fat, as you tried to push yourself into her mouth.

"S-Satoru," you whispered shyly, trying to push her onto the bed. "Let me take care of you. I should be the one doing it."

But instead of letting her back hit the mattress, she quickly curled your arms around your waist and changed position. Letting your hair spill all over the soft bedding and thighs spread wide open.

"I paid quite a hefty sum, my Lady. Why won't you let me do what I want, hm?" Her thumb traced the drenched material of your panties, pushing the swollen clit through the lace, before rolling them off your trembling thighs. "Fuck, my lady. Are you always this wet?"

"N-no, I've never-ah!," a sweet cry slipped out, when her fingers spread your folds. "I've never felt anything like that."

Crystal eyes flickered to your teary face. "Never?"

You shook your head. "No, I've never taken any pleasure from sex."

And it seemed that your words must have snapped something inside her mind. As a low my god rolled past her lips, and she quickly started undressing herself. The flannel shirt revealed reddened breasts with rosy, hard nipples and multiple scars decorating her chest, belly, and shoulders.

When the trousers slipped down the long legs, you noticed another slash, and your heart squeezed in pain upon seeing how much she truly had to suffer.

And yet, a wicked smile curved her lips as she saw your big, pleading eyes fixed on her heavy, milky breasts.

"Are you okay, dove?" she asked, jumping off her jeans before rolling down the flimsy panties too.

Oh, you were not okay.

In fact, you were rather anything but okay, with thighs still spread wide open, breasts spilling from the tight robes, cheeks smooched with cherries and a lovely gaze looking down at her pussy. You bit down on your lower lip as she moved closer, joining you on a bed.

The white dress slipped off your body, leaving you bare and breathless beneath Satoru's silky fingers.

"So beautiful," she whispered, leaning in to kiss your fallen lips. "The most beautiful dove I have ever seen."

Her lips travelled down your chin, neck, breasts, wrapping around your perked buds again before kissing your plush belly. She bit down on a little roll, making you squirm under her cheeky fingers, spreading your thighs open.

Folded in half, you tried to look down at how dangerously close she was to your leaking cunt. With lips kissing the mound, before slowly, slowly, finally, curling around your clit. Her tongue plastered itself to your cunt, giving her a long, nasty lick.

And it was… dear heavens.

Maddening, mind-clouding, pushing out a high-pitched moan from your lungs, as if you had kept it there for the past two decades. Her soft strands tickled your thighs, and she looked absolutely mesmerising – with her chin already drenched in your juices and forehead creased with pleasure.

As if lapping around your folds and slurping on sugary cum was enough to give her pleasure.

"My lady, fuck, you're so delicious," she moaned straight into your cunt, sending a trembling wave right into your clit. "If the sheriff were to come in right this second, he would not be able to pull me away from this sweetness."

Your cheeks burned upon hearing filth slipping past her lips, but you were too weak to say anything. With mind clouded by pleasure and back arching off the mattress, upon feeling her lips sucking on your clit and tongue gathering the sticky cum.

When a single finger slipped in, you cried miserably, finally lifting yourself onto your shoulders. From this perspective, the view of her creamy, arched back and the swell of her ass was even better.

Starving moans escaping her throat filled the bedroom, as she scooped a hefty cum from your walls and drank it madly. Your swollen clit was ready to burst any second – bending, crying, burning under her tongue.

"S-Satoru, mhmm, so g-good," you moaned, rolling your hips against her plastered tongue. Moving with desperate, aggressive urgency, gripping her hair and pulling her even closer. Although closer was indeed not possible, as Satoru was already nose-deep between your folds. "Breath, oh God, Satoru–ahhh!"

She pulled away with a faint pop, before a second finger slipped in. "My lady, suffocate me with your thighs, I don't care," she mewled, eyes completely lost. As if the sweetness of your cunt truly made her drunk! "Ride my face, dove, come on," she wrapped her lips around your clit, before you started rolling your hips again.

And only then have you noticed that Satoru's second finger travelled down, down her body, right into her leaking cunt. She pinched her clit while wrapping lips around yours, as if trying to synchronise the pleasure washing over both of your spines. A hefty pool of cum was dripping down the bedding, and you whimpered miserably, seeing a waste of such sweetness.

"Let me taste you," rolled quietly, and she looked up. "I want to taste you too."

She chuckled before lifting drenched hand up to your lips. Her long fingers were glued with strings of silky cum, stretching between the slim digits, and when you wrapped your lips around one, another wave of pleasure tickled your skin.

Honeyed delicacy spilt on your tongue, and a cry rolled again, feeling the sudden warmth pooling in your lower belly. "Satoru–mhmm–let me, ahh, let me eat you out."

"Next time, dove," she murmured, before pulling away. Two fingers still abused the soft spot inside you with brutal tenderness. She knew how to drive you over the edge and still caress your body with gentleness. "I have a better idea."

When her fingers suddenly pulled out of your soft walls, a lovely pout twisted your lips. She chuckled, leaning in to give you a short, sweet kiss. "Don't worry, my lady. I think you'll like it."

And before you noticed it, her milky thigh slipped over yours, pushing you into a rather weird yet oh so nasty position. With her drenched pussy glued to yours, letting your juices mix. A little, sweet clit perked from between her folds, and you reached to roll her gently between your fingers.

"Ahh! My lady–" Satoru sighed, allowing you to do it again.

And again, again, till she herself started to wave her hips and seek the friction of your soft pads. The loveliest moans slipped past her lips, and thus, you could finally cherish the crease of her forehead and the beads of sweat coating her bouncing breasts.

But then she pulled your hand away, letting your folds connect once again. Your swollen, trembling clits brushed against each other, and both of you moaned before she started moving.

In harsh, mean rolls, filling the room with filthy squelches and smearing your cunt in her juices. Her sticky, sweet nectar dripped down your folds, clit, before slipping warmly into your tightening hole. You always detested clients who wished to fuck you raw, and yet your spine tingled and the feeling of her warm cum filling your hole,

She spread your legs even wider, allowing herself to sit on your pussy with a full weight, till not even a finger could slip past your connected folds.

Her hardened clit smooched yours in harsh, slippery friction, making your mind spill and toes curl in maddened pleasure. The wetness coiling in your lower belly was dangerously close to spilling, and when she reached towards your nipples, your back arched.

"Satoru, mhmm, I'm s-so–" slipped drunkenly. "Feel so good, s-so–ah–good."

She chuckled, but you've noticed how close she was too. With lips fallen open and gaze fixed on your hearty face, haunted by pleasure. Crystal eyes shimmered, and she would not lie, saying that the pleasure taken from seeing your teary face was already enough to push her over the edge!

"I'll pay for you," she suddenly muttered, rolling her hips even faster. Her clit rubbed against yours, sticky juices coated your cunt with hers, and this feeling alone was loosening the knot in your belly. "I'll pay for your freedom, so fuck, run away with me. I have a small farmhouse, down south. We can, ahhh, live there in peace. No one will find us."

You felt too fucked to truly understand her words, but your heart swelled with hope nonetheless. She wasn't the only client who promised such dreams, but the first to state them with such seriousness.

With this haunting look in her eyes, taking you in like the most precious treasure. With her fingers caressing your skin so tenderly, as if handling something of utmost delicacy, and her lips peppering your skin with the most loving kisses.

And so when her finger slipped down your pussy and pushed your clit for the one last time, you cried pitifully, gushing all over her cunt. Her breath hitched, and a sweet, low moan slipped past her lips, before you felt the wetness of her cum spurring all over yours.

It was messy, raw, with her squirting mixing with yours and heavy breaths fogging the small room bathed in candle-warmth.

The pleasure coiled beneath your skin, biting raw into your feverish flesh. When she leaned down to kiss you, something in your mind forced you to say, "Yes."

As the truth was that even if at risk, the vision of running away with this woman made your heart beat in an unfamiliar rhythm.

She kissed you again, and again, whispering softly let's run, together, I promise to treat you kindly, while her juices were still mixing with yours, and hips rolled slowly. Your fingers wrapped around her neck, pulling her closer as if wishing to hide beneath her skin.

The closeness you shared simply wasn't enough.

And so the next two days you've spent rolling in bed, with your lips between her folds and hers on yours. Sometimes she would push you into the most extravagant position, force you to ride her fingers like a true cowgirl while sucking sweetly on your bouncing tits.

You laughed and talked, inside the small room that counted days of her departure and of your freedom. She told you more about the promised farmhouse – the animals, warm garden, sunsets spreading over the porch, smooching the sky in crimson hues. About all the bank robberies and the times she almost got caught, tracing softly all the scars coating her body and telling the story of each. About her dear friends and all the gold she has gathered, as if still trying to convince you that life with her will be good.

But you didn't need to be convinced, as the single look into her loving eyes was enough.

And so, on the third day, you woke without her by your side. The bed was frozen cold, even though the summer couldn't be any warmer.

Your heart leaped into your throat at the sight of her things being gone. The hat, the flannel shirt, and the small bag she had brought with her.

A panic rose in your chest as you looked around the tiny room. In search of something, anything, just to make sure that she, in fact, hadn't left you here.

In a place where you would surely die.

After a moment, something white has caught your attention. A neat, creamy sheet of paper, lying folded on the bedside of an old wooden drawer.

You took it with shaking fingers before finally releasing a deep, teary sigh.

Everything is settled, dove. Meet me tonight at midnight behind the back door. Don't bring much. My heart needs only you.

Yours, Satoru

And thus the promise of evenings filled with orange sunset hues and hours spent peacefully on a porch suddenly became sharper.

As your young, fair heart needed nothing, no one, but a woman who spent half her stolen fortune to set her dove free.

©liahcharms all rights reserved. Do not copy, plagiarise, feed AI, translate or modify my works.

I'm ready to spend eternity with my wife... thank you Luci for creating the event, I had so much fun writing it! <3

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You can’t tell him – what if it got back you snuck away from your stepmother? She’d have you sweeping that damn chimney for the rest of your existence.

Your pulse rushes in your ears, stepping just a little closer, knowing you're probably terrible at pretending to really be nobility, or any sort of lady, feeling the heat of his palm through your satin gloves. "I'm... um, just a guest."

"Every guest has a name," he says, his gaze drifting down to the little chain on your neck curiously, his hand falling off. "Tell me, what brings someone so lovely to hide in the gardens rather than dance?"

"I'm afraid I cannot dance," Satoru blinks curiously, the way the moonlight hits your face and bounces off that silver mask has him almost blushing, the rise and fall of your chest in that snug corset, your own faint blush heating up your skin - out of every girl tonight, you're just...

Different.

"Cannot dance? Nonsense," he smirks and holds out a hand now, tilting his head. "I'll teach you."

"N-no! I'm utterly unteachable... I... oh!" Satoru tugged you in his arms, and you fell against his hard chest, a hand on that elegant blue uniform he's wearing. "Prince Gojo..."

"Call me Satoru."

“Oh I could not ever,” you are panicking being this close to him, his heat, his hard chest so strong as you stumble and damn near trip over your feet. “I’m stepping all over you!”

“It’s fine,” you could literally walk on Satoru and he’d just thank you, with those pretty glass slippers that click gently as you move. He picks you up and grins as you gasp out. “I’ve got you.”

“You cannot just…” he’s lifted you off the ground now so that your feet are on his, moving and guiding you with a little chuckle. “I’ll hurt your feet!”

“Nah, I’m fine,” he’s more than fine – Satoru thinks he’s fucking in love at first sight.

The nonsense of fairytales, but how else does he explain how perfect your corseted waist feels in his arms? How you’re looking at him and making him melt? Satoru’s in love with a girl and he doesn’t even know her name. Perhaps it’s the champagne and how pretty you are, perhaps his advisor Suguru was right and Satoru was a dreamer.

Yet you’re like a dream waltzing rather clumsily on his feet.

He finally manages to speak, to act like any of this is normal, his lips quirking up at the corner. "You're a natural, see?"

"I'm just standing on your feet!” You’re giggling though, the sound and your smile making him ache. He can only wonder how beautiful you were without half of your face covered, even more pretty than those eyes and those lips?

Yet it’s more, something about you drawing him in, he tightens his hold on you, your body pressed to his, clearing his throat as he tries to focus.

Tonight was supposed to be ‘the end’ so to speak – find a boring, perfect debutante for his bride, he had been dreading it for months, yet all he can think of right now is how much he is enjoying being in this garden with you.

"Details."

“No? Actual facts?”

“Semantics, sweetheart,” you laugh again, shaking your head.

“You’re nothing like I’d think a Prince to be.”

“Is that good or bad?” He asks, stopping his movements and easing you off his feet, not releasing you, no, he’s got you firm against him still. The music from the ballroom is fading, just a little hazy in both of your ears, intermingling with his soft chuckle and your little pleased sigh.

“It’s good, very good,” you can’t say it – that you are so wary of nobility because of your step mother, because you’re hidden merely because your mother was a mistress rather than a wife. “You’re just… different.”

“I could say that about you,” his lashes lowered just a bit, hand on the small of your back sliding up where it’s bare, ever so scandalously. "I think we've earned a break from the lesson, yes?”

You manage a little nod, swallowing nervously as Satoru’s silk gloved hand slides from your back to the nape of your neck, his fingers tangling gently in the hair that’s coiffed and pinned. He tilts your head back gently, having you meet his gaze, your own hands sliding to his chest, hidden by the alcove so that you’re just out of sight.

If you’re going to have one night of freedom, shouldn’t it be a good one?

How can you think like this!

"You're blushing again," he murmurs, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin just below your ear. "Even your ears are warm. Is it the dancing, or is it me?"

You can't form a coherent thought, let alone any sort of words for an answer, just looking up at him and wetting your lips nervously, tongue slipping over the plump of your lower one.

“Asked you a question, princess.”

“Oh I’m so far from that,” you whisper, he chuckles as he thinks to himself how your hips would give him perfect heirs, how he’d love those lips to be glossy from his saliva rather than anything else.

“Every girl here wants to be the next princess,” he says, nose brushing yours as he bends down. “Not you, though.”

“Not me…”

Gong. Gong. Gong.

“Oh!” You look at the giant clock ticking overhead, enormous and pristine, loudly echoing in your ears. “It’s almost midnight. I should… go.”

“A curfew?” He asks, even more curious, nobles party until well into the morning, but you’re leaning up now, hugging him around his neck, making him falter.

“Thank you for tonight, Satoru,” god how your name sounds on his lips, pressing a kiss on his cheek and pausing, a breath away from the corner of his mouth. He tilts your chin up, studying you carefully.

“Running away already?”

“I must soon…” You trail off and look right at his lips, sighing. “Perhaps one minute more.”

“May I kiss you, before you disappear?” He asks then, you nod quickly, seeing the lashes casting shadows on his high cheeks as he bends down, closing the distance and capturing your lips.

The first press of his lips is impossibly soft, a tentative movement that he pulls back from quickly, exhaling, the breath ghosting over your mouth, grip tightening as he paints soft kisses against them. You whine out before you can stop yourself, making him moan and pause for just a moment.

“Oh I’ve… never kissed…”

“I’m your first kiss?” He asks softly, you nod and tug him down again, making him chuckle. “Did you like it, princess?”

“I do very much,” he kisses you again, his tongue slipping on the seam of your lips as if it’s seeking entry, tasting of champagne and something sweet – scones, you think, the mixture hypnotic somehow.

Your first kiss is with Prince Gojo.

You both stumble a bit until you fall onto him in the gardens, he lands on his back with a soft thud on the grass. You’re gasping as you lose your balance, Satoru chuckles as he catches you on his body, holding you tightly, lips pulled into a full grin that makes him look even more handsome.

“Hmm, I’d like to see you without this mask.”

“Sir you’re very bold,” he raises a brow, hands on your hips – god imagine kissing you between your thighs, holding them firm?

“Says the lady on my lap.”

“Oh, you’re a tease!” You lean up and his eyes are glittering , leaning up on his elbows and nuzzling your nose with his. “Mngh…”

“The sounds you make,” he whispers, you’re straddling him with your skirts strewn all across you, heat pressing on his length, you probably don’t even know what it is but you grind on it, making him hiss. “Just from a kiss, I wonder how you’d sound if I kissed you here.”

His lips press on the rushing pulse behind your ear, you’re rolling those hips once more, fingers entangled in his silky locks, his breath sending trembles across you, the whine that escapes your lips almost makes him lose it.

“Fuck…”

“Oh dear, I’m so-”

“Don’t move, god,” he moans and grips you rougher than he meant to, arching up as he kisses up the side of your neck, lips drifting over your frantic, racing little pulse, your nails press into his shoulders, holding still as his breath ghosts your collarbone, fingertips brushing across your neckline.

“It feels so good,” you can’t help but move again, making him suck in a breath, kissing you deeper, your arms wrapping his neck as your tongue slips in and out of his mouth, exhaling as you move with him, feeling this need building inside that has you hot, dizzy. “Satoru…”

“Don’t leave,” he whispers, lips glossy from your kisses, sighing and cupping your face gently. “Stay. I’ll tell your chaperones.”

Chaperones.

As if you had those.

“I cannot…”

“We will pause,” he says, barely holding onto his last thread, eyes looking up at the pretty masked girl sitting on his lap, sitting up fully and studying you carefully. “I must know more about you, anything… especially your name-”

Gong Gong Gong.

“I’m so sorry,” you stumble off his lap, questioning yourself then – hearing your stepmother and stepsisters in your head making fun of you.

As if you fit in?

Tonight was an insane idea, one your fellow servants had for you, these glittery slippers and your mother’s old gown weighing heavy as you stand, almost stumbling as your heel digs into the earth. The Prince stands with you, steadying you with a hand on your upper arm, his lips parted.

“There’s nothing interesting about me,” you whisper, tears slipping and glimmering in your eyes.

“I find that impossible to believe.”

You smile, lips trembling, before kissing his cheek, your own lashes closing, sticky droplets of tears falling from them. You murmur your name for his ears, before rushing away, holding onto your dress as you ascend the narrow steps towards the ballroom, hearing him call it out.

“Don’t go! Please, just…” You turn and he can’t see your face then, not with the lighting of the ballroom as your background, casting a shadow of your figure.

“Thank you, my Prince,” you turn once more, Satoru rushes up the stairs then, pausing when he sees a glinting bauble on the step by his dress shoe. He picks it up, studying it carefully, his gaze flickering to where you’ve completely disappeared.

Your name was not familiar, it was not a family he’d ever heard of, a name he’d ever heard either.

Just who were you?

*****

“Hurry, miss, hurry!” Your fellow servants are rushing to undress you from the big gown as your carriage, rickety and loud, has made it just before your step family.

“Turn!” You do just that and let them unlace the back of it in quick little motions, the fellow women studying you once they put back on your maid attire.

“Miss, did you…”

“I um…” You’re blushing now, giggling as if you’re intoxicated from that sip of champagne, nodding.

“You kissed!” You shush one of them, even though the three of you are breathlessly laughing. “Tell us, tell us!”

“He was so handsome, so sweet,” you sigh, all dreamy, looking in the mirror and smoothing your apron down your front, touching your ear then. “Oh dear, I lost one of mama’s earrings!”

“She would have wanted you to have fun,” you get emotional then, as they fix up your hair – they still take care of you when they can, remembering how things were before your father remarried, when you were the lady of the house despite the mother you had not being ‘nobility’.

Your mother – all you have is a little photo of her in a locket.

“Was she kind, mama? Would she…” You swallow just a bit. “Like me?”

“Of course she would, miss,” they turn to you then, trying to cheer you up. “Who kissed the lipstain off.”

You blush furiously, before leaning over to whisper. “A prince.”

“A prince!?”

“Shh!” You hear it then, the hooves of the horses on the cobblestone path, turning your head to peer right back at the noise, the one earring you have left firmly in your palm. “We must act normal… but…”

“But?” You turn to them and your eyes well up with emotions, taking each of their hands.

“It was the best night of my life.”

*****

“This earring,” Satoru smiles days later as he has tea across from several young ladies – four daughters in one family, all matching your height and some of your features. He assesses them carefully, searching for any sign of you – since the name you gave him existed in no public records.

Where was the masked girl with the one earring?

“It’s mine!” One girl exclaims, giggling and standing. “It must be mine, your highness.”

“Ah, I see,” he stands and walks over, peering into her eyes, hoping for anything to click like it did before – it had been dark out, was he mistaking this? Was it really you? “Where’s the matching?”

She falters then, and her sisters are laughing at her. “I um… your highness, as it were… I do not…”

“I see…” He finishes his tea and bows at the giggling ladies, smiling all charming like he’s not losing his mind. “Farewell, for now, dear ladies.”

He’s furious when he slams the carriage door, his advisor Suguru looking up from the ledgers he’s balancing while waiting for the prince. His dark eyes take Satoru in carefully. “You look like shit.”

“Aw thanks, Suguru,” he snorts and Satoru climbs in across from him, earring flipped over and over in his palm. “That’s every woman her height and hair color aside from one house – out of twenty nearly. And nothing.”

“What was it about her?” Suguru asks. “To make you announce you’re looking for a bride and all? It’s so unlike you.”

“I can’t tell you it’s…” Satoru touches his lip thoughtfully, spreading those long legs in the carriage bench, the plush velvet brushing his elegant tailcoat as it begins to rock towards the last stop. “It’s everything about her.”

“Is the prince in love at first sight?” Suguru is teasing, but when he sees Satoru’s glare he pauses. “Oh fuck… it is?”

“I don’t know what else this is, this feeling in my heart,” he clutches it over his dress shirt, staring out the pretty countryside view as they start to move towards the last hope. “I can’t describe it at all, but I must have her, I must know her… I cannot even think of another woman when she exists in this world.”

Suguru is quiet then.

“Who knew the rakish prince would fall so in love so quickly?”

“Shut it,” Suguru’s serious then, pulling up the information on the last house and studying it. “Who are they?”

“A widow and her two step daughters… some servants live there as well, but of course they wouldn’t be the ones you met. Maybe one of them is it?”

“We shall see…”

“Satoru?” He raises a brow. “If you don’t find her, what will you do?”

He laughs a bit, leaning his head back and throwing a forearm over his face, sinking against the seat and descending himself into darkness, picturing you so clearly. Running away from him even in his dreams, like he can never actually capture you.

“I don’t know if I can ever look at someone like that again.”

It’s quiet then.

“Well, I hope you’ll find her.”

*****

“The prince is coming!” Your stepmother rushes up to you and yanks your hair, making you cry out. “Make yourself good, girl! Now! Tea, chop chop!”

“Ouch,” you whine out when she smacks your cheek. “S-sorry…”

“Do not talk back!”

“I was not-”

“She’s become such a nuisance,” one of your sisters complains, donned in an obscenely gaudy pink gown, jeweled slippers that you’d worn that night, you pale when you see them.

“Those were my mother’s! You can’t have them!”

“Those were my mothers!” She’s mocking you, making hot tears prick the back of your eyes. “The prince is coming for me, you’ll let me wear them, you nor your mother was never worthy of such luxury.”

You almost smack her, knowing it’s a death sentence or at least a prison sentence to do so, feeling sick as the three women laugh.

“No, he’s coming for me!” Your other stepsister is wearing bright yellow, donned with the hairclip your mother left. “I couldn’t find those earrings of yours!”

“Why are you in my things when you have everything!?” They laugh again at your pain, your tears, always cruel without reason.

Why did you even go, why did you glimpse happiness when they were your reality?

“He’s here, shh!” Your stepmother and siblings stand in front of you now, blocking the view of the Prince being greeted, his dress shoes clicking on the hardwood beneath him. Your heart hammers in your chest as you stand there with your head down, your family making a spectacle of themselves.

“Your highness! Indeed, what an honor,” your mother is putting on the charm, but Satoru’s eyes are on you, a frown on his lips. “What do we owe the great pleasure of your visit?”

He sees the mark on the pretty servant’s cheek and glares at the woman now, the matriarch of the family scowling at you. “Please forgive us, we will leave her and retire to the-”

“You hit your help?” He asks, fists clenching underneath those white satin gloves, she blinks in confusion.

“Well, of course I do. She is quite-”

“You hit your fucking help, really?”

“Is it against any law, your highness?” She asks, raising a brow, Satoru grimaces in disgust, walking up to you, earning the caught breath of every servant, and the anger of your ‘family’.

“No it’s not, yet the thought of treating others like that disgusts me,” he peers down at you, tilting your chin up right in front of the room, your heart hammers so violently in your chest you feel dizzy. “Are you all right, sweetheart?”

Fuck.

Your knees go weak, the sudden sting of your cheek fading into nothing, not when he’s looking at you that way, you can hardly hold in your words – Satoru, it’s me.

You cannot let him know you impersonated a noble, he’s just being… kind, surely. 

“I am fine, your highness,” your voice puts it all together for him then, and in that moment the world shrinks – to just you and Satoru Gojo.

Not just a prince, but the boy you kissed in those gardens.

“Is this yours?” He asks quietly, taking the earring out and watching your expression, hearing their huffs of anger.

“You snuck into the ball!? You little tramp!” Your stepsister shouts, stomping on over when Satoru holds up a hand, halting her in her steps, watching as you tug the other earring out of your little reticule, a trembling hand being touched by his.

“You will be executed for such a travesty!” Your mother says, but Satoru scoffs, simply sliding the hook of the earring through the little spot they were pierced when you were just a little babe. He takes the other but not before studying your hand, covered in callouses, rubbed raw from scrubbing.

“Do not look, please,” you whisper, embarrassed that he has to see them – the nails nonexistent, the skin dry and cracking. He takes off his own glove and sets the other earring on, before he touches your hand, taking it and flipping it over, studying it carefully. “Please…”

“You shall never work these hands like this again,” you gasp at that, letting him take both of them in his own, the touch and warmth of his skin making you dizzy. “I promise you that you won’t…”

He says your name, softly then, smiling all bright as you break out into tears, holding you against him. “Prince Satoru…”

“God I looked all over for you,” he whispers, hand on the small of your back, your clothes are so old they’re falling apart, you seem almost frail to him like this, weak and worn down, not the happy girl he met.

Yet he knows it then, surely.

He did fall in love at first sight.

“What do you think about becoming my princess?”

“I could never! I…”

“Come,” he picks you up like it’s nothing, carrying you right out of there, you cling to his neck as he cradles you and your stepmother rushes up. 

“Surely I will get some compensation!” Your stepmother earns Satoru’s disgust as he looks upon her. “She was my late husband’s illegitimate offspring, I took her in when I did not have to! Fed her, clothed her, gave her shelter.”

“You did a fucking horrible job of all of it, if you ever loved your husband, how could you do this? This is why I hate nobility like you,” he clutches you tightly, feeling your face bury against his neck. “I’ll compensate you plenty to leave my kingdom, all of you, forever. Handsomely in fact. But you’ll never go near her again.”

“Satoru, you don’t have to!” You’re whispering, trembling in fear, but he ignores it all, shaking his head.

“I will make sure you have a nicer home than this, and dowries,” your stepmother quickly agrees, and that’s the last time you see her, or your stepsisters again. “Let us go visit your new home.”

*****

“They called you that, because you sat by the fireplace too much?” Satoru asks you softly weeks later, you all were having dinner but you’ve stayed in your own wing of his castle, he’s making sure that everything is properly done – the wedding a few more weeks away.

“They did,” you admit, holding his hand and blushing as he leans forward, studying it. “It’s still rough, Satoru.”

“That’s quite alright,” he kisses your knuckles then, his lips curving up in a sad smile. “I shall make sure that you never lift a pretty finger.”

“Nonsense!”

“No, you must stop helping clean and cook, too,” you shake your head, earning his smile widening. “Are you not listening to your prince?”

“Old habits die hard, at least let me bake with them! What else shall I do all day long!?”

“You’re a bratty girl,” you giggle, shaking your head and standing, walking over as he tugs you on his lap, sitting sideways, his fingers trailing across your knee, sliding that robe apart. “Very bratty.”

“Me, no indeed,” you are aching to do more, but Satoru has been very gentlemanly – so much in fact you find yourself moving on his lap in such a way that has his lashes fluttering closed. “Are you all right, my prince?”

“You’re killing me, perhaps you’re an evil girl after all,” your smile ruins him, along with the way goosebumps rise up your thigh. “Trying to tempt me before the marriage, hmm? No, no, we do it all properly – you’re my bride to be.”

“I can wait, I suppose,” your fingertips trail across his cheek, laughing softly then at his blush that dances across them. “Can you wait?”

“Indeed I have my methods,” jerking off to you every night after kissing you in front of your bedroom door. “Can you, pretty girl?”

“No,” you’re honest then, gasping as his fingers dart higher, your thighs spreading slightly as if on instinct. “Satoru…”

“Such an impatient girl, tsk,” he glides them higher until they find your cunt bare, already slick underneath the satin of your robes, feeling you shift and cry out in the way only you can. “Shall I have you cum all over my fingers, then? Give you just a taste of what I’ll do to you when you’re fully mine?”

“Oh, mngh y-you… please…” He kisses you as his fingers find your slit, gliding up and down and feeling that wetness just pour, moaning at the feeling, you’re damn near slippery with a gentle touch at your entrance, your tongue moving against his with much more precision than the first kiss.

“Please what, princess? Make you feel good?” Your nod is jerky, your nails pressing into his forearm and feeling it tense as he slides a finger in – making your eyes roll back in your skull. “You’re doing such a good job, look at you.”

“Am I? It’s so thick and… Satoru,” he’s curving one finger just so in your snug little hole, squishing so loud it fills your ears, mixing with his kisses on your collarbone, his nose brushing your skin. “Please!”

“Mhm, take a pretty tit out for me,” he orders softly, in the way only Prince Satoru can, you tug it down and blush when he sees your tit for the first time. “Oh god but you’re s’fuckin beautiful.”

Your answer is to arch your back, your head falling so that your hair cascades across his arm that’s wrapping you, his finger working as that mouth wraps a nipple and sucks. It is too much, the way he sucks, the way his finger moves faster, until you’re about to shatter, to fall apart right for him, his finger hitting that spot that has your vision getting fuzzy.

He moans around your nipple, tongue swirling it – his blue eyes looking up underneath those long white lashes at you, feeling your cunt stretch enough that he eases in a second.

“So full! I’m so… ah!” He pulls back from your nipple, his saliva dripping with strings dissolving from your tit, sighing and nuzzling your breast, kissing back up to your collarbone, his fingers making your cunt quiver. She clamps down as you get closer, feeling that pressure, the grinding of his fingers on that spot.

“You’re close, hmm?” He teases softly, smiling all proud of himself and fucking cute – he was proud he could make you feel good, that he could feel the way you’re reacting, see the pleasure on your face. “You’re so loud, your pussy is making such a mess, too.”

“You’re… I…” You feel it coming, overwhelming in its intensity then, stealing your breath as his fingers work faster, until you’re right there.

“That’s it, let go for me,” he whispers, pressing up on that spongy spot in your wall with his fingertips, massaging it as you shatter. “There you go, good little princess, cumming just for me.”

“Satoru, ngh!” You scream out obscenely, cunt squirting right down his hand and making a mess of his pants, of your silk robe, darkening the material as you fall apart in his arms, weak and almost falling on him. “S’good I… sensitive and… Satoru, I l-love you and…”

He pauses then, exhaling and kissing you deeply, easing his fingers out of the mess you are. “You love me, princess?”

You’re almost in tears. You feel so good, nodding quickly, watching as he sucks his long fingers, blushing furiously – your cunt is pulsing around nothing, seeing his cheeks hollow during the filthy little action. “You’re tasting me!”

“So sweet,” he mumbles, drunk off a lick, pulling back to see his fingers glossy and moaning at the sight, his eyes dark. “I can’t wait to really drink you.”

“Drink me?” He chuckles at how precious you are, tugging down your slip and holding you close, kissing your temple as you come down. “Satoru, that was so intense I just… I…”

“Are you all right? Too much?” He brushes your hair back, feeling your lips on his neck.

“Not enough.”

“Slutty princess,” you gasp and smack him when he chuckles, pulling back and cupping your chin, smiling at you. “I love you too.”

“You love me?”

“Of course I do, the moment I saw you in that garden,” you can’t stop the tears from falling, chest heaving as the aftershocks mix with your emotions. “Now don’t be so impatient, we have forever.”

You nod and kiss him again, and again, and again, until he carries you in his arms towards your bed. “I can’t wait to share the bed with you, my Prince.”

“Soon enough.” He lays you in it and kisses you, studying you carefully, brushing a lock of your hair back.

Satoru was only an eligible bachelor for one day – and now he has his happily ever after lightly snoring in her bed, murmuring his name.

Perhaps being the prince wasn’t so bad if he got you by his side.

He realised it a little too late, because by then, he was already inches deep inside you, trapping you between him and the wall while he rutted into your cunt from behind. Hips moving frantically and slapping against your ass while your hands were held back tightly with just his one hand while the other roamed across your body freely.

“Yuta— what the fuck are you doing?” You questioned, trying to push him away, to break free from his grasp, a useless attempt, especially when he's much stronger than before. You could barely believe he was the same person who lost to you in practice sessions multiple times back in school, he's so different now, his strength was undeniably overpowering.

Yuta had no idea what he was doing either, he felt compelled by this raw, primal urge to keep on going, and for once, he listened to it.

He muffled your protests with a kiss, his free hand moving up to your throat and pulling you back against him as he twisted your head to the side so he could access your lips before slipping in his tongue into your mouth. He moaned into the kiss, feeling his chest burn with excitement and arousal. He should've listened to his gut from the start. He shouldn't have worried about you finding him a creepy, it shouldn't have mattered anyway, but it probably did back then because he was much softer before than he is now.

His younger self wouldn't be able to comprehend or take in the fact that his future self would ever fuck you against your will in the hallway of an abandoned building after defeating a grade two curse.

He bites your lower lip, the kiss was rough yet passionate, as if he's trying to make up for the lost time but also preventing himself from losing complete control. He wanted to consume you, devour you completely, mark you, bite you, fuck you hard, make you cry, grope you, scratch you, breed you, all at once like his primal instinct was screaming, if he could merge you into him— he definitely would.

You let out a soft cry of sorts at the pain when he bit your lip, his eyes widened, concern illuminating in them before he let go of your bottom lip, sucking on it and giving it a few soothing licks.

His chin rested on your shoulder as his hand left your throat and slid down to grope your tits all while he thrusted from behind.

“I'm sorry for that.” He apologized for biting your lip and then pressed a soft kiss to the back of your shoulder. He closed his eyes to immerse himself into the feeling how your body felt in his hold, your squishy breasts acting like a stress ball for him and your warm cunt wrapped around his hard cock sent shivers up his spine. The ridges gripped onto his shaft tightly, as if it's trying to milk him.

He drowned out the 'no's' 'you cant be doing this' 'stop' that slipped from your mouth, treating it like a background noise as he relished in the way you felt instead, besides, you probably didn't mean it anyway, because if you did, your cunt wouldn't be leaking right now and clenching around his cock.

He opened his eyes again, pressing soft kisses from your shoulder to neck. His hand that was groping your breast slipped down to the between of your legs, his ring and index fingers parted your pussy lips while the middle finger flicked against your clit, which caused you to rut your hips back, pushing against Yuta, taking in him entirely the point you felt his tip hit your cervix.

You yelped when you felt him hit it, immediately retreating your hips forward as your thighs ached and threatened to give up.

The stimulation to your bundle of nerves felt like pure ecstasy, you felt shame coursing through your veins along with the pleasure, and then you winced, letting out a hiss followed by an 'ouch' when you felt a sharp object dig into your fold. You looked down to see what it was. Yuta stopped rubbing when he heard your hiss, his gaze following yours.

The ring on his finger was digging into you uncomfortably, the small but protruding jewel likely hurt the sensitive tissue. Yuta withdrew his hand, bringing it up to his face and staring at it for a moment.

You thought he would stop now, maybe come to his senses that he was a married man, it still wasn't too late to uphold the sanctity of marriage right?

No.

Yuta uses his thumb to twist the ring, pushing it off from the base and up to the tip before taking it off his ring finger and tossed it away.

Your mouth slightly opened in shock at the action, you turned to look at him, he just gave you his sickeningly sweet signature smile before he tightened his hold around you and returned his fingers to your clit, rubbing it once again.

You bit your lip, head falling forward again as you shut your eyes, you were so sensitive down there and his fingers were working like magic as he kept a steady pace with his hips. He kissed the shell of your ear, before resting his head on your shoulder again.

He rubbed your clit faster as his desperation increased every second, you felt the heat pooling in your belly at the sensation, letting out soft gasps at his doing. You panted, trying to regulate your breathing as you watched his hand move at an inhumane speed.

The feeling of him hitting your gspot while he stroked your clit pushed you over the edge. You felt the build up in your lower abdomen, it only took one more stroke and one final thrust for the tightness in you to snap, sending electrical waves of pleasure all across your body, your cunt pulsated around his cock, you felt yourself lose balance and almost fall, but Yuta held you tight. Your thighs quivered as your high began to settle.

He felt your walls flutter around him, contracting and clenching around him due to your high, he gasped at the sensation, eyes slightly rolling back into his skull as he shut his eyes before he gripped your hip, sloppily thrusting into you before he came inside.

He muffled his moan by burying his face into your neck, finally setting your hands free from the tight grip he had since the beginning as he now wrapped both his around your waist, pulling you flush against him while his face and his cock remains buried into you, his cock shoots up his white spend into you, filling you up.

“Fuck, I always wanted to do this.” He whispered, panting heavily as he caught his breaths.

“I love you.” He confessed, pressing a kiss your forehead before he pulled himself out, biting his lip when he saw his cum leak out of you. Fuck. He cleaned you up, fixing you and himself up before he grabbed you and left the building.

Maki and Panda have also just returned from dealing with the curse on the other side of the building.

“Phew, that was a tough one, I didn't know it would escape that way.” Maki commented annoyedly, before she looked at you.

“Are you okay?” She asked you, and you stared up at her, guilt filling your chest, causing you to bite your lip nervously.

“She's fine, just taken aback from fighting the curse, her skills have gotten rusty after the break.” Yuta covered up, giving Maki a small smile.

Maki nodded before her eyes caught the empty space on Yuta's finger, where the ring was supposed to be.

“What happened to our wedding ring?” She questioned, raising an eyebrow, which made you tense up. Yuta stared at his hand, before he answered.

“Ah. I must've lost it during the fight.”

He wanted to blame utahime, but he knew he was at fault too, he let himself be persuaded by her words, you too were busy and couldn't make time for him— he sort of felt neglected and pent up, so he decided to indulge in her, hoping you'd not find out, telling himself that it was only going to continue until his exams ended.

Well, your relationship ended before his exams did.

And now he's fucked, shaken, and afraid to lose you forever.

'Toru🫩: Attachment: 1 image'

'Toru🫩 : Attachment: 1 image'

'Toru🫩: Attachment: 1 image'

'Toru🫩: Attachment: 1 video'

The notifications from his brother kept on incoming, he tried swiping it away at the spam but ends up accidentally clicking on the notification.

His eyes widened in shock when he spotted the content, they were pictures and videos of you.

'Toru🫩: Attachment: 2 videos'

His thumb shook as he clicked on them.

“Awh— fuck— Toru~! Oh god!” The loud noise of your voice echoed in his room, he immediately turned the volume down breathing heavy as he stared at the video.

“Feels good baby?” He could hear his twin brother's voice, but more distant since he was the one holding the camera, you nodded your head desperately, never having experienced such bliss.

Sato watches as Toru grabs your tits, squeezing them and massaging them before the screen turns black and Sato hears mewls and suckling noises before you're back on screen again, this time covered your breasts had hickies scattered all over them.

Sato gripped the phone tightly as emotions overwhelmed him, his head was ringing at the sight, he felt his throat close up with dread.

“Tell me how I feel yeah darling? The person watching this needs to know.” He says it in a mocking manner, panning the camera downwards to where you and him were connected. Sato winced at the sight.

“Look how wet she is for me.” Toru's thumb circles around your clit, causing you to rut your hips into his hand as he plunges his cock repeatedly into your hole.

squelch! squelch! plop!

The obscene moist noises of his cock ramming into your cunt could be heard clearly, invading Sato's ears as he couldn't look away. He felt himself go numb.

The video cuts off, the next one automatically plays.

“Ya— you feel good. So good!” The next one starts off with your voice again, your dazed expression as you stare past the camera, clearly looking at Toru. It made Sato's stomach churn.

“Gonna cum for me darling? Come on yeah, cum on my cock, all over me baby.” Toru encourages, understanding that your high was near, he keeps the pace steady as he fucks you, phone panning down once again as he works on your clit too, pinching and rubbing it to stimulate you further.

“Tell me how good my cock feels huh? Compared to Sato's?” He asks, and you nod dumbly, too occupied chasing your high.

“it— feels so good! better! even better than Sato— awgh fuck. yeah right there, please please.” You cry, face contorting in pleasure a moment right before you come undone with a mewl of Toru's name.

The video ends there, Sato immediately goes to the next one, eyes widening when the video starts off with Toru saying filthy stuff.

“I'm gonna cum inside you, you'll let me right? I know you will.” Toru asks caressing your face, his thumb tracing across the bottom of your lip.

There was no way you'd allow it, you always made sure Sato pull out or wear a condom, there was no fucking way—

You nodded your head, biting your lip.

Sato could feel everything around him falling apart.

Toru finishes right after, cumming inside you and then pulls out, zooming in on your cum-filled cunt as it contracted around nothing.

“Oo, look at that pussy, taking it all in like it should.” Toru giggled before pressing a kiss to it.

The was the final video.

The rest of the images were just Toru sending him pictures of your fucked out state.

'Toru🫩: imagine fumbling this goddess for some other lame ass pussy?'

'Toru🫩: lmao, thanks for fucking up tho.'

'Toru🫩: now yo girl is mine. mwah 💋'

'Toru🫩: be respectful to your future sister in law cause ain't no way I'm going to fumble her like you did and not wife her up. loserrrrr lmaooo.'

The phone screen cracked from the force of Sato's hand after the final message.

'Toru🫩: might knock her up 😛.'

The vintage filter softens your features like a sun faded Polaroid as you tuck a loose curl behind your ear, exhaling with a wistful smile.  

“So—You're probably wondering where we've been." 

The lens lingers on your face—nostalgia flickering in your dark eyes as you glance past the camera, like you can still see the walls of your old New Orleans shotgun house behind it. That cozy, creole haven with its peeling paint and humming ceiling fans, where the scent of jasmine and Eren’s cooking curled through every room. Home. 

“Six months changes things," you murmur,  “And, well...life happened." 

A breath.   

“‘Ren’s meal prep business blew up." 

The confession comes with a giggle, like even now it still feels surreal. The Seoul deal had landed like a lightning strike—some high-end Korean health conglomerate offering stupid money for exclusive rights to his keto chicken bowls and Creole-spiced shrimp packs.  

“You saw the anniversary live, right? The one where—" You bite your lip,“—Yeah. Anyway. Two days later, they slid into his email with a contract thicker than his arm.” 

But? The logistics were brutal. Endless flights between NOLA and Incheon, you both exhausted, missing each other achingly in the stretches between. You mimic Eren’s signature scowl, deepening your voice—

“'Either come with me or I’m burnin’ the passport, Bunny.'" 

The move to Korea had been a whirlwind—thrilling at first. Neon-lit streets, steaming bowls of tteokbokki at 3AM, Eren’s hands possessive on your waist as he showed you his Seoul between meetings. But then...  

Your smile falters.  

“It got lonely." 

No Sunday gumbo with your momma. No impromptu BBQs with your cousins spilling onto the porch. Just the two of you in a sleek high-rise, struggling with subway maps and missing the warmth of your people.  

“We were happy, but—hollow?" 

You press a hand to your sternum, like you can still feel the echo of it. 

You then exhale softly, curling your fingers around the edge of the sofa as you confess, “We needed a break—And ‘Ren’s birthday was the perfect excuse to escape."

The waves crash lazily in the background as you tilt your head, sunlight catching the gold hoops in your ears. 

“St. Lucia was his dream. Warm water, no schedules, no ’corporate meetings’—" You roll your eyes playfully, but the lightness doesn’t quite reach the tension in your shoulders.  

Then, quieter—  

“But...he hasn’t been handling twenty-nine the way I thought he would?” 

You bite your lip, eyes flickering toward the bedroom where he still sleeps. 

“He keeps saying shit like—" You deepen your voice into another gruff imitation of him, “'Damn, Bunny. I’m gettin’ old. Need to settle down before my knees give out.'" 

You shake your head, “It’s not just jokes, though. He’s been different. Obsessing over timelines, talking about legacy.” 

Your fingers trace idle patterns on your thigh, avoiding the camera’s gaze for a second.  

“And then one night, he just—" You swallow hard, “…He said he wanted a baby.” 

You curl into yourself slightly, arms wrapping around your middle as if bracing for impact.  

“I mean...we always talked about it. But..." you shrug helplessly, "You guys know I don’t plan on doing this—" You gesture vaguely at the camera, “Once we’re married with kids. And I love that you guys have been with us through everything. But..."

A shaky breath.  

“I never expected it to be now, you know?” 

The air between you and the lens feels thick—charged with something unspoken. Then, abruptly, you straighten, blinking away the wetness in your eyes as a slow, secretive smile tugs at your lips.

“Before I bring myself to tears—well, just watch."

The burgues script appears again. 

ST. LUCIA THROUGH YOUR EYES. 

A montage flickers to life—each frame saturated with golden sunlight and laughter, the ocean breeze tangling in your hair as St. Lucia unfolds around you both like a dream.  

The first day. ‘You in a sheer, plum wrap dress that clings to every curve, standing barefoot on the villa’s terrace as Eren’s hands slide around your waist from behind. His lips brush your shoulder—“My pretty fuckin’ Bunny,” before he nips at your earlobe, making you giggle and swat at him.  

That night. A low-lit restaurant nestled right on the beach, lanterns casting a honeyed glow over your faces. You’re seated at a candlelit table, the ocean breeze tousling the loose waves of your dark hair. The camera catches you mid-laugh—a plunging white dress clinging to every dangerous curve of your body, the neckline dipping just low enough to tease the swell of your heavy tits.  

You flash a mischievous grin at the lens, dragging your fingertip through the frosting of the miniature birthday cake the staff brought out—“For my birthday boy,” before sucking the sweetness off your finger with an exaggerated pop. 

The camera pans to Eren. 

Oh, God. 

A crisp white button-up clings to his muscular frame like a second skin, his sleeves rolled up to expose those tattooed forearms. His dark hair is slicked back in a low bun—jawline sharp enough to cut glass—green eyes glinting with something between hunger and amusement as he watches you.  

Without breaking eye contact with the camera, he leans in—dragging his tongue between your lips, stealing the last traces of frosting straight from your mouth.  

You let out a breathy giggle, cheeks flushing as he pulls back with a smirk—“‘Shit tastes better on you." 

 The second week. A bustling street market. You wear a sage green crochet bikini top and high-waisted denim shorts, sandals dangling from one hand as Eren feeds you bites of spiced plantains off his fork. His thumb swipes sauce from your bottom lip, then slowly licks it off, eyes locked on yours while vendors wolf whistle in the background under your flushed squeaking for him to stop. 

That afternoon? A lively, sun-drenched outdoor hair salon tucked under a canopy of palm leaves and strung with colorful beads that clink softly in the breeze. You’re perched on a low wooden stool, surrounded by four St. Lucian aunties—their hands moving in a hypnotic blur as they section, twist, and fold your thick, dark curls into an intricate masterpiece.  

Eren’s deep chuckle rumbles behind the camera—“Look at my baby, lookin’ like prettier than the ocean.” 

You go to stick your tongue out at him, but that’s when one of the women chides you gently in Kwéyòl—“Hold still, darling!”—before dissolving into warm laughter with the others. The rhythmic swish-swish of hair being braided fills the air, fingers tugging just enough to make you pout.  

Another day. The rainforest. ‘You in a khaki mini-skirt and a tied-up tank, shrieking as your sandal slips on a mossy rock—only for Eren to catch you mid-fall, his biceps flexing as he hauls you upright with a growl. 

“Watch ‘your feet, woman. You break an ankle, I’m carryin’ you everywhere from now on.” 

That evening. A local elder—"Banana Man," as you dubbed him—grinned toothlessly as he guided Eren’s hands around a machete, teaching him to split a ripe banana stalk. Eren listens intently, nodding, repeating phrases in rough-but-earnest Creole while you beam beside him, fingers laced through his free hand in support.  

And finally? Sunset. The beach. You in a flowy, butter-yellow sundress, bare feet sinking into warm sand as the Banana Man and another woman chuckles, handing you both each a piece of freshly-cut fruit. 

Behind you, you hear the woman fussing at Eren in the same melodic dialect, “Ou pral koupe dwèt ou yo!,”  You’ll chop your fingers off!—her tone exasperated but fond. 

You bite back a giggle, still focused on your own fruit, not daring to glance over.  

"Are you givin' her a hard time?" you call out, voice lilting with amusement.  

Eren’s response is soft, almost too casual—  

“Not at all, baby." 

A pause. Then—  

“…Might need some help from you, though." 

You roll your eyes playfully, turning with a grin—  

And the world stops.  

Because there he is.  

On one knee. 

The machete abandoned beside him, replaced by a velvet box cradled in his trembling hands. His face—usually so composed, so controlled—is raw with emotion, eyes glistening under the sunset.  

"Mwen vle ou pou tout rès vi mwen," he rasps—I want you for the rest of my life. 

A sob tears from your throat before you can stop it. Your hands fly to your mouth, the piece of fruit tumbling forgotten into the sand as your knees nearly give out.  

“Wi—YES—oh my GOD!" 

You're in his arms before he can even finish, nearly knocking him over as you collapse against his chest, babbling yes in every language you know—Creole, English, everything—between desperate kisses and tearful laughter.  

The camera cuts back to you now—sunlight catching the glint of tears still clinging to your lashes as you hold up your left hand, the diamond glinting like captured starlight. Heavy. Perfect. His. 

“We're getting married!” you whisper yell, voice trembling with a giddy, breathless laugh—but it fades too fast.  

"...Haven’t been able to get pregnant, though." 

A shaky breath. The words taste like salt and something sharper.  

“We tried. A couple times. And then...weknew." 

Your throat works around the weight of it.  

“‘Doctor ran tests. There's—" A tiny, broken noise, “A lot." 

Your gaze drops to your lap, where your other hand fists in the fabric of your slip.  

“Eren…has given up so much for our content. Let the world into us. But—" 

A tear splashes onto your knee. Then another. You don't even notice until your voice cracks.  

“All he wants now is privacy. His wife. A baby.” 

You swipe at your cheeks with the back of your hand, laughing wetly—“And I couldn’t even—" 

The sentence dies.  

For a long moment, there's just the sound of the ocean and your unsteady breathing. Then, so quiet the mic barely catches it—  

"It felt like I failed him." 

Your laughter wavers—thin and watery—as tears streak hot down your cheeks. You swipe at them with trembling fingertips, shaking your head as you murmur, “Sorry, sorry,” to the empty air.  

Your voice steadies, even as the tears keep falling.  

“But we’re here, in St.Lucia. And I get to spend the rest of my life with the man I love.” 

You tilt your face up toward the sunlight, closing your eyes for just a second—  

But that’s when the sound of heavy footsteps on tile makes your breath catch. 

And there he is.

The camera doesn’t catch his face—just the sheer mass of him, silhouetted against the morning light. Long dark hair, streaked with gold where the sun touches it. Broad shoulders, tattoos creeping up the side of his neck. His bare chest is a canvas of sun-kissed skin, scattered with moles and faint freckles.  

But you see all of him—the deep green of his eyes, hazel flecks burning under heavy brows. The natural frown etched into his features, lips full and pink, parted as he rasps—  

“Why the hell ain’t you in bed?” 

His voice is sleep-rough, edged with concern.  

“…’Couldn’t sleep,” you murmur, “Got dressed.”

Silence. 

His thumb suddenly grazes your cheek, catching a stray tear. His touch is rough but tender, tilting your face up toward him as he grunts—  

“‘You good?” 

His hand dwarfs your face, fingers tipping your chin up further. You blink up at him through damp lashes, lips curling into a soft smile despite the lingering tears. 

“‘Was just talkin' to our little family," you say, thumb brushing the camera lens gently—“They miss you." 

“I miss you in bed," he counters, voice a low, sleep-rough rumble that sends heat prickling up your neck.  

A breathless giggle escapes you as you glance at the time.

“Baby, it’s barely noon.” 

Your fingers catch his wrist, tugging lightly—“Come sit with me?" 

He hesitates—then shakes his head, jaw tightening slightly.

“I’ll ‘show face in a bit," he grunts, “‘Gotta shower first." 

“And then you’ll come?" 

"Mhm." 

The affirmation is gruff, but his grip on your chin tightens as he suddenly leans down, claiming your mouth in a deep, possessive kiss—tongue dragging slow over your bottom lip before pulling away with a wet pop. 

And then, he’s gone.

You sigh playfully, shaking your head with a knowing smile as you watch him stalk off—"That's him in a good mood," you murmur, rolling your eyes affectionately before your expression shifts—mischief sparking in your gaze.  

“Well, what he doesn't know is I've got a little surprise.” 

You bite your bottom lip, fingers tapping against your thigh.

"For him... and you guys."

 A sly wink, “You know I can't come on here without giving y'all the other part of our channel." 

With that, you hop up from the sofa—bare feet padding silently across the sun-warmed terracotta floors as you tiptoe through the sprawling Mediterranean villa.  

The outdoor shower comes into view—a stunning mosaic of turquoise and deep cobalt tiles, sunlight dappling through the latticework. The sound of rushing water meets your ears first, then—  

Him. 

Eren stands fully nude beneath the spray—a masterpiece of masculine power carved in ink and muscle. Water sluices down the hard planes of his tattooed chest, his biceps flexing as he runs a hand through his dark, wet hair—pushing it back just enough to reveal the sharp cut of his jaw, the sinful curve of his mouth. Droplets cling to his long lashes, framing those deep green eyes as he tips his head back, throat working as the water cascades over him.  

His body is ridiculous—abs like forged steel, thick thighs taut with restrained strength. And then—there. Between his legs, heavy and full even at rest, his cock hangs thick against his thigh, the flushed tip glistening under the water. 

You carefully prop the camera up, angling it perfectly to capture the outdoor shower's decadent scene before slipping the sheer coverup from your shoulders—letting it pool at your feet in a whisper of fabric. Your neon orange bikini clings to every curve as you step under the arched entrance, hips swaying with playful purpose as you approach his towering frame.

The moment your arms slide around his waist—lips pressing a teasing kiss to the small of his water-slick back—his entire body tenses. Then, slowly, he turns. 

One large hand cups your chin, tilting your face up as he looms over you—those hunter-green eyes dark with warning. 

“Du kleine Unruhestifterin," he murmurs, voice rough. 

You little troublemaker.

His tongue lolls out lazily—a silent command. You obey instantly, your own tongue slipping past your lips to meet his. The slide of them together pulls a shudder from you, your eyes rolling back as he deepens the kiss with a growl—claiming your mouth like he owns it. Because he does.

When you finally pull away—giving his bottom lip one last tug between your teeth—the noise he makes is pure animal. A deep, possessive grunt that sends heat spiraling through your core. You giggle, high and breathless, licking the taste of him from your lips.

“Be nice," you whisper, fluttering your lashes up at him—equal parts angel and devil. 

His fingers thread through your French curls, gently cradling your head as he tucks your giggles against his chest—the steady thump of his heartbeat beneath your ear. Then, finally, he turns his gaze toward the camera—voice a low, affectionate rumble. 

“She’s always been good at persuadin’ me.” 

You drape your arms around his neck, pressing your body flush against his as your giggles bubble up—tits bouncing against him playfully. 

“‘You happy now? You love all our babies?" you chirp. 

His response is a deep, vibrating ”Mhm," as his hands slide down to grip your hips possessively. You snuggle closer, tucking your face into the crook of his shoulder with a satisfied hum, breathing in his scent—sandalwood, something distinctly him. 

But while you're nestled against him like a content kitten, Eren has other plans. His lips quirk in that cocky half-smile as he mouths “I lied," directly at the camera—his wink full of mischief before he nuzzles back into you, knowing damn well what he just did.  

The camera now cuts to a sprawling deep green sofa bed in a sun drenched corner of the villa, where you're sprawled out in nothing but a skimpy gold bikini—back arched, hips tilted, ass up—your skin glistening under the Caribbean light.  

You pout dramatically at the lens, running your hands over your thighs. 

“Ugh, I swear I won’t get a full tan here!” you whine, twisting to show the untouched skin of your inner thighs—your fingers tracing the faint tan lines with exaggerated frustration.  

Before you can continue your lament, a sharp smack! echoes through the room—Eren’s palm landing firmly on your ass, making the flesh jiggle. 

”Move," he rumbles, already nudging you aside—his natural dominance taking over as he manspreads onto the sofa bed like he owns it. His tattoos flex under the golden light, one thick thigh nudging yours apart as he settles in. 

Your lips purse into an exaggerated pout, eyes fluttering up at him with faux hurt.

“You're being mean.”

Eren's stares. His index finger then crooks, wagging you closer with that effortless, commanding ease that always makes your stomach flip. You slide toward him, hips swaying playfully, until his hand cups the back of your neck and pulls you into a searing kiss—quick but deep, his tongue swiping possessively over yours before pulling away with a wet smack.

“Tut mir leid, Schatz," he rumbles—I'm sorry, baby—his rough German apology curling around your ears like smoke.  

You grin at the camera, freckles standing out against your brown skin as you rub your hands up and down Eren’s tattooed forearms. 

“Guess what we have?" you chirp, excitement bubbling in your tone.  

Eren arches a brow, his deep voice dry. 

“Fan mail?" 

"Fan mail!" you squeak, immediately digging into the pretty stack of envelopes beside you—tied together with a silk ribbon. You pluck one out, scanning it before correcting, “Fan question, actually." 

Clearing your throat, you read aloud—

“'I love you both so much—your dynamic, the way you tease each other, how passionate you are...Awe!” You pause, pressing a hand to your chest, touched. 

“'Okay, okay—so, I'm kind of shy asking this, but I'm in a relationship, and my boyfriend loves when I ride him, but I...don't really know what to do? Any tips?'"

Your lips curl into a sly grin as you shift your hips against Eren’s thigh, fingers drumming playfully on his chest.

“So, let’s talk about cowgirl—fun fact, it actually dates waaaay back," you purr, eyes sparkling with mischief.  

“…Some historians trace it to ancient tantric texts, others say it was practically sacred in certain cultures—but let’s be real," your curls sway as you tilt your head, “The real magic? ‘How many ways you can make this classic feel brand new." 

Eren’s palm thwaps your ass lightly—a silent get on with it. 

“There are several—yes, several—ways to ride," you announce, holding up the corresponding number of fingers, “And lucky for you..." You pat Eren’s thigh like he’s your favorite piece of gym equipment—“..I’ve got the perfect demonstrator right here."

His grunt is half-amused, half-exasperated as you swing a leg over him, straddling his lap playfully. 

“Consider this your full tutorial.”

Your posture shifts instantly—shoulders rolling back, lips parting with slow intention as your gaze locks onto Eren’s. The camera catches the way his pupils dilate just slightly when you run your tongue along your mouth, your voice dropping into that tone—the one that’s equal parts instructor and temptress.  

“Lesson one," you purr, fingertips skating up his chest, “Start with him comfortable. Relaxed." 

Your hips roll in a lazy circle against his lap, the heat between your thighs already unmistakable. 

“And obviously...hard. That’s the goal." 

You nip at his earlobe, breathing a giggle against his skin when his grip tightens on your waist.

“Baby," you murmur, dragging your tongue along the shell of his ear, “How’re you enjoying St. Lucia?”  

Eren’s jaw flexes—the only tell he’ll give you—but you feel him hardening beneath you, the thick ridge of him pressing insistently against your core. Your laugh is velvet-wrapped mischief as you grind down harder, relishing the way his breath hitches. 

“Mmm, that’s the reaction we want."

Your fingers glide over the bulging curves of his biceps, kneading the taut muscle with deliberate appreciation. 

“Aren’t you having fun with me?" you coo, batting your lashes up at him through the dark fringe of them.  

Eren’s eyes—always tracking you—darken further, his voice scraping low from his chest.

“You know how I feel bein’ here.”

“Good boy,” you softly praise, lips curling into that wicked little smile—the one that makes his jaw twitch. Your hands slide down to rub slow, teasing circles over his thick thighs, fingertips ghosting dangerously close to where he really wants them. 

“Thank you for being so...communicative.” 

Then, with a sinuous shift of your hips, you arch deeper into his lap—your gaze flicking back to the camera. 

“Now, tell me—does our birthday boy deserve something…special today?" 

The camera catches Eren perfectly—his dark hair pulled into a loose bun, those few stubborn tendrils escaping to frame his glaring, predatory expression. He’s pure power sprawled beneath you—legs spread wide, chest rising with each controlled breath—watching, waiting, like he’s deciding whether to make a move or let you play longer.  

Then—your hands hook into the waistband of his sweatpants. 

A sharp inhale. A quick tug.  

“Oh.” 

Your gasp is high, breathy, practically whiny as your big, round eyes drink him in—his cock springing free, thick,  flushed and already leaking just from your teasing.

“Look at you," you mewl, voice dripping with honeyed reverence—like he’s something sacred, "’All for me?" 

Eren’s smirk is barely there—just a twitch of those sinful lips—before his hand fists in your hair, tilting your face up to his.  

“Always."

Your gaze flicks back to the camera with that signature mix of sweet and sinful—letting them in on the moment before your attention returns to him. 

“Make him ready for you first," you instruct—your lips parting slightly, tongue swiping along your bottom lip as if already tasting him.  

Eren's eyes darken, his grip tightening on your thigh.  

“’You thirsty?” he rasps. 

You nod eagerly, biting down on your plush lip with those big, pleading eyes.   

He doesn't hesitate. His calloused fingers grip your chin, tilting your face up as he spits directly into your open mouth—a thick, wet string of saliva that lands heavy on your tongue.  

“Mmm—" You swallow instinctively, eyes fluttering shut as his palm cracks against your cheek.

“Zeig’s ihnen," he growls—Show them. 

And oh, you do.  

Your tongue drags slow and filthy from the thick base of him all the way up—a long, indulgent lick that leaves a glistening trail along his length. The taste of him—pure Eren—floods your senses as you swirl your tongue around his swollen tip, savoring the bead of precum that leaks onto your taste buds.  

Then—your lips part wider, sinking down onto him inch by inch until he’s pressed against the back of your throat. The sound—wet, filthy, obscene—fills the room as your nose brushes against his pelvis, swallowing around him with deliberate patience.  

Eren’s groan is low and rough, fingers tightening in your hair as he mutters something in German—praise or a curse, you can’t tell—but the way his hips twitch upward tells you everything you need to know.  

“Good fuckin’ girl.” 

Your movements grow desperate, hungry—swollen lips struggling to stretch around his impossible girth, every inch of him throbbing against your tongue as you hollow your cheeks and force yourself deeper. The sounds you make—tiny, choked mewls turning into breathless whimpers—only spur him on. His cock hits the back of your throat, again and again, the slick slap of skin against skin filling the air as you drool around him, spit dripping messily down your chin.  

When you finally pull away—gasping, lips shiny and ruined—you whine at the loss, your fingers immediately wrapping around what your mouth couldn’t take. Both hands jerk him off in tight, twisting strokes—your tongue darting out to swirl around his leaking tip, collecting the thick beads of precum and licking them up like a starving little thing.  

Eren’s voice is ragged, his German words rough and guttural—“So verdammt gierig..." 

“So greedy..." you translate breathlessly, giggling around his cock like it’s something adorable, something sweet, despite the filth dripping from your chin. Then? You’re practically bobbing your palms around his dick, going even lower than before. 

Eren’s thighs tense, muscles straining beneath ink-stained skin as he curses, fingers tightening in your curls.

“Fuck—" His head tilts back, jaw clenched, as he uses your palms—hips lifting off the bed to fuck up into your hand with sharp, punishing thrusts. You mewl once more as your mouth follows back onto his tip—sucking, sucking down. The camera catches it all—his dominance, your submission, the sinful wetness of every thrust as you put your mouth back on him—until finally, with a growl that rumbles through your bones, he yanks you off with a filthy pop. 

“Enough."  

Your lips are parted, panting, still aching for him—but his grip on your hair tightens, forcing you to meet his gaze.  

“You want to ride?" He rasps, “‘Come fuckin’ ride me.” 

“Mm, baby—“ you mewl, “This is a tutorial, shouldn’t we—“

Eren’s response is interrupting—his thick fingers hooking into the flimsy fabric of your bikini bottoms, yanking them aside with a roughness that makes your breath hitch. The sudden slap of his palm against your pussy—sharp, mean—has your hips jerking forward with it.  

“Keep goin’ then," he growls, fingers beginning to rub rough circles over your swollen clit, his other hand gripping your ass cheek tight enough to bruise. 

“Talk.” 

Your body shudders, thighs trembling as you struggle to stay composed—your giggles turning into more breathless whimpers, your voice wavering but still playful as you turn back to the camera.  

“O—Okay, so—once he’s ready," you stutter, cheeks flushed deep bronze, “You just—ah!—sink down on him—slow, okay?” You bite your lip, "Especially if—mmf!—if you’ve got someone as big as my 'Ren—“ 

Eren grunts, dragging the slick, flushed head of his cock through your dripping folds—letting the camera catch the obscene wetness coating him before he smacks your ass hard enough to leave a red handprint.  

“Ain’t nobody as big as me," he snarls, voice thick with arrogance—his grip tightening on your waist as he lines himself up, the heavy tip of him pressing teasingly against your entrance. 

“Bring it to me.” 

Your hand reaches back, fingers curling into the flesh of his thigh as you lock eyes with the camera—your lips parting around a shaky exhale as you begin to sink down onto him.  

Eren’s grip shifts suddenly—his calloused fingers seizing your jaw, forcing your face to stay angled toward the lens as he tugs you down with relentless pressure. The stretch is unreal—your walls clenching around his thick cock inch by inch as your breath hitches in your throat.  

Your eyes roll back—voice slurring as you try to keep instructing through the haze of pleasure, "Y—You wanna—mmf—take all of it—" 

Eren’s his hips jerk up hard, forcing another inch inside—his voice thick with arrogance, “You feelin’ me?” 

You whimper, hands gripping his thighs as you force yourself down, your slick walls yielding around him until your ass meets his hips—fully seated. Your face twists—lips parted in a silent moan, eyes squeezing shut before fluttering open to find him instead of the camera.  

And then—God—your folds spurt a fresh rush of cream against him, your body betraying you completely as you lose all semblance of control, trembling in his lap.  

“Look at you,” he rasps, “Actin’ like a big fuckin’ girl, little one.” 

Your arms snake around his neck, clinging to him as you press a soft, pleading kiss to his lips—whispering against them in Creole, just for him—“Lèt mwen mennen, chéri..."

Let me lead, baby… 

Eren hesitates—his dark eyes searching yours—before he exhales sharply through his nose. He pulls back just enough to guide your palms onto his chest, lips pressing against your ring, to both of your palms in turn—a silent permission—before his arms drop to his sides, muscles taut with restraint.  

“‘Go ‘head.” 

Your voice then lilts sweetly, hips rolling in slow, teasing circles against his lap.  

“Okay, so first—warm up," you murmur, fingers threading through the loose tendrils of his dark hair, tugging just enough to make his jaw clench.  

“You wanna start slow," you breathe, eyelashes fluttering—though your breath hitches when he twitches inside you, thick and impatient. 

“It's all about—mm—connection..." 

You whine a little—high-pitched, adorable—your folds clutching desperately at his cock with every tiny shift.  

“T—Take your time adjusting," you instruct shakily, though it sounds more like you're reminding yourself—your thighs trembling as you rise up until just the tip of him remains, then sink back down with a breathy sigh.  

Eren's hands flex against the sofa—his nostrils flaring as he watches you, taunting him with your lazy pace. But he lets you lead, just like you asked—even if his teeth grind together when your nails scrape against his scalp.  

“‘Feel good, baby?” 

Eren just growls, his hips jerking up just enough to make your entire body twitch.  

“Quit playin’."

Your lips press a tender kiss to the tip of his nose—soft, sweet—and he retaliates by bumping his nose against yours in return, making you giggle breathlessly.  

“Okay,” you whisper, “First three positions—think of ‘em like gears,” you explain, hips rolling in slow, indulgent circles—your thighs flexing as you shift upward, grinding rather than bouncing.  

“First gear—easy, sensual, all about the tease.”

You demonstrate, your back arching beautifully as you rock against him—your gaze locked onto his, heavy-lidded and dripping with intent, “It’s more for your pleasure, but—” 

One of your hands lifts, twirling a loose curl around your finger—your French braids cascading over your shoulders, the scent of vanilla and sunshine clinging to them.  

“You keep his attention by making him watch.” 

Your other hand slides up your own body—fingers trailing over your collarbone before you hook them into the ties of your bikini top. With a flick, the fabric falls away—your heavy breasts bouncing free, nipples peaked and begging for touch.  

Eren’s nostrils flare, but he stays still—letting you lead, even as his cock twitches deep inside you.  

“Second gear—”

 Your breath hitches as you shift again, riding him with more purpose—your hips undulating in slow, delicious waves.  

“Third gear—” 

And then you grind, your clit rubbing firmly against the base of him with every movement. A rush of pleasure floods your senses—your walls fluttering around him as you struggle to keep your voice steady.  

“Th—This one—” You swallow hard, your words slurring slightly, “Might—mmf—hit your spots—“ 

“Yeah?”

 Eren suddenly rasps—arrogant, smug—his fingers flexing against your hips but still refusing to help.  

A desperate little whimper escapes your lips—“Y—Yeah”—as your hips roll faster, grinding against him like a toy wound too tight, chasing that sweet, throbbing pleasure building low in your belly.  

Eren stays perfectly still beneath you—just watching with those eyes, his low voice taunting as he growls,  

“C'mon, baby. Keep goin’.” 

Your breath catches—a sharp gasp ripping from your throat as your head falls back, braids cascading over your shoulders. But Eren’s fingers snap up, wrapping around your throat in a firm grip, forcing your gaze back to him.  

“Nah, nah—eyes on me," he rasps, thumb brushing your pulse point—“‘Want you to see me watchin’ you.”

Tears well in your eyes—spilling over as your climax crashes into you with a sob, your cream gushing around him, coating his balls in slick heat.  

Eren tsks—his grip tightening on your ass cheek, tugging your grinding hips right where he wants them as he murmurs low in German,  

"So schön... so verdammt schön für mich…” 

So beautiful... so fuckin’ beautiful for me… 

Your hips slow to a sensual sway, chest rising and falling with each breath as your curls tumble over your shoulders, framing your breasts like a dark halo. You glance down at Eren through your lashes, lips parted as you try to steady your breathing—but the second your arms wrap around his neck, you let out a soft,  shy giggle, turning toward the camera with a sheepish smile.  

“Oops—" you murmur, voice dripping with playful sweetness, “Didn’t mean to get so...carried away."

Eren huffs out a rough chuckle, his lips trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses between your breasts—“I love watchin’ you like that. Love watchin’ you cum like that." 

You bite your lip, suppressing another giggle before looking back at the camera—your expression shifting back into instructor mode, though your voice is still breathy from pleasure.  

“See? The three gears—always gonna get you there," you sigh, fingers threading lazily through Eren’s hair—“And trust me... your man’s gonna love it."

Your lips curl into a lazy, satisfied smile as you glance at the camera, breath still uneven.  

“Not done yet though,” you hum—“‘Might feel a little sore after that first round, so this is when you just...sit in it. Warm each other up all over again." 

Your fingers trail down to nudge Eren's chin, tipping his face up toward you—your eyes softening as you whisper, "’Love you, yeah?" 

He doesn't answer with words—just tugs your mouth down to his in a slow, deep kiss, tongues sliding together with unhurried heat. His hands roam over your back, fingers pressing possessively into the curve of your hips as you shift slightly—your folds grinding lazily along the swollen tip of him, drawing a low groan from his chest.  

Then, with a breathless shudder, you sink back down onto him—your lips parting against his in a silent gasp as he fills you completely. The kiss deepens, languid and intoxicating, until you finally pull back—turning toward the camera with flushed cheeks.  

“This one—" you pant, rocking up and down in slow, shallow motions, “—We call the lazy cowgirl. No rush, no pressure... just breathing together before the next round." 

Your hips roll in smooth, rhythmic waves—your tongue dragging teasingly along Eren's neck as you murmur against his pulse, “Keep it playful now... this one's for him." 

Your hands glide over the sculpted planes of his biceps and shoulders, fingertips tracing the ink-dark tattoos as you murmur, “You’re too handsome, baby—" between slow, rocking motions. Eren grunts through the praise, dragging you into a deep, appreciative kiss—but you feel it, the way his restraint starts crumbling, the sharp catch of his breath against your lips betraying how badly he wants to take control.  

You tuck your face into the crook of his shoulder, braids spilling like silk over his skin as you peer behind you—watching the sinuous arch of your spine, the hypnotic sway of your hips as you move atop him.  

“Okay," you exhale once more, pulling back just enough to meet the camera's gaze—your voice dripping with playful mischief, “Next positions are where it gets fun—pleasurable for both of you." 

A giggle bubbles up as you admit, “It’s a silly name, but—we call this one the shakedown.” 

And then you show it—your ass lifting slightly before shaking in slow, deliberate twists atop him, the motion making your folds clench around his cock in a way that has his fingers digging into your thighs.  

A harsh smack echoes through the room—Eren’s palm cracking against your ass cheek, leaving a stinging flush in its wake. You gasp, but don't stop—grinding down harder as he spanks you again, and again,  each sharp slap punctuated by his guttural groans.  

“Fuck—" he grits out, grip bruising as he watches your body jolt with every strike.  

You whimper through it, trembling—but your voice is a pure sultry tease as you murmur to the camera, “Your man's gonna love how this looks…’gonna turn him on completely.”

Your arms tighten around his neck, fingers tangling in the hair at his naught as you continue rolling your hips in slow, decadent circles—French curls cascading like dark silk over his shoulders, tickling his chest as you tilt your head.  

“Baby...you still with me?" you tease, breathless laughter lacing your words as you nudge his temple with your nose, "’You’ve been a little quiet…”

Eren’s response is a rough blend of English and German, his voice thick with barely-restrained hunger as his palm cracks against your ass again—harder this time—forcing a sweet little “Mmph!" from your lips as you jolt forward, your mouth brushing his.  

“Scheiße—" he growls, gripping your waist as his other hand lands another stinging slap—“Du siehst so verdammt gut aus—" 

You look so fuckin’ good. 

His words dissolve into a shuddering groan as your walls clench around him, your body squeezing him in a slick, greedy rhythm. You bite your bottom lip, catching the camera’s gaze with a sultry grin—your voice dropping to a low, instructional purr.  

“Next one’s called...the swirl.” 

And then you demonstrate—your hips twisting in slow, hypnotic spirals, muscles fluttering tight around him in a way that wrings a filthy, wet sound from where you’re joined. Eren’s grip turns vicious—his cock throbbing inside you as your folds suck him deeper with every sinuous roll.  

“Goddamn, Bunny. Just like that. Shit.”  

His head is tilting back, groaning as he drags the words out.

Your breath hitches, but you keep going—grinding down in relentless circles, your body milking him with every motion as the camera captures every obscene shlick of your arousal coating him. Your hips continue their sinuous swirl, fingertips skimming the hard planes of his chest before crawling up to cradle the back of his neck possessively.  

“This is your chance to dominate.”

Eren's head stays tilted back, his hunter-green eyes locked onto yours—jaw clenched so tight you can see the muscle twitch. His chest heaves with each ragged breath, his cock twitching as your folds clench in another deliberate, milking squeeze.  

“Hell—" he grunts out, fingers digging into your hips, “That feels too fuckin’ good.”   

“Yeah?" 

“Yeah.” 

And you smile, rolling your hips in another filthy, slower, perfect circle.

Your gaze locks onto the camera as you plant your feet firmly on the sofa—tightening your thighs around his hips as your fingers drag lower, tracing the hard ridges of his abs with deliberate admiration.  

"And this—" you breathe, “—Is probably your man’s favorite. The expert cowgirl. Where you let him use you to his strength... his advantage."

Your eyes flick down to Eren, lashes fluttering as you coo, “My man’s so strong—‘can fuck me any way he wants to."*  

The second those words leave your lips, Eren’s grip shifts—his hands sliding beneath your thighs, fingers digging into the plush skin of your ass as he takes control, tugging you down onto his cock with a slow, purposeful bounce. 

“This—ooh!—this’ll also hit your spots if you let it—" 

You gasp, your words fracturing as his tip drags directly over that spongey sweet spot inside you. Your eyes roll slightly—a giggle bubbling up as you try to suppress the shiver of pleasure that ripples through you.  

"That’s it," he rasps, his grip tightening as he drives you down harder, faster.

“Take it. Take it. Squeezin’ me just fuckin’ right.” 

Your thighs tremble—your folds fluttering around him as he uses you exactly how he wants, his cock pistoning into that perfect, blissful spot with every snap of his hips.  

“Eren—" you whimper, your control slipping—your body melting under the weight of his dominance.  

“Nuh uh,” he grunts, “Feel it.” 

Your fingers slide helplessly over the thick ridges of his biceps beneath you—and that’s when a real, broken whimper claws its way out of your throat, voice trembling as you gasp,  

“F—Feels too—mmph!—too good—" 

Eren’s response is a rough, impatient tch—his grip tightening as he growls, “You ain’t been enjoyin’ yourself enough. Hold onto me.” 

At those words? Your head lolls back, your body going pliant against him as he pounds you—his powerful thighs driving you up and down his cock in slow, devastating bounces that leave your vision hazy. Your nails dig into his forearms—your whine pitching higher, dissolving into a slurred “Mmmphfuh—!" as your words fail you completely.  

“I c—can’t think.” 

And that’s when you see it—that untamed, rough-edged side of him that follows him everywhere. The country boy who doesn’t ask, just takes—who fucks you with the same effortless dominance he carries in every other part of his life. His hands slide up to your waist, fingers bruising as he lifts you—then drops you back onto his cock with a filthy, wet slap, his hips driving up to meet you.  

“Don’t gotta think," he rasps—voice dark, mean with desire. 

“Just keep takin’ it.” 

Eren's hands lock around your hips like steel bands—his thick cock splitting you open with every brutal, upward thrust. This ain't riding anymore. This is him fucking you—claiming you—his deep southern drawl rumbling against your ear as he takes over your lesson with rough, possessive authority. 

“Last one, baby. My fuckin' favorite—the Noise Complaint.”

And God, you understand why he named it that the second his powerful thighs flex beneath you. His grip is absolute—those big, rough hands lifting your entire body with terrifying ease before slamming you back down onto his cock in slow, devastating drops. The sound is obscene—a wet, rhythmic clap of skin-on-skin that echoes off the walls, punctuated by your broken little “Ah! Ah! Ah!" with every bounce.

It’s everything that defines him—raw, unfiltered, dominance, that arrogance dialed to eleven. Clap after clap after clap—skin slapping against skin in a rhythm so loud it dares the neighbors to complain.  

“Hear that?" Eren growls, “That’s the shit I wanna hear.”

You're sobbing now—pathetic, high-pitched whines of “E—Eren!" tumbling from your swollen lips as your body betrays you, clamping down on him in helpless pleasure. 

“Take your reward for bein' such a good fuckin’ teacher.” 

Your fingers clutch at his forearms, desperation creeping into your voice as you whimper, “Baby, please—‘wanna cum in my favorite position...” 

“‘Thought it was my birthday, huh?” 

But you give him those eyes—the ones that always make him cave—your lower lip trembling as you hiccup, “Please?"

It’s almost adorable—the way you beg, your tits bouncing with every ragged breath, those big, pleading eyes. How could he say no? 

“Face first, ass up—now.” 

You scramble to obey—arching your back sexily, pressing your flushed face into the sofa cushions as you present yourself for him. The contrast is stark—your small frame dwarfed beneath his towering body, your curves trembling as you wait.  

Eren’s gaze flickers to the camera—“‘She knows how she submits in this position," he rumbles, gripping his cock at the base as he watches your folds drip for him. He drags the thick head of his dick against you, taunting you as he growls—

“Only givin’ it to you if you take all of me—no fussin’." 

You bite your lip—your fingers clenching the cushions—before spreading yourself wider for him, your voice a sweet, breathless whimper. 

“Won’t fuss... ‘promise."

His thick thumb presses down on the small of your back, forcing your spine into a deeper arch as he spreads your folds wider with his free hand. 

“All of it," he grunts—and then he sinks into you all at once, his heavy cock stretching you to the limit in one relentless push.  

You groan—a high, desperate whimper tearing from your throat as your pussy makes a wet pfft sound around him. He doesn’t let you adjust—just tugs halfway out before slamming back in, the sudden stretch making you sob adorably into the cushions.  

Again.  

Again. 

Again.  

Over and over—until the pleasure borders on discomfort, his thick shaft dragging against your walls with brutal precision.  

“Fuck," Eren curses—his voice rough as he starts bouncing you on his cock, your hips gripped tight in his hands.

“Always so fuckin’ tight.” 

His groans deepen—low, drawn-out, almost pained—as your slickness coats him completely. 

“Goddamn, you’re drownin’ me—“ he pants, hips stuttering as your pussy squelches around him with every thrust. He’s not even lifting you anymore—just pounding into you over and over, your cries turning into sweet, broken sobs as you drag his name out pitifully, “E—Erennn.” 

His breath comes jagged—his own control slipping—as he mutters again, “Fuck—you’re so wet—" 

And then—with one final, punishing thrust—he buries himself fully inside you, his hips flush against your ass.  

That’s when he moans—really moans—his voice slurring. 

“Fuhhhhckkk.” 

You whimper back—slurring messily, your words barely coherent as you press your forehead into the cushions. 

His thrusts slow as he angles his hips just right, grinding the thick head of his cock against that spot once more. 

“C'mon," he growls, voice rough with urgency, his grip tightening on your hip—“Get it out. Wanna feel you drench me—make a fuckin' mess." 

He yanks himself out, his cock glistening with your slick as he fists himself hard, head tipping back with a jagged groan.  

The sudden emptiness makes you whine—but before you can protest, his palm cracks against your ass hard, the sharp sting forcing another sob from your lips.  

“Rub that clit," he orders, his voice dark with command—“Don't stop 'til you squirt all over me." 

Your thighs tremble violently as your fingers fly to your swollen clit, circling desperately—your entire body tensing as pleasure coils too tight, too much— 

"’Ren—‘M—gonna—!" you wail, your voice breaking into a sweet, shattered sob.  

He groans—filthy and approving—his strokes on his own cock speeding up as he watches you unravel.  

“I know,” he rasps, his green eyes burning with lust. 

“Do it. Cover me." 

Your back arches violently as your climax explodes out of you—a gushing, uncontrollable flood that soaks his thighs, the sofa, everything—your pussy pulsing around nothing as you scream his name.  

Eren growls, his own release hitting him just as hard—thick ropes of cum painting your trembling ass as he groans through gritted teeth.  

“Good fuckin’ job, Bunny.”

Your body shudders as the last waves of your climax begin to ebb—but then, without warning, a different kind of release crashes over you. Soft, warm tears spill down your cheeks, catching you by surprise that you quickly wipe your face. It’s not just pleasure anymore—it’s something deeper, more needed, like your body finally surrenders to the intensity of everything you just felt.  

Eren notices immediately.  

“C'mere," he murmurs, his voice suddenly tender as he pulls you against him, ignoring the mess between you both. His large hands cradle your face, thumbs brushing away your tears as he tucks you into the safety of his chest.  

His fingers slide into your braids, stroking gently—his lips pressing against your temple in slow, soothing kisses as he whispers, “You did so fuckin’ good." 

You cling to him, your breath hitching as the last tremors of emotion—and pleasure—rush through you. His warmth, his scent, the steady thud of his heartbeat beneath your ear—it all grounds you, wrapping you in a cocoon of safety.  

“I got you,” he rumbles, “Always do.” 

Your body melts into him, boneless and spent as you curl your arms around his neck and tuck your face against his skin—hiding from the camera’s gaze, suddenly shy despite everything you’ve just shared. Eren chuckles—a deep, knowing sound—his fingers tracing idle circles against your lower back.  

“‘Never done that before,” he muses, voice rough with amusement—but there’s no teasing in it. Just warmth.  

You don’t answer—just nuzzle deeper into him, your breaths slow and steady against his chest. And like always, he adjusts—his knees bending slightly to give you what you need, his frame curling around yours protectively.  

But then—his phone rings.  

Eren tenses—his head lifting with a frustrated suck to his teeth—but before he can dismiss it, you murmur, “Might be your Korean investors, baby… take it." 

He exhales through his nose.  

"Fuckin’ timin’.”

His lips linger against your temple—warm and rough—before he rises from the sofa, his towering frame momentarily blocking the camera’s view. You curl your knees to your chest, still glistening with sweat, your wide, round eyes tracing his every movement—the way his muscles shift beneath his tattooed skin, the way his damp hair clings to the back of his neck.  

“Got me on international fuckin’ hold," he grumbles, glancing back at you with a smirk.  

A weak, breathless smile tugs at your lips.

But then your gaze sharpens, studying him—the way dominance radiates off him even now, the handsomeness etched into every sharp angle of his face—and something tender swells in your chest.  

"Need me to translate when they pick up?" you offer softly, tilting your head.  

His green eyes narrow—defensive. 

“What you tryin’ to say?" 

“That my Korean’s better than yours." 

He grabs your discarded top off the floor, entirely dismissing your insult—“Put this on," he orders, tossing it toward you.  

You catch it lazily, shrugging. 

“Not like they didn’t just watch me—"

“Bunny." 

His voice drops—a warning.  

You sigh dramatically but relent, sliding the fabric over your head as he steps closer. His fingers brush your nipples through the material—rough, possessive—before he cups your chin, kissing you briefly, firmly. 

A command, not a request.  

You don’t kiss back—just nod with another sigh, letting him suck your bottom lip once more before he pulls away, already striding out of frame. 

You tie the strings of your top back into place, smoothing the fabric down with a soft, playful smile toward the camera—your cheeks still flushed, curls tousled from Eren’s hands.  

“Hope y’all enjoyed fanmail," you hum, "It’s always fun answering your questions.”

Behind you, Eren’s deep voice rumbles in Korean—Yes, I understand. I’ll contact you after reviewing the contract again. 

You glance over just in time to see him staring directly at you—chin lifted, green eyes gleaming with challenge—as he over-enunciates each syllable, chest puffed with pride.  

You roll your eyes hard, fighting a grin as you turn back to the camera and whisper, “He’s been studying as you can tell.” 

For the next few minutes, you chat sweetly with the camera—rambling about random things, laughing as you adjust the camera angle—until Eren reappears, a rare, broad grin splitting his face.  

“They doubled the investment,” he announces, voice thick with satisfaction.  

Your hands clap together, “That’s huge, baby! I knew they’d love you.”

“Let’s celebrate,” he rumbles, already striding toward the kitchen—“‘You hungry?" 

You nod eagerly, rubbing your arms as you follow his movements—watching as he pulls open the fridge, muscles flexing under the dim kitchen lights.  

“Could make spicy pork stir-fry," he muses, glancing at you—“Or that creamy garlic shrimp you like. Maybe both."

You rest your head on your knees, watching him move through the kitchen with that effortless, masculine grace.

“Whatever your heart desires, birthday boy." 

His shoulders tense slightly—the way they always do when he’s deep in thought, jaw locked tight. You notice it instantly.  

“Mon chéri," you say softly in Creole, voice a gentle hum beneath the sizzle of the pan—"Défroncé to mâchoire—li plen de tension."

Unclench your jaw—it’s full of tension. 

“‘Force of habit.”

“You’d think you were always unhappy,” you warily murmur—which he hears of course. 

Eren pauses.

“Why wouldn’t I be happy here with you?" he counters gruffly, not looking up—but you hear it, the defensiveness. 

“‘Just wanna pick your brain," you admit, tracing idle circles on your knee—“Feels like if I don’t...I lose you a little." 

Eren stills. Then, finally, he turns—his green eyes meeting yours, really meeting them, as he sets the knife down.  

“Alright," he rumbles, “Pick, then.” 

You let out a slow sigh, chewing your bottom lip as you search for the right words—your fingers twisting together in your lap. 

“We’ve been in St. Lucia for a while now,” you start, “After everything—the chaos, the traveling, the proposal,” Your lips curl into a soft smile at the memory—"I’m so happy here, ‘Ren. It’s everything I never knew I needed. But..." 

Your throat tightens—because the unspoken thing hangs between you, heavy and undeniable.  

“…I just need to know you’re happy too," you finally say, fingers pressing into your knees—“That nothing’s...disappointed you.  

Eren’s expression darkens—not in anger, but in fierce disagreement as he steps closer, crowding your space, his rough palms cupping your face.  

“Listen t’ me," he rumbles, “There’s nothin’ more I could ask for. You—this—us—" His thumb swipes at your mouth, “You’re my fuckin’ world, woman.”

You press your forehead to his, closing your eyes as you exhale softly—nodding as you whisper, “Okay." 

His hands grip your hips roughly, lifting you just enough to smack your ass—the sharp crack making your body jump as he growls, “Let's have some fun, yeah?"

A soft laugh bubbles up in your throat, but before you can respond, he’s already moving—grabbing a glass, rummaging through the fridge.  

“Want me to make you a drink?" he offers, half-turned toward you, already reaching for a bottle of rum.  

You shake your head, “You're an amazing cook, baby—not the best bartender. ‘M fine." 

“Oh?" His head snaps towards you, “So now my drinks ain’t good enough?" 

He turns back towards the fridge grabbing fresh fruit, mint, and crushed ice.  

“Gonna’ make you eat those words," he mutters—but there’s a smirk tugging at his lips. 

You grab the camera, following him into the kitchen with quiet steps—propping it up at the perfect angle to capture this moment. The lens frames him perfectly—his broad shoulders, the way his muscles flex as he bends into the fridge, rummaging for ingredients. You press yourself against his back, molding your body into the warmth of his frame, breathing him in.  

Eren chuckles—a low, rumbling sound—before reaching his arm back, large hand cradling your head gently. He tilts his face toward yours, capturing your lips in a slow, tender kiss.  

"Love you too," he murmurs against your mouth before pulling away, returning to his mission—citrus fruit in hand, determined to prove his bartending skills.   

“I’m really okay without a drink," you say softly.  

Eren immediately shoots you a frown. 

“We’ve been in St. Lucia for a month," he points out, voice dripping with faux sadness—“And you haven’t drank with me in two whole weeks. What’s goin’ on, huh? I thought you loved me?” 

“Pregnant women can’t drink, baby." 

Eren freezes. 

His hands still—mid-squeeze of a lime—juice dripping forgotten onto the counter.  

Slowly, he turns—his green eyes locking onto yours, darker than you’ve ever seen them.  

“Bunny," he says—just that—his voice a growl, rough with shock.  

You nod—shuddering out a nervous giggle—your fingers twisting together.  

“…Yeah." 

And then—his hands are on you, cupping your face, his thumbs brushing your cheeks as his forehead presses to yours—his breath uneven.  

“Fuck," he rasps—and for the first time in years, Eren Yeager sounds shaken.

“How long?" he rasps, voice rough with emotion.

You bite your lip, exhaling shakily. 

“Remember... when we first got here?” you murmur, brushing your thumbs over his wrists, “I cried because I wanted dragonfruit—and you scoured the whole island trying to find one?" 

A slow realization flickers in his eyes—because you don’t crave things like that. Not randomly. Not desperately. 

“…I knew something was off then," you admit softly, “Took a test a few days later...and I—" Your voice cracks slightly, “I didn’t believe it. ‘Thought I was seeing things. So I waited. ‘Took another one. And another." 

Eren’s jaw clenches—his breathing uneven—but you can see it in his eyes, the way his mind races, piecing together every moment, every mood swing, every sign.

“I’m sorry," you whimper, pressing your forehead harder against his, “I was so scared it was a false positive—‘didn’t want you to get your hopes up just for it to be nothing." 

His grip shifts—one hand sliding down to press against your stomach, his palm huge against you, like he’s already trying to feel what’s growing there. 

“When the doctors told me I was possibly infertile…it terrified me—not just because of what it meant for us, but because... I realized how much I wanted this. How much I wanted your baby." 

A tear slips free, trailing down your cheek as you continue, words spilling out in a fragile rush—  

“But Korea’s so far from home, ‘Ren. All our family’s back in New Orleans, and I—" Your breath hitches, “I want my momma through this. I want her with me when I’m scared, when I don’t know what’s happening to my body. I wanna be home. But I also don’t wanna be away from you—not for a single second of this.” 

Your throat tightens, another wave of fear crashing over you—  

“And our supporters... our careers... I’m scared of shutting ourselves away from the love we’ve built. I just don’t wanna feel alone—“

“Stop," he orders, voice raw with conviction, “Stop worryin’—right fuckin’ now. You hear me?" 

His grip tightens, eyes burning into yours—  

“I’d burn down whole goddamn countries for you. For this baby. You wanna go home? We’re goin’.You want your momma? I’ll carry her ass to Korea myself. You scared of bein’ alone? Not happenin’—not as long as I’m breathin’." 

A shuddering little cry escapes you—but Eren doesn’t let you crumble. He crushes you to his chest, his heartbeat thundering against your ear as he rasps—  

“You’re mine. This baby’s mine. Not distance, careers, not anythin’ will stop me from takin’ care of you.”

You mewl “I love you" against his lips in a tearful, trembling kiss—his mouth crashing into yours with a devotion so deep, it vibrates through your entire body. The heat of his hands cradling your face—every touch radiates pure, unfiltered love.  

Pulling back slightly, you turn your watery gaze toward the camera, your damp lashes fluttering as Eren ducks his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply—like he’s memorizing your scent, grounding himself in you.  

“We’re having a baby," you beam, voice thick with emotion, wiping your cheeks with the back of your hand.  

Eren lifts his head, eyes locking onto the camera—determined, possessive—before he gruffly murmurs, “Y’all been with us through everything. ‘No way we go through this without you. Expect more content—a lot more." 

Your breath catches—“You sure?" you whisper, searching his face.  

He nods without hesitation, “‘Only want you happy, Bunny.” 

And then—without warning—you launch yourself into him, legs wrapping around his waist as you giggle, “We’re having a babyyy!” 

Eren grunts as he catches you effortlessly, a playful growl rumbling in his chest as he clutches your body tight—“Let’s go see if we can get you pregnant twice.” 

"i don't–"

"did you miscount?" his head pops around the door. he scans the empty packet in your hands and gives you a sympathetic look.

"i guess... maybe i looked at the wrong date on the calendar... fuck, that's so annoying!" you make a face and flick the empty pack into the trash.

he swallows. when you peer up at him, you find that he's avoiding your eyes, hands clasped in front of him like he's trying to keep them from fidgeting. "i mean..."

"what?"

"it's not the worst thing," he murmurs. he does glance up at you now, narrowing his eyes slightly like he's trying to stop himself from smiling. "i-i mean, it could be worse, right?"

"izuku."

"i'm not... i'm just saying! your appointment could be in a couple weeks, or next month, right?" he takes a step into the bathroom and unclasps his hands, wiggling his fingers unconsciously like he wants to reach for you. instead he drops his arms.

"izuku." your tone is chiding, but it doesn't carry much weight. you raise an eyebrow at him and press your lips into a thin line to stop the smirk that's itching to form.

he takes another step forward. he really needs to wipe that look off his face; it makes him look like a kid in a grocery store about to beg his mom for a treat he knows he shouldn't have. makes him look greedy.

"yes my love?" he's starting to crowd your space a little bit, big wide eyes shining with something like hunger. one of his hands twitches, and he finally gives in and slides it on your hip, squeezing just a little.

your shorts are thin. why are your shorts so thin, are they always this thin? his touch tickles and you shiver.

you can't look at him, can't make eye contact because you know exactly what will happen (it involves a lot less clothes... which is what always happens when he looks at you like this) and you can't risk it – so you say just that.

he huffs a little breath through his nose, almost in amusement, and rubs a circle into the junction between hip and waist with his thumb. it's a nice soothing pressure.

"alright, baby."

there's no commentary – suspiciously no commentary. he plants a kiss on the top of your head, gives your hip another squeeze; when you finally sneak a glance up at him he gives you a sweetheart smile, the one that softens his whole face. he couldn't fake that smile if he tried; it's not withholding, just earnest. "whatever you want, okay?"

you nod and give him a kiss, rubbing at his chest. he smells good, post-work out and pre-shower, all sweaty and musky, and his lips are so soft, you find yourself hanging on to the soft and pliant fabric of his t-shirt. he's so warm too. his other hand finds your waist and he pulls you forward, deepening the kiss with a little sigh into your mouth, and you can't help but lean into him. when your nails scratch against his skin through his shirt (just a little!), he inhales sharp and through his nose, chest rising beneath your fingers. then he groans into your mouth, sliding his hand slightly higher up your torso until it rests right against your abdomen.

god, you feel hot. is it hot in here? it's like heat is radiating off of izuku in waves, warming your cheeks and making your heart beat faster. kissing him feels so good, makes you feel all gooey and needy and–

shit. nope!

nope nope nope.

releasing his shirt, you flatten your palm and push, breaking the kiss. "you're playing dirty," you mutter with a scowl. he just smiles and kisses you again, no funny business this time.

"you're the one who kissed me first, baby."

"ugh!" you slap his chest and step around him to get to the hallway. "i have to get dressed or i'm gonna be late for work!"

what you miss are his eyes glueing themselves to your hips the second you pass by. he cranes his neck to watch you walk away, leaning against the doorframe to track your form until it slips into the bedroom and out of sight.

shit.

it could be said that izuku is a man with incredible self control. he's been through hell and back, and he stayed true and genuine the entire time; he only had a year to prepare himself for one for all, and he did it; he follows his self-made schedule more rigorously than anyone you've ever seen; one time he explained to you how he organizes his hero notes, and it was so thorough and so detailed, you knew you could never commit to such a system, but izuku does; he's disciplined like that.

it could also be said that izuku is a man with very, very little self control. especially when it comes to you.

he finds himself on edge for the rest of the day.

your little messages don't help. they aren't even anything crazy, which makes it worse.

around lunchtime, you text:

thinkin abt u baby!

he sets his chopsticks down and presses the heels of his hands into his eyes, rubbing them like it will somehow release the tension he's felt churning in his gut ever since he saw that empty pill packet in your hands.

he doesn't think he's gonna make it until your appointment. the only thing he's thought about all day is how pretty you always look when he's got a hand pressed to your abdomen, hips flush with yours as the the tip of his cock stays nestled right up to your cervix and keeps you plugged nice and full; how pretty you sound when you beg for it: please, izuku, i–ngh–i need it...

damn it! he has to cut off this line of thinking before he spirals. adjusting his pants to account for the semi he's sporting (seriously?), he flips his phone over and picks up his chopsticks.

then he sighs. he sets them down again, picks up the phone, and sends a response:

i've been missing you all day

his thumbs hover over the keyboard before he types:

seriously, all day

then he really turns the phone around, switching it to silent for good measure. unfortunately, this measure is useless, since it doesn't stop him from checking it every five minutes. he's never taken so long to eat a meal in his life, but he keeps getting distracted: setting his chopsticks down and sighing, staring morosely at the food in his bento.

he'd feel better if he knew what you were doing, how you were feeling, what your day has been like. he misses you.

you miss him too. you can't remember the last time a day at work felt so long. all morning, time has dragged on and on, but the clock never seems to change all that much. it doesn't help that you're glancing at it every few minutes, and it certainly doesn't help that you decid to wait until lunch to text izuku. hasn't it been 10 for like an hour already? surely more time than that has passed, right?

he's been taking up space in your mind ever since this morning. that heat you felt emanating from him never left, lingering in the pads of your fingers where they touched his chest and traveling through your bloodstream, veins and arteries carrying it to everywhere else; he may as well have transferred it to you. now he swims in your consciousness, floating through your thoughts as though you're dreaming. it's impossible to focus.

impossible to focus on work, that is. it seems since you saw that empty birth control packet in your hands, there's been only one thing on your mind.

izuku always fucks you properly. you're never left needy or wanting. he takes good care of you, and right now, it's all you can think about. you want him to bully that fat cock inside without any barriers between you, wanna feel him with no limits... just you and him, raw. you and him, as close as you can possibly be... he always makes you feel so good, always keeps you so full and–

ooooookay!

that's enough of that. there's still another hour until lunch time, and if you're getting this distracted already you're never gonna make it.

when it comes to each other, you and izuku are both experts in the art of communicating through what goes unsaid. throughout the day, you send little texts back and forth, and there's nothing overtly sexual in any most of them, but by the time you're catching your train home your panties are drenched and it’s all his fault.

he knew exactly what he was doing when he sent you that post-workout selfie in the late afternoon... the one he conveniently "forgot" to send this morning… yeah, right. more like he saved it to use against you later. it was only fair when you retaliated with a picture hastily taken in the bathroom of your work, shirt tugged down enough that your bra peaked generously over your top's neckline... if he's gonna fight dirty, then so are you!

when you get home, right away, he's hovering; taking your coat, offering you a drink (of your choice!). after you change he's guiding you to the couch and pressing you gently on to it. he slips a pair of socks on to your feet and rubs your shins, pausing before glancing up at you. "you were on my mind all day today."

what a deliberately nonchalant tone he's adopted! it seems he's deciding to play it cool, something he's never been very good at. you run a hand through his hair and then rest it on the side of his face – he immediately leans in to your touch, eyes fluttering closed when your nails scratch at his scalp.

he's so easy.

"yeah?"

"yeah! i, uh, i was thinking about what we talked about this morning..."

your lips twitch into a smile. he's so easy you can't resist messing with him a little. "which thing?"

"oh, the... um, the birth control thing... and i was thinking..."

"oh! that reminds me–" you spring up from your seated position and he starts, falling back until he lands ass first on the floor. he stays there, defeated, as you scurry to your bag and pull out a small box.

he eyes it carefully. "what have you got there?"

"condoms," you explain, pressing the cardboard between your fingers and sliding a foil from the package. it crinkles between your fingers, shiny surface catching the lamplight. "y'know... in case... well, i mean, i figure we'll need them."

now how to respond? does he press the issue now or later? he can tell, with the way your lips tremble – you're bluffing. have to be.

how cute! did you go all the way to the store to buy – what is that, a 3-pack? – it is! a box of three condoms that he's unsure would fit anyway, all to pretend like later you aren't going cum on his very much unwrapped cock. as if three condoms would be enough to last the four days between now and your appointment anyway. they must have been the cheapest option. he loves it when you commit to a bit.

sure, the two of you used condoms plenty of times back when you first started sleeping together. it's just that the first time you had sex without a condom... game changing, and you've never looked back.

"that's very... thoughtful. wow, thank you baby! nice work, thinking ahead like that."

you purse your lips. "...yeah, you're welcome."

you had gone to the store, a 7/11 that was about five minutes away. it had been an afterthought on your walk home from work. you really thought he would protest more when he saw them, or even laugh–maybe you're misreading things? is he being annoying on purpose or just being sweet and now you're the crazy one playing mental games?

except you know how izuku feels about raw sex (with you, specifically). and you know that on the inside he has to be nearing his limit. you saw the look on his face this morning, you know what he's thinking about. it's like he just expects you to roll over, to give up and ask him for it. where's the effort? you'd love to see him beg a little.

you saunter back into the living room and haphazardly toss the condom on to the table, then turn towards the kitchen.

"i'm gonna get started on dinner. if you don't have work to finish you can get rice going."

izuku nods and mutters something that's supposed to sound like acknowledgment, but sounds more like a grunt instead.

as you walk away, he stares at your ass from his spot on the floor. he can't help himself. all that purported self control, erased the second you enter his field of vision.

he loves you, more than life itself; loves your mind and your sense of humor, loves the way you talk to yourself when you think no one's looking and the sound of your voice. when you direct that pretty voice in his direction it makes him feel like a truly lucky man, not everyone is so blessed! with all the things you could say and all the people you could say them to, you choose to spend your time talking to him – and gosh, does he love you for it.

but... honestly? he didn't hear a thing you just said. were you even talking just now? he's pretty sure he saw your lips moving...

it's like he's in a trance; all he can hear is blood rushing in his ears and the sound of his heart trying to claw it's way out of his chest and lay down at your feet. step on it, who cares? he'd die for you. do whatever you want. the way you look right now, he's pretty convinced you're some kind of deity, and he just wants the chance to worship at your altar.

"wait–" he gets up and stumbles after you, fingers itching to touch. in the kitchen, he finds you washing your hands at the sink, back turned. he wastes no time, sidling up behind you and grabbing your hips, leaning in to press his nose to the back of your neck and taking a deep breath.

"baby." now he's turning you around slowly, laughing when you glare at him.

"i'm a little busy, don't know if you noticed–"

he reaches behind you and turns off the sink, using his hips to press you against the counter.

that same smoldering heat erupts at the point your hips make contact and your mouth actually falls open at the sensation. every touch with izuku always seems to be laced with electricity, and now it's arcing between your bodies, building and expanding – when they say sparks flying, this is what they're talking about.

between his two large hands, he holds your cheeks with great care. his thumb brushes over your lips, catching on the bottom one and dragging it down until it bounces back into place.

whenever he captures one hundred percent of your attention, he isn't playing fair. he has this incredible ability to turn a mundane moment into an unforgettable one, and he wields it in moments just like this. maybe it's the attention he gives you and it's undivided nature, maybe it's the way he touches you like he never wants you to forget the way it feels, but one moment you're washing your hands and the next you're tunnel visioned and starry eyed, forgetting where you are or what you're doing as he stares at you like you invented the sun. yeah, it makes your heart melt and your brain short circuit, how could it not?

works like a charm, every single time.

"m'sorry, baby," he murmurs. "i didn't get to kiss you hello."

"no"–you gulp–"you didn't."

he doesn't make either of you wait for it anymore. his lips press against yours, firm and soft and familiar. when they part open you follow suit, an open invitation which he's happy to take. he groans, so satisfied at the way you taste he has to vocalize it. how could he not, when he's been craving about that flavor all day?

now you're tugging on his hair and panting into his mouth and grinding against his thigh that he doesn't even remember slipping between your legs, he just did it without thinking because it felt like the right thing to do and here you are rubbing all over it and he'll be damned because you're somehow wearing those tiny little shorts again. so thin. why do they even make shorts that thin? when did you have time to change and how come he didn't notice? are you trying to kill him?

he pulls away and one hand tugs at your waistband impatiently. "come on," he complains. "these don't even count as clothes. you're fighting so much dirtier than i am!"

"they're pajamas," you emphasize, like that exonerates you. "and you're the one who sent a gym picture when you weren't even at the gym–"

"–because you sent me that text about ovulating–"

"–that's–not–that's unrelated!"

"nuh-uh!"

he abruptly tosses you over his shoulder, ignoring your squeal, and marches back into the living room, dropping you somewhat unceremoniously on the couch before climbing over you. his thigh finds it's way back between your legs.

"izuku!" you gasp. every time he manhandles you like that, it leaves you a little breathless. it's a jarring reminder that he can do whatever he wants with you.

"you... your–this–this little back and forth has been so cute," he says. this psychological foreplay has been fun but if he doesn't get a visual on your pussy in the next five minutes he's worried he might explode. "and, gosh, you're so cute, cutest in the world, but honey"–the look he gives you is exasperated, like he knows he signed up for this but he's still regretting it a little bit–"i'm sorry, i can't do it anymore."

both of his hands rest on your hips, fingers curled around the elastic of your shorts. "these can come off or stay on, it doesn't matter to me."

does this mean you win? you technically held out the longest, not that you'd really call it holding out... self control when it comes to izuku is not an area you excel in. something you both have in common.

it doesn't matter. you've both won, now it's time for your reward.

"take them off," you say, voice cracking at the end. it's not something you have to ask for twice.

he yanks the shorts down your legs, shaking his head the whole time. then it's time for your underwear, and he's gentler, but equally as impatient.

need is finally starting to catch up to you, and you feel almost drunk with izuku looming over you like this. he feels too far away. you want him to stretch you out on his cock so badly it feels like you're going to pass out, but he slides two fingers between your folds instead.

"gosh, you're so... already this wet? thinkin' about it all day, huh?" he slips one finger inside and you moan.

"don't... you don't... just, i wanna feel you right now," you urge.

he slips in another finger, curling and pumping them in the way he knows you like. his movements are intentional, calculated and efficient. they're not dragged out, he can't handle that right now. fingering you to make sure you're aroused enough to take him is really a formality in this moment – it's obvious with the way you're dripping down his hand and on to his wrist that you're ready to go.

"what do you wanna feel?" he presses, using his other hand to pull his shirt over his head and fumble with his belt. you don't waste any time, pulling the rest of your own clothes off.

he pulls his fingers out of you and jerks them down his length a few times, spreading the ample pre-cum that leaks from his tip to lubricate himself before lining himself up.

"i wanna feel"–you shudder when his tip presses past your entrance–"f-fuck–wanna feel your cock filling me up. just-just your cock, nothing"–he bottoms out and you yelp–"nothing else."

he shifts his weight until he's right on top of you, holding himself up with his knees. he lowers his lips to your ear.

"but what about protection?" he purrs.

you don't need it with izuku. there's nothing to protect you against. anything he has to give you is something you'll accept.

you gasp. "i don't... want it!"

"i don't know, sounds pretty risky..." he taunts, torturing you with a slow roll of his hips. it doesn't matter if he was the one to give in first, izuku always makes you beg for it eventually.

clenching around him, you whine "come on...!", locking your legs around his hips. one of your hands finds his shoulders and clings to them.

fine. enough of this. if he gave in so can you.

"izuku," you say thickly. "i want you to cum inside. please, i'm-i'm asking you to."

"but what if something happens?"

"let it," you beg, legs squeezing tighter. you can't take much more of this, need him to move like your life depends on it. "cum inside, and whatever happens, happens, i don't ca–no, i want it, alright? c'mon, please."

he grins, wickedly. let's out a little breath and starts to thrust into you. "want me to make you mine, forever?"

he strikes a deep, slow pace, like he wants you to really feel it. like he wants each rut of his hips to steal the breath from your lungs.

so far, it's working.

"oh-oh... my god... i feel you so deep." each time he presses into you, it sends a numbing sensation rolling down your entire body, washing over you in a muted wave. there's something intoxicating about the combination of the momentary ache you feel each time his tip kisses your cervix and the mind numbing pleasure it precipitates. it's like an unspoken reminder that there's nothing between the two of you right now.

his hand slides against your lower abdomen and presses. the gesture makes you gasp, has your eyes fluttering at the added pressure and how it makes you feel that much more full. his green eyes are completely wild; he looks unhinged. every signal he sends radiates his claim.

he presses a little harder, then pulls all the way out for a moment. the feeling of emptiness lingers for long enough that it settles in your chest like anxiety.

"izuku!"

you want to scream at him for teasing you right now, your aching need starting to override your rationality. you whine, and he coos, "you want it?"

"yes!"

still, it just makes it all the sweeter when he slowly sinks back inside. his hand is so big and warm where it rests right against your womb – it heightens your arousal to the point that his sliding in just an inch has your back arching completely, your hips involuntarily trying to shimmy down further on his length. he sinks to the base and holds it for just a second, stretching you all the way and relishing in the extended moan that's tugged from your throat.

his thumb rubs a leisurely path over your skin. "you feel me... here?" and he presses again.

"yes, feel you in my stomach," you pant. he's rutting in to you with a steady, breaking pace, like a man on a mission.

"gonna put a baby here," he whispers, like a secret meant for your ears only. "gonna claim my pretty girl"–you clench around him and he gasps–"s-shit, you like that? like it when i talk about breeding you so everybody knows who you belong to?"

every single word that passes his lips sends you further into what feels like hysteria.

"wan' you to fill me up, please... you know i'm all yours izuku, you know."

you're not even really thinking straight at this point. your cunt feels like molten lava, burning you up from the inside out, and izuku keeps turning up the heat. he relishes in the way you clamp down on his dick, pussy walls constricting so intensely he actually grits his teeth.

you want it so bad. wanting might not be strong enough of a word... you crave it. you yearn for it. you need it.

"look at you." he's certainly looking at you now, with an intensity behind his gaze that hasn't diminished. it only seems to get stronger when he grinds into you nice and slow.

the heaviness of it all makes you keen. you keep mumbling "baby, please" and "you know" over and over, too fucked out to muster up full sentences. izuku acts as your own weighted blanket, draped over you and numbing out all of your senses. he kisses you with an open mouth and swallows the sound of your whimpering. he thinks it's a nice flavor on you.

"gosh, you sound so pretty when you beg," he breathes against your lips. "go on baby, beg some more. what do you want?"

are you going to pass out? no, maybe not... it's just that the edges of your vision have started to blur. the blinding pleasure is almost starting to err on the side of pain, nerves set so alight that your brain can't keep up. still, his dick is so deep that you can't possibly think of anything else with much conviction.

he hits each thrust with precision and purpose, molding your pussy to take him and him alone. if his weight wasn't on you so heavily, you'd be pushed up with every rut of his hips.

"you–i need–your cum, oh my god"–this might be it for you, each word cut off by the sound of skin clapping against skin–"fill me up all the way"–imploringly–"f-fuck, baby, make sure it sticks."

you have the thought that you might really be ruined for anyone else, not that it matters. it doesn't feel possible that anyone else could ever make you feel this good... more than just good, izuku makes you feel like the only person that's ever existed, like the most desirable and beautiful thing he's ever seen. each time he grinds his hips against yours, he's reminding you:

i choose you. i want you. i own you. you're mine you're mine you're mine.

"it will," he grunts, "it has to, the way you're sucking me in." lowering his face to the juncture between your neck and shoulder, he sucks a mark into the delicate skin. you have this feeling of being completely anchored, held down and fucked full of love. "wh–hah–whatever it takes."

it's full skin to skin. sweat pools between your bodies and it just adds to the intensity of it all. you feel him deep inside, you feel him on top of you, you feel him everywhere.

this feeling is why they call it making love. in this moment, that's exactly what you're doing: each of pouring all of your trust and devotion and commitment into the other, giving into that primal instinct that seeks out this sacred shared intimacy.

tears prick at your lash line and your next gasp is a little strangled on the way out.

"izuku."

something in your tone has him lifting his head so he can look in your eyes. some of his curls are sticking to his sweaty forehead, and the rest tickle the side of your face as he peers down at you.

the tears don't make him stop, but he does lace one of his hands with yours, squeezing lightly to reassure you. it's just what you need.

"honey, are you still with me?"

honey. baby. sweet girl. his tenderness is always so appreciated, but now it has you reeling with emotion. everything feels so intimate and you feel so vulnerable and fragile and taken and claimed that it sends a few tears spilling over and onto your cheeks. your eyes can’t focus on anything, so you close them.

that's izuku for you: fucking you dirty on his cock, all the while holding your hand and calling you honey.

"hey, sweet girl. will you give me a signal?" izuku's voice pulls you back to yourself, back to him. you can’t see it but he looks at you in earnest now, taking even more careful notice of your reactions and expressions.

you realize you need to say something or else he might stop and that's the last thing in the world you want right now. with tremendous effort, you open your eyes again and force yourself to make eye contact.

“yes,” you gasp. “i’m here.”

izuku beams. he kisses your nose, then kisses the tears on your cheeks. “there she is.”

sometimes, like right now, izuku loves you so much it frightens you a little. it's a strange feeling when you've spent years building walls to protect yourself and someone meticulously disassembles them. he didn't break them down, he showed you why you didn't need them anymore. now, here he stands, worn but satisfied in front of your tender and defenseless heart.

with every kiss, he promises to take good care of it. every touch says: i can protect you better than those walls ever could. i see who you are, i know what you need.

to be loved is to be seen, and he makes you believe it. there's no one else who could have you like this. you both know it, both feel the gravity of it. what a privilege, to be needed like this. what a privilege to give yourself.

"i love you," he whispers. it's uttered like a secret, but one you already know.

more tears run over. “i love you so much,” you blubber, gasping when he grips your hand tight in his and moves them up until they rest beside your head. he whispers how much he loves you over and over, calling you his good girl, all while his cock threatens to tear you in two. “f-fuck, izuku, it’s too much, i can’t.”

“you can,” he murmurs, “you can do it, you’re already doing so well for me.” the fingers that rest on your abdomen squeeze softly. he gets a shiny gleam in his eyes. you know that look, one that threatens an impending flood of emotion.

"right here"–his pace is starting to turn erratic, thrusts lacking any semblance of consistency, meaning he's close–"gonna put a baby right here. our baby–" he's choked by his own guttural groan when your cunt clamps down on him. both of your chests heave, breaths syncing until they're all shared. "tell me you want it," he begs you. the whiny tone in his voice is like a drug, taking you higher and higher and higher.

"i need it," you cry. "i need it. need your cum, need you to fill me up all the way–i–please–"

you could snap at anytime, your body vibrating like a string pulled tight, but you're waiting, holding on so that you can finish together. you want to look right in his eyes as he gives you his seed, wanna see his face the moment he fulfills both of your wishes and unbreakably tie the strings holding you together. the way you're begging for.

"i've got you," he gasps, "take it all, baby, f-fuck"–his eyes go wide–"take everything, you can, you can."

his eyes are glassy with unshed tears, and he looks like he might be panicking but it's not panic, just a feeling of pleasure so intense he doesn't even know how to process it. he thrusts hard once, then twice, and you feel the way his cock throbs as he unloads deep inside you, as deep as he can possibly go.

being fucked full of izuku's cum is already one of the best feelings you can possibly imagine, and it doesn't come close to this, with the threat of your actions looming over your heads and sending a thrill through your gut. your orgasm slams into you like a bus as every muscle seizes at once and then slowly start to relax as waves of pleasure roil your blood, your pussy squeezing around him, milking him and sucking in every drop of cum he gives. it's so warm, flooding inside you and making you feel like you're floating.

you tremble and moan, unable to do much else because izuku's body is still flush with yours, his hand still pressing yours back into the cushions behind you. there's no space between your bodies and he's still barely close enough... but the way your eyes are locked on his fulfills the desire for connection that courses through you. it's too much, so much that you want to look away but you can't. your body won't let you, and you can see the same reality reflected in his glistening irises as a few tears slip from the corner of his eyes.

two hearts beating in one rhythm, two lungs sharing the same breaths, two eyes reflecting the same tears.

it's the longest time has ever stretched. in this moment lies infinity, as you swim through the cocktail of dopamine and oxytocin your brain is pumping through your system. you're trembling, the aftershocks of your orgasm still rattling through the marrow of your bones.

izuku doesn't dare pull out, just drops his head to your neck and sucks in air in gasping breaths that feel hot against your skin; soon, you feel the gentle press of his lips there instead. you bring your free hand to the back of his neck, using his hair as an anchor to grab on to, rubbing featherlight circles into the base of his skull.

several minutes pass, just like this, in the quiet and sticky air that fills the intimate bubble you're floating in.

finally, finally, once your heartbeats have returned to a more normal rhythm and you've regained feeling in your extremities, he so gently lifts his head and kisses you nice and slow. his cock has gone soft but he still doesn't pull out, relishing in the closeness too much to break the moment. you smile into the kiss, and he laughs a little, pulls back and rests his forehead against yours.

"that was..."

"what the hell," you murmur, "insane." softly, your thumb traces his cheekbone.

when he rubs your noses together you giggle. "you should run out of birth control more often," he jokes, and you laugh, then you bite your lip and flit your eyes down.

"not to be a mood killer, but–"

"i already made an appointment," he interrupts gently, giving you a warm smile, "for a morning after pill. that's what you were going to say, right?"

you narrow your eyes in slight suspicion. "yes...?" his smile turns a little guilty but he doesn't look very apologetic. "when did you have time for that?"

"i did it on my way home..." he confesses, and you gasp, then roll your eyes. of course he did. it's equally thoughtful and presumptuous, although izuku prides himself on making highly informed guesses based on his predictions which, admittedly, are right most of the time.

you decide that it's just thoughtful. still, you say, "i knew it! you're such an instigator!"

izuku just laughs. "i can't say that i'm sorry for it."

you can't help but laugh with him. "yeah. me neither." tugging the hair at the nape of his neck, you raise your chin to hint at your desire for a kiss, and just like always, he indulges you. over-indulges you, biting at your bottom lip and slipping his tongue into your mouth. your body reacts before your mind has time to catch up and you curl into him. the sensitive walls of your pussy flutter and you feel his cock twitch.

"tomorrow, huh..." you whisper. "we have such a limited window..."

he's growing harder by the second; the feeling makes you shiver.

"yeah," he agrees, "gonna make it count."

Your days, once filled with piano, language, and dancing lessons, were now consumed by ballrooms, drawing rooms, and the intricate art of conversation. It was a constant parade of oneself in hopes of catching a suitor’s eye.

It was a lot less… eventful than you had imagined in your girlish daydreams.

Instead of the engaging discussions you’d hoped for, it was boring, to say the least. Most men were not interested in what you were saying, but rather what was presented below your neckline. Their eyes would glaze over your opinions on poetry or the new symphony. Balls, at least, held a visual appeal.

People dressed in the finest of fabrics and jewels, all freshly polished to a high sheen. In a room where everyone strived to glitter, it took a great deal for someone to truly shine. And shine he did.

The moment he caught your eye, it was like fireworks blooming behind your ribs; the carefully applied rouge on your cheeks did little to hide the sudden heat blossoming beneath your skin.

It seemed you weren't the only one with eyes, unfortunately. Mothers and eligible daughters flocked to the young bachelor in seconds, a murmuration of pastel silks and eager smiles, crowding him with their dance cards and aspirations. Just as you were tempted to join the flock, a voice at your elbow intervened.

"But the Lady prefers a dance, does she not?" Lord Zenin’s tone was smooth, his offer presented as the only logical conclusion. As a lady seeking a husband, it would be madness to reject.

He was handsome, in a severe way, with dark hair and sharper eyes. But as you took his hand, your gaze strayed back to the spectacle across the room. White hair—you had never seen someone with such pale and pristine hair. Would his children inherit such a striking feature?

"I am interested in having children myself," Lord Zenin spoke. You hadn't even noticed him speaking, too distracted by the figure at least twenty paces ahead. You were sure Lord Zenin was a fascinating man, yet your eyes gazed behind him more times than you would ever admit aloud.

You bowed politely at the end of your second consecutive dance with Lord Zenin. It was so early in the season that you had not expected to attract such a remarkable suitor so swiftly. As flattering as it was to catch a Zenin’s eye, your mind did not leave the white-haired man alone. You found yourself constantly peeking over shoulders and through gaps in the crowd, seeking another glimpse of the awfully popular mystery. You were quite familiar with most of the attendees, their lineages, and prospects drilled into you. He, however, was a complete mystery.

"Gojo, I presume," a voice laced with irrefutable gossip spoke beside you. You knew them, the matrons, mothers of girls your age. As they spoke, you listened, your fan held still.

"The Duke? I did not know he had returned from the continent."

"Why has he returned?"

"Did you not hear?" the third murmured, leaning in. "He is single." Those were the only words you needed to hear, though there was suspicion about whether they were correct. For what other bachelor would they be speaking of in such tones than the white-haired duke?

Where your formal knowledge of society was lacking, gossip was readily hot and ready to serve on a silver platter.

Your skills for gathering information were not few and far between, and you certainly understood that going about in the streets asking questions about this 'Gojo', a duke nonetheless, would raise far too many eyebrows in your far too fresh debut. You would need to be stealthy in your pursuit.

This quest for knowledge, however, was not your own secret, it seemed. The entire ton was buzzing with the reappearance of the newly available bachelor. It made your obligatory teas with fellow debutants much more enjoyable than listening to them list the contents of their overflowing drawing rooms. Your own was not empty—Lord Zenin was a persistent caller—but none of them was the duke who had captured your eye with a single, distant glance. When one of the girls mentioned, with a sigh, that he was confirmed to attend the upcoming art gallery exhibition, you felt a surge of purpose. You were very assured of your own attendance.

Paintings lined the hushed halls of the prestigious gallery, many donated by those you knew, even a modest landscape from your own family’s collection. You had seen most of them before, but one, placed on a wall of its own, caught your eye. It was different from the rest. They were all pleasing, yes, but this one had a soul about it that appealed directly to yours.

"I am quite pleased with this one myself," a voice spoke beside you, his gaze also fixed upon the canvas.

"It is beautiful," you said, your voice barely above a whisper in the hallowed quiet.

"I am delighted to find us in accord." He chuckled lightly, a warm, pleasant sound. "My apologies, we have not introduced ourselves. His Grace, Satoru Gojo." He bowed politely, and you followed suit, burying the triumphant grin that threatened to form on your lips.

Looking at him up close was a revelation. His features were not just agreeable; they were arresting. Eyes of a blue so pale they seemed to hold their own light, framed by those impossible white lashes. His smile was easy, and you felt a pang of irrational jealousy for anyone who had gotten to see it before you. He was a great conversationalist, effortlessly keeping a dialogue flowing, revealing a depth of knowledge about the artists and their techniques that went beyond mere aristocratic patina.

"I see you have donated this painting yourself. You have excellent taste, Your Grace." Your fan pointed delicately towards the small golden nameplate inscribed with his title and name.

"You are correct indeed. I found this during my travels and could not help but bring such an exceptional piece back home. It reminds me of the scenery near my estate in the country," he said, his tone softening with genuine affection.

You traveled the gallery with the Duke, a step behind yet beside him, commenting on the plethora of art. The man was certainly a talker, but an enchanting one, his wit sharp and his observations kind. You giggled at a few of his jests, the sound escaping before you could temper it, remaining as reserved as possible while trying to secure his interest. You would need to make your intentions clear but not desperate. Suitors are fleeting; you must use your teachings to keep them waiting and wanting more, a delicate game.

Unfortunately, the game was interrupted when your mother’s voice called your name from across the room, whisking you away from the Duke’s side. "I must take my leave, Your Grace; it was a pleasure," you said, your curtsy perfectly measured.

"The pleasure was entirely mine," he replied, his bow equally precise.

In the swaying carriage home, your mother could not help but question you, her eyes alight with curiosity. It seemed almost everyone knew who he was except you. The burning question hung in the air between the rhythmic clatter of hooves. "Well? Is he as available as the gossipers tell?"

Your mother let out an elated, knowing giggle. "My dear, he came back to the ton for a reason. He is very, very available."

That was all you needed to know to properly begin your mission; your mother would surely have more reliable information than matrons at a ball. Not just a debutante’s duty, but a true search for happiness.

—

With Gojo in attendance at the next ball, you hoped you would have the chance to dance with him at least once. Yet, since your walk in the gallery, your drawing room, and your dance card had remained stubbornly full. A great social triumph, but none of these men, the earnest younger sons, the pompous lords, came close to sparking the connection you had felt in that quiet gallery corner.

It was, you feared, love at first sight, a notion your practical training scorned but your heart clung to.

Lord Zenin, in particular, had set his intentions very clearly upon you. He visited no other ladies' drawing rooms, his attention as focused as it was oppressive. Although you had every chance to marry well this season, the Viscount was awfully strange. A possible over-exaggeration on your part, but the man was obsessed with talking about himself—his holdings, his horses, his opinions. Boastful, to say the least. Even with him monopolizing your time, you tried to keep your options open. Yet, Lord Zenin made it his duty to ensure no other suitor would get an extra dance from you. It would not have been such an issue if his dancing skills were up to par, but you did not know if your poor slippers could survive another of his heavy, misplaced steps.

You were only able to escape by feigning a sudden, desperate thirst. Like any gentleman, he left promptly to fetch you a drink. The moment he turned, your eyes scanned the room, hurriedly searching for the man who haunted your thoughts at every outing. There he was, standing alone by a marble column, just as you had hoped. Making your way across the ballroom, you squeezed past chattering groups with polite murmurs. You found him standing idle, watching the couples waltz with a faint, unreadable smile.

"Your Grace," you bowed, coming up ever so slyly beside him. "I hope you are finding the ball pleasurable." You greeted him, your fingers nervously fiddling with the dance card dangling from your wrist. It did not seem like he had been trying to find you, or even if he had noted your attendance with half the fervor you had his.

He turned, and his eyes crinkled in recognition. "I am indeed. And yourself?"

"It is lovely. I only wish to experience the dance floor a little more," you confessed, a slight, deliberate dig at your repetitive partner.

"Is that so?" He laughed, a genuine sound that warmed you. "Would you care for a dance? That is, if your dance card is not entirely besieged?"

"I would be honored, Your Grace."

Leading you by the hand, his grip was confident but gentle. He was an excellent dancer, as fluid in movement as he was in conversation, following the tempo with an innate grace Lord Zenin lacked entirely. Your feet were safe, and your spirit soared.

"My apologies, I have not taken to the floor in some time," he said, his hand squeezing your gloved one ever so slightly on a turn.

"You need not worry, I assure you your skills are perfectly fine," you replied, squeezing back. You hoped the pressure conveyed what words could not, that you were interested, that you were open. "I can only hope you take to the floor more often, Your Grace."

"That should not be a problem," he said, his eyes flickering to a point behind you. "It seems someone is waiting to reclaim this spot as we speak." He tilted his head slightly toward the waiting Lord Zenin, whose irritation was not lost on his handsome, scowling face as he watched you.

"A gentleman should have patience," you snickered, almost enjoying the look on the other man's face.

"Some are not graced with such a quality."

"I presume Your Grace is?"

"Very much so," he murmured, leaning closer. "One must wait a long time to receive such a particularly green-eyed look from Lord Zenin." His comment, whispered low in your ear so it would not carry, was scandalously funny. You could not help but laugh, quickly lowering your volume into a whisper.

"My apologies, I forget myself," he said, though his eyes sparkled with mischief.

"You are quite all right, Your Grace. I appreciate such patience and honesty," you confessed, matching his hushed tone.

"And I, you, my lady." He smiled, and as the waltz ended, he bowed deeply. "It was a pleasure dancing with you."

"Until we meet again, Your Grace." You bowed, your eyes falling to the neat script of his name now inscribed on your card. Satoru Gojo.

Gossip does what gossip is, and it spreads.

Your dance with the duke circulated through the ton with the speed you had hoped for. It helped, bringing more varied men your way—thankfully, some younger, more amiable ones—which subtly deterred some of the older suitors.

At the horse races, the day was bright, the weather peculiarly agreeable for the time of year.

The ton milled about, watching the sleek horses prance in the paddock. Men gathered, placing loud bets. You, personally, had placed a small, secret wager on a horse named Simon, a purebred with incredible lineage. Making your way through the crowd, you eyed the booths set up at the periphery. One held decorative hairpins; the quality was discernibly middling, but they were charming to look at.

"My lady," Lord Zenin greeted, materializing at your shoulder. "Do not concern yourself with such inferior trinkets. You ladies, cannot be expected to discern quality as a gentleman can. You are lucky to have one such as myself to guide you," he spoke, pride lacquering his voice like varnish.

"I was simply admiring the craftsmanship, my lord. I assure you I can tell the difference in quality from my own pins," you said, trying to hide your offence at his assertion. It did not stop him from launching into a lecture on materials and worth, which subtly and then not so subtly morphed into a rant about how a woman’s discernment was, by nature, secondary to a man’s. The implication was clear, and it curdled your stomach.

"I will accompany you to view the horses. I have a sizable bet on Andrew," he said, taking your arm with an air of possession as he guided you toward the viewing benches.

"That is not necessary, my lord. I came with my family."

"All the more reason for my escort," he insisted, his tone brooking no argument.

Throughout the entire race, Lord Zenin talked, disregarding any opinions you voiced, even scoffing at your choice of Simon. Andrew dominated the first quarter, and Zenin’s chest puffed out. But as the race wore on, Andrew fell behind, and when Simon began his powerful surge from the middle of the pack, you couldn't help but lean forward, caught in the thrill. As Simon pulled ahead in a final, breathtaking sprint to finish first, you shouted with the crowd, a grin of pure victory spreading across your face.

"That was an excellent race, was it not, my lord?" you asked, the thrill still buzzing in your veins.

"It was deception. The track was muddy on Andrew’s side. He should have won," he scowled, his tone souring immediately. You half-expected him to stamp his foot.

He guided you back through the booths, his mood fouling further, and he began to make loud, derogatory comments about the "common" vendors and their wares. You were praying for a glimpse of your father to effect an escape; you had had more stimulating conversations with your embroidery hoop.

A flash of your father’s hat in the distance provided the excuse. You pretended he was summoning you and extracted your arm from Zenin’s. "You must excuse me, my lord."

Making your way through the press of people, your eyes caught not on your father, but on Gojo. He stood apart, seemingly oblivious to the crowd, staring intently at a small, silver locket cupped in his palm. His expression was soft, tender in a way that made your step falter. Sneaking past your actual father, you approached him.

He did not notice you, lost in the tiny portrait. It was of a beautiful woman, her name inscribed within. He looked at the locket the way you wished he would look at you—with a love that was profound and settled. Your heart dropped into the pit of your stomach.

"Your Grace," you said softly. His eyes, when they lifted to yours, held a trace of sorrow he quickly masked. He hesitated for a second before snapping the locket shut with a soft click. "She is beautiful," you commented, the words ash in your mouth.

"Yes," he murmured, the single word heavy with memory. "Yes, she is."

"If you do not mind my asking… may I know who she is?" you asked cautiously, praying he would not say the words you suddenly, desperately did not want to hear.

"My late wife," he said, the words quiet but clear. "She passed four years ago."

The world seemed to be still for a moment. "I am so sorry for your loss, Your Grace. You were a beautiful couple," you confessed, forcing the word ‘couple’ out even as your own heart ached. It was painfully obvious, even in that brief glimpse, that the man was still anchored by his love for her. His heart, it seemed, would not be yours to claim.

At subsequent outings, you tried valiantly not to think of Gojo and his wife, to set your sights logically elsewhere. Yet, conversations with other suitors left your heart inert, no elation, not even a genuine smile. No one could compare to the easy wit, the surprising depth, the sheer light of him.

You had, for a foolish moment, hoped to convince him. But how could you convince a man to love you when he was so faithfully in love with a ghost?

And yet, he sought you out. He would find you wherever you stood, even when you tried half-heartedly to hide, forging a friendship that was both a balm and a torture. He stole you away for dances, shared humor, and offered effortless companionship. All your scheming to find him had caught up to you, leaving you ensnared in your own trap.

At the Bennets’ ball, you were truly amazed. Pyrotechnics and living statues, it was a spectacle unto itself. Even the punch had a spicy, intriguing taste, fitting the fiery theme. A definite step up from the previous year, where Lord Bennet had slipped and fallen into his own fountain. You stood sipping the exotic drink from an ornate glass, watching the dancers.

A soprano’s high Latin notes soared over the instruments. Your gaze, as always, found Gojo. His eyes caught yours across the room, widening in recognition, and he made his way to you with a determined grace.

"Trying to hide again?" he jested as he arrived, falling into step beside you as if you were old friends.

"Your Grace, you ought to teach Lord Bute your skills; his partner seems in dire need of rescue," you laughed, watching the woman wince with each of Bute’s clumsy steps.

"Satoru," he said, simply.

You stared at him, confused.

"My name. We are past formalities, are we not?" he prompted, a challenge in his smile.

"Satoru," you repeated, letting the unfamiliar syllables roll off your tongue. It felt intimate, scandalous, a secret shared. You enjoyed the thrill of it.

"Much better," he smiled, that sweet, tugging smile that unraveled your resolutions. He was a drug, and you were willingly addicted.

At a ladies’ luncheon soon after, the conversation turned to courtships and the swift engagement between Lady Howe and Lord Calhoun.

"And you? You are being courted, are you not?" one of the ladies asked, her eyes sharp on you.

"I am sorry?"

The table tittered. "His Grace, Gojo?" she clarified. You nearly spat out your tea. You had been so wrapped in your own conflicted feelings, you’d forgotten the omnipresent audience. You could not deny the accusation without sparking worse rumors, and since he had spoken of his wife, you hadn’t truly dared to think of it as a courtship. It was merely him, entertaining your hopeless emotions.

"I would not be surprised if there was an engagement on the horizon!" another gushed.

"Or perhaps it is Lord Zenin?" a third suggested slyly.

You demurred, letting the topic flow away from you, but their talk of ardent suitors and clear intentions highlighted what was missing. Lord Zenin made his intentions brutally clear. The Duke offered friendship, laughter, and a haunting sadness. He had not declared himself, nor could you reasonably expect him to.

The balls you once awaited with butterfly excitement now filled you with a nervous dread, afraid of seeing the man whose love was reserved for another. It was disheartening to talk to him, to push your own yearning aside to learn more about him, because every detail—his terrible jests, the way his eyes lit up when you volleyed one back—only made you love him more.

You could no longer afford to look at him as a potential partner; your future was at stake.

At the next ball, you sought solace on a deserted balcony, a glass of punch in hand, away from the crush and the music. The jewels on your gown felt like anchors. The garden below was a tapestry of shadow and moonlight, beautifully kept. The chill air was a relief.

Your solitude was shattered by a familiar presence. White hair gleamed in the ambient light as he leaned on the balustrade beside you.

"My lady, hiding again?" Satoru asked, his voice low. He leaned closer, his shoulder nearly brushing yours.

"It is quiet out here," you said. At least it had been.

"You have not danced with me once tonight. Yet I see you’ve endured two with Lord Zenin." He tried to sound light, joking, but a thread of seriousness ran beneath it.

You pushed off the railing, walking down the shallow steps into the garden proper, hoping he would not follow. He did, of course, his longer strides easily catching up.

"Must you walk so fast?" he called, a hint of amusement in his voice.

You sped up, gathering your skirts. "Why must you follow?"

"Why must you avoid me?" he countered, catching your arm gently but firmly, forcing you to stop.

You whipped around to face him. "It should not be of any concern to you," you spoke, holding your anger and hurt in check. "I have been promised to no one, least of all to you."

"Lord Zenin—" you began.

"Zenin?" he scoffed, the sound harsh in the quiet garden. He had not shown a fraction of the direct interest Zenin had, but at least with Zenin, you would be married, settled, your duty done. "You cannot be serious."

"Yes, Zenin."

"Do you know that man? Truly? You will be miserable. More miserable than you could ever be with—" He paused, biting his lip hard, stopping the sentence. "The Zenins see women as cattle, as breeding stock to improve their line."

"And what do you know about treating a woman?" The words flew out, sharp and bitter, before you could stop them. "You do not know Lord Zenin as I do. And above all, you have no right to monitor my potential nuptials."

You refused to let such an opportunity—the security, the position—be ruined by a man who offered nothing but confusing friendship. He would never understand the pressure, the cliff’s edge of choice that defined a woman’s life.

"I clearly know more than you if you are considering that basket for all your eggs. He is not an honorable man."

"And you are, Gojo?"

"Far more than he, I assure you. You mustn't marry him." His voice dipped, almost pleading. But why? Why did he care so much if his own heart was entombed? His mouth opened, those lips parting as if to speak a truth, but then they pressed into a resigned line. "I… care for you. Deeply. More than you could imagine. I could not live with myself knowing you would marry into that dreadful household."

His eyes, wide and earnest in the moonlight, pulled you back into the spell. You wished, achingly, to marry for a mutual love, not to be merely cared for as a replacement for a ghost. His simple attention would not heal the tear his confession had rent in your heart.

"Would it be better to marry someone else, then? Shall I compile a list of suitors for your approval?" you shot back, offended even as a treacherous part of you trusted his warning.

"I am not your father—"

"Precisely! So please, stay out of my business—"

"I cannot do that," he confessed, his gaze refusing to release yours. "I cannot simply stand aside."

"Do you hate me so much that you would deny me any marriage?" The frustration welled up as hot, stinging tears. You blinked them away furiously.

"It is not hate," he said, stepping closer. The scent of him—bergamot and night air—enveloped you. "What I feel for you is far from hate." You could not stand to listen to him dissect your prospects while offering none of his own. You would never be her.

"I apologize, Your Grace. I must take my leave." You hurriedly bowed, your voice cracking as you fought the rising tide of emotion. "Good night."

In your drawing room the following week, Lord Zenin sat sipping tea, the silence between you heavy. He had been monologuing about estate management for twenty minutes. You had been quiet, lost in thought.

"You would make an agreeable wife, do you not agree?" he said finally, a smug, knowing look in his eye. "I thought your… talkative nature might become an issue, but it seems you have learned better. I enjoy a quiet woman." It was not a compliment; it was a mandate.

"Women today forget what a man truly wants. All this talk of opinions and equality… I do hope you do not subscribe to such modern jests." It was not a question.

You simply nodded, the disgust in your stomach turning to a hard, cold stone. Satoru’s word echoed: cattle. Naoya Zenin saw you as a decorative, quiet asset. When he left, the silence he prized felt like a suffocating corset.

You could not imagine a life as Lady Zenin. Your mother, when you finally confessed you could not accept him, looked not disappointed, but profoundly relieved. "His reputation is not… kind," was all she said.

You entertained other suitors half-heartedly. Your prospects, once bright, felt dim and dwindling. After a brief, tedious promenade with Lord Phillip, you returned home. Your lady’s maid was helping you change when she appeared at the door of your sitting room.

"You have a visitor, my lady."

"At this hour? Who is it?"

"It is His Grace, Gojo."

You met him in the garden, the spring sun dappling through the new leaves. You walked in silence, your hand on his arm, hating how your pulse leapt at his mere presence. The quiet stretched, becoming unbearable.

"The weather is very agreeable, is it not, Your Grace?" you finally ventured.

"I did not come to discuss the weather," he said, stopping beside a camellia bush, its pink blossoms vibrant against the dark green. "I came to apologize. Properly, this time. For my conduct in the garden. It was unpardonable."

"If that is all, Your Grace, the apology is not needed. You may—"

"No," he said, his hand covering yours where it rested on his arm. "That is not my only reason. If you recall, I asked you then if your heart was with another."

The memory was repetitive. "I recall."

"And I told you I would stand back if it was." He turned to face you fully, his expression unguarded, vulnerable in a way you had never seen. "I have spoken with your father."

"My father? What could you have possibly provoked you to speak with my father?"

"If you are truly smitten with Lord Zenin, if your heart is with another, please tell me now." He paused, taking one of your hands. "I mispoke then. I do care for you, but what I feel is far stronger; it is not that I hate the idea of you being married. I despise the idea of you marrying anyone else."

"What…what are you saying?"

"If it is Lord Zenin that you prefer over me, I will stand back, just tell me that what I feel for you is not to be reciprocated. And I will stand back," he spoke as though saying this pained him, cringing even at the word Zenin. "I should have said this then. Please allow me to make up for this."

You could only stare, your breath caught.

"Your grace, I do not have an engagement with Lord Zenin; it seems your criticisms were not unwarranted."

"You hand is free, I presume?"

"It is," you managed.

"But is your heart?" he asked, his eyes searching yours, laying his own soul bare. "For you have utterly captured mine."

The world narrowed to the feel of his gloves on your skin, the intensity of his gaze, the hammering of your own heart. "My heart," you said, the words firm and clear as crystal, "is free."

He let out a breath that was half-laugh. He knelt there on the garden path, heedless of the gravel. He took your hand, turned it over, and pressed his lips to your gloved knuckles with a reverence that stole your breath.

"Then, if you are not opposed to a man who is flawed…would you do me the greatest honor of accepting my hand in marriage?"

—

Your marriage was steadfast, both families preparing for the union, dedicated. Satoru had not let you out of his sight, from events he was there to making sure he would be the only one you would dance with, declining anyone who came to you for a dance.

Some would come to you saying how they saw this happening, but you knew they would always say that, even if they never did.

Those who were indifferent to you before were now cozying up to the soon-to-be Duchess.

"You must set me up with one of his brothers!" you unfortunately had to give her news that Satoru did not have any siblings.

At the modist, you tried on fine fabrics and watched as your wedding gown was constructed, the decorations prepared, and your family home got set up for the reception. You were happy, but you couldn't help but become afraid.

"Your grace?" Satoru called out to you, following behind with his own horse.

"I am not your grace yet, Satoru." You murmured.

The wedding was in only a few days, and you've done all the discussions with Satoru and your future, yet it seemed so blurry. It was not like you could not see yourself with Satoru, but now that you were betrothed and your future secure, you got everything you wanted, but something was missing. Satoru was right here, yet he seemed so far.

"In a few days' time, you will be." He grinned, his horse next to yours. You smiled and nodded, satisfying his desire for your connection.

The days bled together in a flurry of silk and whispers until the morning dawned. You held up the jewels that Satoru had gifted, letting your lady's maid connect the pieces together. In a few hours, you would be a Duchess, a wife, and secure.

Tying the corsets and watching as they took your wardrobe into cases, packed it away, and took it to a new home, the Gojo estate.

You would not be staying in the city for your honeymoon, but rather at the estate in the country.

You looked at yourself in the mirror, and the dress was beautiful, gorgeous even. The dress was as white as Satoru's hair, and the sapphires as beautiful as his eyes. You felt a tear roll down your face, the excitement bubbling and building into the moment. Tears rolling down your face, you had done it. He was yours, Satoru was yours.

"My lady, it is time to depart."

The ceremony was a sublime blur of vows and vibrant stained-glass. You repeated after the officiant, your voice steadier than you felt. Satoru was more than happy, smiling at you with the same look he gave that locket that felt so long ago.

You stared into his eyes as he brought your face in for a kiss, cupping your head gently. His lips were so soft, pulling you in. It took everything in you not to dive for more; you were in a church after all.

At the reception, it was full of so many people, and Satoru followed you with his eyes wherever you went. You snacked and danced, his hand at the small of your back, until finally, it was time to change from the magnificent gown into your travelling dress.

The dread hit, a cold slickness beneath the joy. After this point, you did not know what to expect as a duchess, ruling a household.

Your mother taught you well, but it was different than experience. And the wedding night... a nebulous concept.

In the carriage, Satoru sat across from you, hand massaging yours. It felt strange touching his skin without a glove, to be away from the watching eyes of the ton; to finally be who they all wanted. A duchess.

"What does your, our estate look like?" you asked slightly, trying to get a view of what your life is looking like.

"It's beautiful, sunrise is like a painting, and it is vast, and the staff are well prepared for you, my love," he reassured. His thumb stroked the inside of your wrist, a slow, deliberate rhythm that made your pulse stutter. You nodded, massaging his hand in return.

You couldn't help but be drawn to his face. Caressing the sharp line of his jaw, the arch of his cheekbone-features you had dreamed of coming close to.

You had never thought you would get to touch him like this, so freely. He leaned into your touch, letting his cheek rest in your hand, his eyes closing for a moment.

He patted the seat next to him. "Come here, Your Grace." You moved, stumbling a bit in the lurching carriage, and he caught you, his hands firm on your waist as he settled you firmly beside him. Not an inch of space remained between you.

The close confines of the carriage, the dim lantern light, the rhythmic clatter of the wheels-it all felt suddenly illicit. He leaned in, not for a chaste kiss, but to press his lips to the sensitive skin of your neckline, just above the lace of your chemise.

A shocked gasp left you, and you instinctively pulled him closer, your fingers tangling in the snowy silk of his hair. "A different love, indeed," he murmured against your throat, his breath a hot caress.

His mouth was playful, nipping then soothing with his tongue, mapping a path to your collarbone. One of his hands slid from your waist to the back of your corset, fingers tracing the rigid lines of the stays. "So many barriers, even now," he groaned.

You could only whimper, arching into his touch, your own inexperience rendered mute by a wave of pure sensation. His other hand found its way beneath the hem of your skirt, his long fingers skating up your stockinged calf. The contact was electrifying. You were drowning in him, in the scent of his soap and something uniquely him.

"Toru-" you managed, the informal name slipping out in a breathy rush.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes holdings new type of joy, darkened by what you found only described as his previous words, a different type of love. One that consumed you in every breath, yet you want to fall deeper.

"Say it again."

"Toru."

He captured your mouth, nothing like the kiss in the church. It was deep, claiming, hungry. His tongue swept against yours, and you met it with clumsy, eager desperation. He tasted of sweet champagne.

His hand on your leg crept higher, past your garter, to the soft skin of your inner thigh. You jerked against him, a bolt of startling pleasure-pain shooting through you.

"You're trembling," he observed, a playful smirk on his kiss-swollen lips. "Don't be afraid. This is all for you. For us."

Before you could formulate a thought, the carriage began to slow. Satoru let out a soft, frustrated groan against your lips. "The inn," he said, his voice steadying. "We break our journey here for the night."

The interruption was a physical shock. He straightened, his expression shifting seamlessly back to one of elegant composure, though his eyes still smoldered. He helped you adjust your dress, his fingers lingering for a moment too long on the fabric covering your breast.

The inn was a respectable coaching house, and the Duke and Duchess Gojo were ushered to the best suite with efficiency. A fire crackled in the hearth, casting dancing shadows on the walls. The door clicked shut behind the retreating servant, and you were truly, utterly alone with your now husband.

The public facade fell from Satoru instantly. He prowled towards you, loosening his cravat with one hand. "Now," he said, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate in the very air between you.

"Where were we?"

You stood frozen by the bed, your earlier courage faltering under the sheer weight of his focused attention. He saw it and his expression softened a fraction, though the intensity in his cerulean gaze never wavered. He came to you, taking your face in his hands, his thumbs stroking the apples of your cheeks. "Let me see you," he whispered.

He turned you gently, your back to his front. His fingers, surprisingly deft for a man of his station and power, found the intricate closures of your travelling gown, working them with a patience that you once awarded to wanting him to hurry up. The gown loosened and pooled at your feet like a discarded sigh. Your petticoats soon followed.

His hands were on the laces of your corset. He worked slowly, kissing the nape of your neck, the shell of your ear, as each tug of the lace gave you more breath, more freedom.

"These contraptions are a crime," he muttered against your skin, his breath hot, finally pulling the stiff garment away and tossing it aside. You stood in your thin chemise and stockings, feeling more exposed than you ever had, the firelight painting your forms in gold.

He turned you to face him, his gaze a physical weight as it travelled over you, leaving a trail of heat in its wake.

He lifted you then, placing you in the centre of the bed before stripping off his own clothes with an efficiency that left you breathless. His body was a revelation: long, lean, and built, all sculpted muscle and pale skin marred by the faintest silver lines of old battles. And between his legs, he was... considerable.

Your eyes widened.

The vague, clinical descriptions you'd heard had not prepared you for the reality of him, thick and heavy and very erect, the flushed tip beading with a promise.

He knelt on the bed, crawling over you like a predator claiming its territory. "The theory is one thing, my love," he said, as if reading your mind, a wicked curve to his mouth. He nudged your legs apart with his knee, settling his weight between them.

The rough hair of his thighs brushed against your sensitive inner skin. "The practice is something else entirely. And we are going to practice quite a lot."

“Practice-”

He kissed you again, swallowing your nervous gasp. His hand slipped between your bodies, his fingers finding the damp heat at your core through the thin linen of your chemise. You cried out into his mouth, bucking against his hand.

"So ready for me," he praised, his voice dripping with dark delight. He hooked his fingers in the waist of your drawers, pulling them down and off along with your stockings. The cooler air of the room kissed your skin, followed immediately by the searing heat of his body on yours.

Skin to skin. The contact was electric.

He palmed your breast, his thumb flicking over your nipple until it peaked into a tight, aching bud. Then his hand trailed down, over the quivering of your stomach.

"My sweet, brave wife," he whispered, his fingers parting your folds with a reverence that belied the hunger in his eyes.

He found your clit, slick and hot, and stroked a slow, circling pattern around the sensitive nub that made you arch off the bed with a broken cry. "Satoru!"

"I know, sweetheart. I know." He added a second finger, slipping inside you with a smooth, stretching pressure. The feeling was immense, foreign, but the glide of his fingers was aided by your own wanton wetness. He worked them in and out, curling them, seeking. When he brushed a particular spot deep inside, stars exploded behind your eyes. Your hips jerked of their own accord, seeking more of that shocking, delicious friction.

"There it is," he purred, watching your face with rapt attention as it contorted in pleasure. "That's it.

Make those pretty sounds for me." He continued his ruthless assault with his fingers, scissoring them, stretching you, preparing you even as he drove you to a trembling, gasping peak. You felt a coil tighten, unbearably so, before it snapped. Your climax washed over you, a wave of pure, mindless pleasure that left you shuddering, your inner walls fluttering around his invading fingers.

No wonder you were never taught such pleasure existed. Or than such pleasure resided between your legs, waiting.

He withdrew his hand, and before you could mourn the loss, he brought his glistening fingers to his lips. His eyes held yours as he sucked them clean, a low hum of appreciation in his throat. "Divine," he murmured. Then he shifted, his body sliding down the bed with predatory grace. "But I have not yet properly tasted my bride."

He hooked your legs over his shoulders, his breath a hot brand against your inner thighs. "None of that modesty now," he chided softly, seeing your instinct to close. "Let me see." And then his mouth was on you.

“That is n-not a proper p-place, ‘Toru!” he only paused for a moment, looking up at you with his eyes.

“Oh, but it is very, very, proper, my love.” he kissed the lips, his tongue licking in between experimentally. “It would be improper for a husband not to taste his wife,” he grinned, watching as you tried to keep you face calm and intact.

It was not a gentle kiss. It was devouring. His tongue, broad and insistent, laved a stripe through your soaked folds before circling that aching nub with focused precision. You cried out, your hands fisting in the bedsheets. “Very proper indeed.” He groaned against you, the vibration shooting straight to your core.

He feasted on you as if starved, one hand splayed on your belly to hold you still while the other slid back inside you, two fingers now, pumping in time with the wicked flick of his tongue. The dual sensation was overwhelming, a riot of too-much and not-enough. You could feel the coil winding tight again, impossibly so, your hips moving of their own accord against his mouth.

"Toru, I cannot-I shall-" you babbled, a composure near shattering.

He lifted his head, his chin gleaming. "You shall," he commanded, his voice rough. "Come on, my tongue, sweetheart. Let me feel you." He dove back in, his nose nudging your sensitive flesh, and that was all it took.

You shattered with a scream, your body bowing off the bed as the pleasure crested and broke, washing through you in relentless, pulsing waves. He drank you down, gentle now, lapping at you until the sensitivity bordered on pain, and you weakly pushed at his head.

He moved back up your body, his own arousal a hard, insistent heat against your thigh. He rubbed himself against your drenched cunt, the blunt head notching at your entrance, spreading the evidence of your pleasure.

His eyes locked on yours, brilliant and unblinking in the firelight.

"Look at me," he commanded, his tone leaving no room for disobedience. You obeyed, eyes locking with his, you felt the intrusion as he pushed in.

The stretch was immense, a burning fullness that stole the air from your lungs. You choked on a sob, your nails digging into the taut muscles of his shoulders.

"Shhh, there it is," he cooed, though his own face was a mask of exquisite strain, a vein throbbing in his temple. He paused, letting your body adjust to his girth, dropping kisses on your tear-streaked cheeks.

"Just the first stretch, sweetheart. You will take me so beautifully." He began to move, shallow, rocking thrusts that gradually deepened. The burning began to melt, transforming into something else, a deep, internal friction that sparked a new, desperate heat in your belly.

Everything was new, exhilarating, and utterly addictive.

His rhythm became less controlled, more demanding. He braced himself on one arm, the other hand snaking down to where your bodies were joined. His thumb found your sensitive nub once more, circling it, just as he drove himself deeper, hitting that spot inside that made you see white.

The sensation was catastrophic. Your back arched off the bed, a broken string of moans and his name falling from your lips. "Toru-l-it is too much-"

"It is not enough," he gritted out, his own breathing ragged, his hips pistoning with a force that shook the bed. "I will be sure t-to make it enough." His words, his touch, the relentless, pounding fullness of him—it all crested and broke again. A wave of pleasure, so intense it bordered on pain, crashed through you. Your inner walls clenched around him, milking his length, and you watched, dazed, as his almost aristocratic composure now matched yours.

His eyes screwed shut, a raw, guttural moan tearing from his throat as he plunged into you one last, beautiful time. You felt a hot, flooding pulse deep inside you as he spent himself, his body shuddering with the force of his release. For long moments, the only sounds were the crackle of the fire and your combined, ragged breaths. He collapsed atop you, his weight a welcome anchor.

He nuzzled into your neck, pressing damp, open-mouthed kisses to your frantic pulse.

When he finally rolled to the side, he pulled you with him, keeping you firmly tucked atop of him, his member still nestled within you.

His fingers traced idle, possessive patterns on the slight, tender swell of your lower belly. "Feel that?" he murmured, his voice hoarse with spent passion.

"That is me. Deep inside you. Marking you. Exactly where I belong." You could only hum, your body and mind buzzing with a languid, sated stupor.

He was not done. After a while, his hands began to wander again, playful and insistent. He took you twice more that night, each time with a shifting mood—once slow and worshipful, his mouth tasting every part of you until you were mindless with need, begging him in broken phrases; fast and rough, with you on your hands and knees, him driving into you from behind, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave blooming fingerprints, his praises filthy and fervent against your ear.

As dawn threatened the horizon, he had you on your back once more, moving in you with a slow, deep, grinding rhythm that felt more like possession than passion. His forehead was pressed to yours, his breath mingling with your whimpers.

"I am going to fill you until you are dripping with me," he promised, his voice a dark velvet rasp. "Until the thought of anyone else is impossible. Until you carry my child here." He pressed his hand more firmly over your womb, and the thought, the sheer carnality of it, pushed you both over the edge together.

Later, as a grey light filtered through the curtains, you lay spent and boneless. Satoru propped himself on an elbow, looking down at you. His fingers, gentle now, traced the curve of your hip, then drifted through the sticky evidence of his spend that had seeped from between your thighs.

He brought his fingertips to his mouth, his eyes holding a possessive, satisfied glint as he tasted you both. "You must ride me, or I will die."

He was as much of an addict as you were becoming of his touch, of his love.

—

You sat in a chair, dressed in an elegant and ornate gown, Satoru beside you, his hand on your shoulder. Matching colors, a delicate blue. The painter took glances diligently, painting both of your features onto the canvas. You tried to stay as still as possible, but Satoru was making an effort to get a rise out of you.

It was your wedding portrait; thanks to Satoru's antics, you were late. It did not help that Satoru would continue poking, tickling, and even making crude jests; quietly enough for the painter not hear but just low enough in your ear, you could make out every word.

"You forget yourself, Your Grace, we have duties attend to." You sighed, resisting the urge to kick him in the knee.

"Well, Your Grace, I was simply remarking on the excellent skills of the painter before us." His calm face breaking for a smile. He knew what he was doing and exactly what he had said. You even noticed the way he giggled when the thought formed in his mind. Each worse than the one before it. The painter bowed, only heading the compliment, unaware of Satoru's crude comment of 'painting your walls instead'.

"I will remember that, Your Grace," you warned, keeping your soft smile.

"Please do, we must be quiet now, the painter must do his work," he paused, tapping your shoulder lightly.

"I am sure you know-" you kicked him in the shin, stopping whatever was coming out of his mouth. It was low enough for the painter to not hear, but the wince on Satoru's face did bring you an inch of joy.

You would surely tip the painter well. Satoru did make haste on his comments immediately after the painter took his leave.

There would soon be a portrait of the Duke and Duchess Gojo, replacing the former one on the wall. Although you would never be her, you would be his, and he would be yours.

You worked hard to make that true.

♡ gojopied ©2026 do not copy, edit, plagiarize, put into AI, repost, or translate any of my work.

—

The lab was quiet. Another experiment gone wrong— his sixth attempt— and Satoru Gojo did not fail six times. Period. The word alone was foreign to him. Chemicals he shouldn't have gotten ahold of. A lab he had full access to. He was like a kid in a candy shop, and if anyone could pull this off, it was him.

Failed. Again.

Sleep pulled at him harder than it should have. Just an hour. His body could handle three days without sleep—one hour would be fine. When he woke, drool had smeared weeks of data into illegibility. He groaned, dabbing at the page. And then he froze. Beakers that had been meticulously cleaned now had fingerprints. Ones he didn't place.

Someone else had been here.

Listening, Satoru whipped his head around the room, eyes trying to catch anything in sight. Slightly panicked, no one else was meant to be here; if there was, he would be royally fucked. Facing the intruder, seeing a mirror reflection of himself, wherever his shirt had gone, along with his pants, and everything else.

Stopping in his tracks, he patted his body, making sure he was indeed wearing clothes and not raw dogging it in a lab.

Staring like a deer in headlights, Satoru watched as he(?) clenched his finger, moving his appendages like they were new and getting accustomed to them. Except it wasn't Satoru moving, but someone else who looked exactly like him.

Identical.

"Yo, what the fuck?!" the voice called out, the same to his, but had a little bit of an edge to it, not noticeable to the average listener. "Who are you?"

"I should be saying the same to you..." His eyes narrowed approaching the figure cautiously, like a stray cat on the streets that was particularly aggressive.

It was almost impossible for him to have a doppelganger who looked this similar to him, and it's not like he had a secret twin hiding somewhere; he hoped not, at least.

Satoru tried coming up with some sort of explanation, anything to explain the man before him. "A clone...perhaps?" he mumbled.

"So that's your what, hypothesis?" Satoru, the clone, asked, catching onto Satoru's drift. "What the hell is with this red and blue goo anyway?" he scoffed, wiping the remaining off of his skin.

"How did you get in that?"

"I woke up with it," he said as though the answer was obvious. "You seriously think I would roll around in mystery shit for fun?" he rolled his eyes.

Satoru finally came to the realization that perhaps it was not something out of this world coincidence, but rather his own calculated mistake in his own.

A wicked grin spread across his face. Either he has finally lost his mind from inhaling copious amounts of chemicals, or he has done something even more wonderful!

Life, not only a new life but an existing life of himself!

He couldn't possibly let this scientific breakthrough slip through his fingers. Life with his replica was uneventful, to say the least. It was hell trying to get his new experiment back home with him. Satoru told himself it would be worth it in the end, so he persevered.

For science!

He let Satoru 2.0 do what he wanted, being like himself in most aspects. Habits, diet, and build were similar. Intelligence surely differed in more ways than one. Satoru 2.0 seemed to lack the knowledge he had. He wasn't disappointed, not in the slightest; this only aided his research.

A few days in, and he had 8 pages of notes on the clone. He didn't know if or when this experiment would end. Satoru was going to make the most of this.

Personality was different; the man before him was crude and lacked the reserve Satoru had. It was like he came from a different universe. Satoru groaned in his seat, getting a headache from all the hypotheses filling his head. He'd resorted to calling him Satoru 2.0—referring to someone who wasn't technically someone else by his own name only confused his thoughts.

All Satoru 2.0 did was complain.

Satoru suspects he only does it to provoke him. It was working. He heard his own voice in his head enough, hearing it externally while his thoughts were running amok, too fast for him to grasp; his eye twitched.

"Is this what you do all day?" Satoru says, head dangling off the bed. Satoru had spent most of the day studying and documenting whatever Satoru 2.0 did. It was obvious he was itching to get outside.

Satoru didn't want to risk being out the same time and people catching on that there were more than two Satorus. They were completely different; he would be appalled if others thought they were the same person.

"Pretty much... I mean, sometimes I play D&D or a quick battle of Digimon." Satoru shrugged.

"Dude, you're seriously lame as hell," the other grimaced. "I thought your closet was the only depressing thing in here," he acts as though he isn't wearing his clothes. Sure, it was styled differently, lacking one of Satoru's flannel shirts, which he threatened to burn if it came close enough to touch his skin. "I am starting to doubt we are the same person."

"Based on our DNA results and the corroborating information, I can assure you that we are the same person." He said matter-of-factly, his clone groaned loudly, stopping whatever scientific rambling that Satoru was about to proudly go on.

"C'mon, bro, let's go out, what's the Greek life out here?" he sat up, a mischievous grin on his face."Ya' know-"

"Don't need it." Satoru quickly responded. He has never been much of a partier, much less into fraternities. There was no substantial appeal to him. Dirty, crowded houses of inebriated peers did not seem attractive in the slightest.

Alcohol dulled the senses anyway; he preferred to stay aware. The taste alone was revolting.

"Fine, stay here cooped up in here like some city rat. I don't care, but I am losing my fucking mind in here." Satoru 2.0 whined, staring outside the window.

He knew there was a party today, reading one of the texts on Satoru's phone, prompting his continuous whining. Satoru was skeptical about what his clone would do; they shared the same appearance, and he would prefer keeping his clean slate reputation on top of his stellar grades. "Imagine what kind of research you could get out of this."

"Research? What kind?" Intrigued, Satoru whirled his chair around, giving his full attention.

"You're the genius here, think about it." He wasn't wrong; there was substantial research to be found when his replica interacted with others besides himself. A change of environment was an essential scientific process.

"It's a win-win. I get to get the fuck out of here, and you get to analyze or whatever you do," he bargained, hand pushing his hair out of the way, a habit Satoru quickly wrote down. Perhaps Satoru 2.0 wasn't completely asinine.

"Fine, but you must report back everything. Interactions, behaviors, everything."

"Whatever, whatever." Satoru 2.0 lost no time readying himself, taking Satoru's spare phone. He seemed to work the technology just fine.

—

When he arrived, he didn't expect his nerd ass counterpart to know more than 4 people, himself included. To his surprise, a man with brown hair met him at the door, thoroughly shocked to see his face.

"S-Satoru?! No way— I didn't think you'd show up!" Haibara said, a name Satoru soon learned as he led him into the house. A smell Satoru had savored after he's been stuck in that lame apartment. It was just as good hearing his own name rather than 'Satoru 2.0'.

"You look so different, man, what's with the switch up?" he asked, pouring him a concoction from a jug into a red solo cup. "Almost didn't recognise you," he laughed.

Satoru shrugged, taking the cup and throwing back half of it in one go. The burn was welcome. "Needed a change of pace. Been cooped up too long."

Haibara's eyes went wide. "Dude, you never drink. Last time someone tried to get you to take a shot, you gave them a twenty-minute lecture on ethyl alcohol's effect on synaptic transmission."

"People change," he smirked.

The party was everything Satoru had been craving. Bodies pressed together, bass vibrating through the floorboards, the sticky-sweet smell of cheap alcohol.

This was living. This was what that lab rat was missing out on while he categorized his fucking beakers by size and color. He genuinely did not see the allure; while he nerded out over aspects of life, he would be living it out in this strange place.

He'd been working the room for about an hour, charming his way through clusters of people who apparently knew "Satoru" but couldn't quite place this version of him. The glasses were gone, for one.

Rolling the sleeves of the plain black t-shirt he'd found in the original's disappointing wardrobe. The shirt was too big on him—well, on them technically—but he'd made it work, the fabric draping in a way that suggested he'd just thrown it on without caring, which he had.

"Yo, 'Toru!" A voice cut through the noise, and he turned to find a guy with black frosted tips waving him over to a corner where a group had gathered around someone sitting on a couch. "Get over here, man. We're doing shots."

Now that caught his attention.

He sauntered over, pushing through the crowd with the easy confidence that apparently didn't come standard with his model. The weirdo probably would've stammered something about germ theory and backed away slowly. Fucking nerd.

And then he saw you.

You were sprawled across the couch, tiny skirt riding up just enough, legs stretched out with a red solo cup balanced on your thigh. Your eyes met his, and something sparked recognition, sure, but something else too. Interest.

"You're in my spot," he said, grinning down at you. Your long nails tapped the cup nervously, eyes glancing around as if you didn't know he was talking to you.

Your eyebrow furrowed. "Pretty sure I was here first."

"Yeah, but I'm prettier."

The laugh you gave him was worth the corny line. "You wish, Gojo."

So you knew his name, that's even more Interesting. Dweeb hadn't mentioned anyone worth mentioning, or anyone at all other than a scientist, but here you were, looking at him.

He was pretty sure you were not one of the figures Satoru spent hunched over his desk reading about. He dropped onto the couch beside you, closer than necessary, close enough that his thigh pressed against yours. "You gonna save me a shot, or what?"

You held up the cup between your legs. "Come get it."

—

Satoru left his seat, kneeling, spreading your legs as he placed the shot in between your thighs, your skirt hiking up to reveal more of your thighs. You almost didn't recognise him in his new get-up or attitude.

"Don't be shy, baby." He smirked. You didn't even know the dorky little shit could ever be like this. So charming, sexy.

His hands covered the tops of your thighs, head dipping lower to the plastic red solo cup rested in-between the the flesh.

He buried his head in your thighs, slurping the liquid from inside the cup. It was too much. He was really putting on a show. He was hot, and he knew it, just as much as he knew the answers to all the professor's questions.

Taking up all the class time he could, taking up as much space in between your ever-so shaky legs. It made you wonder if this was even the same guy, thought interrupted by his finger groping your thighs.

Your mind started to glitch, wondering what he would look like if there weren't as many people here, if your panties and skirt were off, and him licking up the wetness in your panties and not the cheap alcohol.

Fuck, you didn't even care if the others watched. You wouldn't usually get down in front of so many people, so suddenly, even. Did it really count as a record if you already knew him, spending most of the semester staring at his hair?

He was good eye candy, especially in a class you barely understood. Satoru wasn't your typical pick, well, not previously. The nerd thing was cute and all, but seeing him like this was making your pussy flutter.

His cerulean eyes look up at you, not behind a pair of thick glasses, watching you watch him. As if he were seeing your reaction.

The tips of his ears were tinged pink, even brighter in contrast with his bright white hair. You wanted to touch him so bad, take him away so that you could get the real thing.

Holding back, you lean your head back, holding your hand over your mouth to stop from saying something stupid or worse. The display was bordering on pornographic, which didn't bother you; you've done worse in worse places.

Satoru picked up the rim of the cup, tongue going up the sides, placing it flat to the rim.

Fuck...

The rest of the party blurred after that. He stayed glued to your side, hand finding your waist, then your thigh, then your waist again, like he couldn't decide where he wanted to touch but knew he needed to be touching you somewhere.

You learned things about him—about this side of him—that didn't match the guy from class at all. He reminded you of the frat guys you used to mess with, a lot smoother and a hell of a lot cuter.

You never met one who wasn't a dick for brains, at least.

But when you asked about class, about Professor Yaga's lecture on cellular biology, he went quiet for a beat too long before deflecting. "Don't wanna talk about school at a party, babe. That's against the rules."

That was suspicious to say the least, you would've thought, given the chance to 'nerd off', he'd take it happily. You brushed it off even as the thought lingered in your head.

You should've noticed then. Should've caught the discrepancy. But his hand had slipped lower, thumb tracing circles on the inside of your thigh, and rational thought had packed its bags and left the building.

He grinned, sharp and wolfish. "Made me wanna find out if you taste better than cheap vodka." You fell back onto the seat, pulling him with you.

When you mentioned you wanted a change of scenery, eyelashes falling low as you played with the thin chain around his neck. A move you have performed more times than you can count. Realisation dawned on his face as he led you to a car outside.

"Only one way to find out."

He didn't need more encouragement than that.

His mouth found your neck, teeth scraping against the sensitive skin there while his hands worked your top. Impatient. Desperate. Like he couldn't get you naked fast enough. You felt the same way, fingers fumbling with his belt, his jeans, needing to feel him, all of him, right now. Your patience was shorter than the skirt you were wearing.

"Fuck, you're so soft," he groaned against your collarbone, pushing your top aside to reveal the lace underneath. His thumb traced the edge of your bra, teasing, watching your face for every reaction. "Been thinking about these tits since I saw you on that couch. Wanna put my mouth all over 'em."

"Then do it."

He did.

His mouth was hot and wet and perfect, sucking marks into the swell of your breasts before finally, finally pulling down the lace and taking your nipple between his lips. You gasped, back arching off the bed, and he hummed in appreciation, the vibration making you squirm.

"That's it," he murmured against your skin. "Love how responsive you are. Gonna make you feel so good, baby."

His hand slid down your stomach, past the waistband of your skirt, fingers dipping between your thighs. You were already wet. "Fuck. You're soaked."

"Do something about it, Toru," you managed, breath hitching as his fingers found your clit through your panties.

He laughed, low and dirty. "I like the way you think."

He pulled back then, settling himself between your legs with a purpose that made your stomach flip.

His fingers hooked into the waistband of your thong, dragging them down your legs slowly, agonizingly slowly, watching the reveal like it was the best thing he'd seen all night.

"Pretty," he observed, running a thumb through your folds, spreading your wetness. "So fuckin' pretty."

He ate pussy like he was getting a grade for it. His tongue worked you with a rhythm that bordered on cruel, soft and teasing one moment, firm and demanding the next.

His fingers joined in, two of them sliding inside you with an ease that made you moan, made your hips buck against his face.

"You like that?" he asked, words muffled against your cunt. "Yeah, I can feel how much you like it. Squeezing my fingers so tight, baby." You couldn't form words, could only moan and grip his white hair—so soft, you'd wondered about that.

It was methodical in its intensity, thorough in a way that reminded you, absurdly, of how he answered questions in class. It made you wonder where he learned this from.

But there was nothing academic about the way he moaned against you, the way his tongue delved deeper, the way he looked up at you with those impossible blue eyes while he worked you toward the edge; you couldn't help but gush around him.

You never would have thought Satoru to be a messy eater; you didn't think him to be an eater at all, to be honest.

"Close," you gasped. "Fuck, 'toru, l'm close-"

He doubled down, fingers curling to hit that spot inside you while his mouth sucked your clit, and you shattered, crying out his name as you came on his tongue.

He didn't stop, didn't let up, worked you through every wave of it until you were shaking, oversensitive, pushing at his head. Both of you were interrupted by the ringing of his phone, tempted to ignore it till he saw the name displayed at the top. Picking up the phone, much to your dismay, he started typing viciously, irritation visibly growing on his face.

"Hate to say this, babe, but we gotta cut this short, 'kay." He grumbled, shutting the phone off and stuffing it in his back pocket. He licked up the rest of your release and pulled up your panties and skirt skillfully. You exited his car satisfied but thoroughly confused as he drove off with a wink and a wave.

What the hell?!

—

When he got back to the apartment, Satoru was waiting up like an excited puppy, notebook in hand. "Well?" he asked, practically vibrating. He wouldn't be surprised if he got off on research results."What did you observe? Any notable behavioral differences in the subjects? Did anyone suspect—"

"You really pick the worst time to call. I was in the middle of something super scientific." He pouted, "I got laid," Satoru announced, just to watch his counterpart's face crumple.

"You WHAT? The experiment was for observational purposes only, not for—"

"Relax, nerd. I didn't actually sleep with anyone." He tossed himself onto the sofa, grinning at the ceiling. It was not a total lie; he didn't sleep with anyone, as close as he was to doing so, until Satoru called. "But I did meet someone." he technically met a lot of people.

Satoru's pen stopped moving. "Who?"

The replica started describing you, leaving out some details like the body shot and eating you out; the dork didn't need to know everything. "I talked to her tonight. Got her number."

"She's in my Bioethics class…you're kidding?"

"Relax, I'm not gonna steal your girl. She seemed pretty into us, bro." he leaned forward, lowering his voice conspiratorially.

Satoru blinked behind his glasses, as if that thought never crossed his mind. "She did?"

"Oh yeah, super into you, can't believe you didn't hit that yet." he paused, "You know if you like her, I got you a hell of a start. If not, this may help your experiment."

"I never said that." Satoru shook his head, thinking for a moment. "I guess it wouldn't hurt..."

"I am great, I know." He pulled out the phone, scrolling to your contact. "Here. Text her tomorrow. Ask her to study or some shit. Don't know how far your nerd-ass will make it though."

"My nerd-ass has worked perfectly fine for twenty-two years."

"Yeah, and look where it's gotten you." Satoru gestured vaguely at the apartment, the stacks of books, the half-finished experiments, the single bed in the corner. "Alone with your Digimon cards."

"They're not cards, they're- you know what, never mind." Satoru took the phone, staring at your name. "And you're sure she... she seemed interested? Unwilling participants are never fun."

"Bro." He laughed, just slightly. "Take my word, she's interested as hell."

ー

It took a week for Satoru to say anything to you. Guys like him, you assumed he would be texting by the time you were pulling your panties back up.

Hey, it's Satoru. From class. I know this is random, but I was wondering if you wanted to study together sometime? There's a coffee shop near campus that's pretty quiet.

You stared at the message for a solid thirty seconds. After the party last week, you'd half convinced yourself it was a dream. But here he was. Texting you.

Sure, it pissed you off that he was now texting you, but you typed back, fingers moving with speed. He never bothered saying anything to you all semester; you were suspicious, to say the least.

If this was his way of getting into your pants, you'd give it a chance. Less blatant than many other attempts to get with you. It's better than a dick pic, you were curious about what was under those khakis though…

When were you thinking?

His response was immediate. Tomorrow? Around 2? I'll send you the address.

Tomorrow. He wanted to see you tomorrow.

Although you were planning on going shopping, checking out the new clothing store that opened at the mall. You'd been waiting for them to open, but you could postpone your shopping trip.

You spent the next twenty-four hours in a state of barely contained anticipation. It's not like this was your first dick appointment, but you knew what to expect. Satoru was different than your usual types.

A café wasn't your typical spot, but you could work with it. Changing your outfit four times before settling on something casual but cute and easy to take off.

The coffee shop was exactly the kind of place you'd expect him to like: quiet, filled with the smell of old books and fresh espresso, cozy corners with overstuffed chairs. You spotted him immediately, tucked away at a table near the window, laptop open, glasses perched on his nose, looking so fucking adorable.

"Hey," you breathed, sliding into the chair across from him.

He looked up, and for a moment, his expression was polite. "Hey. You came."

"Of course I came. I said I would."

"Right. Yeah. Of course." He pushed his glasses up, a nervous habit you were starting to find endearing. "I, uh- I got you a drink. I didn't know what you liked, so I got you a vanilla latte. That's what most people seem to— but if you don't like vanilla I can get you something else, I just didn't want you to have to wait in line and-"

"Satoru." You couldn't help but smile. "Vanilla latte is perfect. Thank you."

"Oh. Good. Good." He nodded a smile, stretching his lips slightly. "So, um. Bioethics. Chapter six?"

You studied together for two hours, and somewhere between discussing utilitarian approaches to medical resource allocation and him explaining the difference between deontological and consequentialist ethics with hand gestures that somehow helped you understand the concept further.

Your leg bounced under the table. His change from the other day was confusing. It was like whiplash trying to deal with the thoughts racing through your mind. The most repetitive one being, what the hell?

He looked so cute in his flannel and glasses, much different from the other day, but still hot. You wanted to pounce on him till you forgot his name.

You didn't do that, obviously. But you thought about it.

"Same time next week?" he asked as you packed up.

"Yeah," you said, a little confused. No offer to head to the back or to his place. "Same time next week." You couldn't believe you spent two hours getting ready to study.

The texts started slowly at first. Him sending you articles he thought you'd find interesting. He sends memes that make you laugh. Gradually, they became more frequent.

Good morning texts. Goodnight texts that made your heart clench. No unsolicited nudes or any flirtatious messages, it was puzzling.

When the coffee shop that both of you frequented was closed, and he offered that you come over instead, you took the opportunity immediately.

His apartment was huge, much more than an average college student would be able to pay for. You didn't question it, slipping your heels off. He led you inside to the couch, where he had an area set up for both of you to study.

Today, he had ditched the flannel and wore a crewneck sweater. You scooted a little closer to him on the couch. He looked through the textbook trying to find a particular page. Humming when he finally found it.

Throughout the study session, you took the first step and gradually touched him. You thought it was the alcohol that made him so bold; you can work with shy guys.

At first, his hands, your nails tracing over his veins, and then his hair, playing with the short hair of his undercut. He didn't seem to mind in the slightest, letting your hands wander where they wanted.

You did as little as graze his collar, and he was nose deep in your panties, now his little playboy exterior missing, and he was acting like you weren't even there.

"And this…" He paused, laughing slightly. "You're not even listening."

"I am." You lied, making eye contact with him. You haven't been listening for about an hour now, responding with hums. You liked the sound of his voice as he explained topics. You'll have him go over them later anyway, not like you'll be listening then either.

"Then what did I say?" He asked, putting a page through the textbook before closing it shut. He waited for a moment for your response, "See, I knew you weren't listening, starting to think you didn't come over just to study," he stated simply.

Duh, you don't usually put this much effort in, not like you ever had to anyway, men are easy.

"If I didn't?" you leaned in closer, tilting your head just slightly. Your eyes glancing down towards his plump lips, you didn't even get to kiss him last time. Lifting from your knees, you kissed him on the side of his mouth.

He froze, mind visibly thinking about what to do next. It was simply a test, but he pulled you closer onto him, practically on top of his lap. His lips were soft, tongue exploring the inside of your mouth.

You moaned into his touch, hips grinding against him. You broke away, a string of saliva connecting your mouths. You traveled down your neck, leaving hickies in your wake.

It's immediate, the way his hips buck up into you, his bulge pressing right against your core through both your clothes, and he groans in the air, the fresh mark you're sucking into his throat.

One hand squeezing your ass while the other is splaying across your lower back, pressing you harder against him. His touch was awkward, like he didn't know where to touch.

You roll your hips experimentally, whimpering when the friction hits just right, and his whole body tenses beneath you. His head falls back against the couch cushion, exposing the long column of his throat, and you watch his Adam's apple bob as he swallows thickly.

Those bright blue eyes behind his glasses crack open just to stare up at you, pupils blown so wide the blue is barely visible.

"That's it," he breathes, and his hands are pushing up the hem of your shirt, leading his hands as you shove the thin fabric off over your head.

Bringing his hands to your breast— just barely shaking against your lace-covered tits. You don't even bother with the clasp— yanking your bra down, spilling your tits out into the open air, and his mouth is on them before you can process the loss of fabric.

Wet and hot and desperate, tongue dragging over your nipple while his fingers work the other, pinching and rolling. He lacked the same technique you seen before, instead slobbering over your tits.

His sweater is in the way. Too much fabric, too soft, too there when you need to feel his skin, see what has been hiding under his baggy clothes. You tug at it, and he pulls back just long enough to rip it over his head, white hair staticky and wild, and god—he's huge. Broad shoulders, thick chest, arms that make you feel tiny even straddling his lap like this.

You run your hands down his pecs, over the faint trail of hair disappearing below his waistband, and he shudders.

That phone call better have been worth it for him to take this from you.

"Yeah, touch me," he huffs, grabbing your wrists and pressing your palms flat against his stomach.

You grind down again, and his hips stutter up, his thick length pressing against your clothed cunt in a way that makes stars pop behind your eyes.

The friction is everything—denim rubbing against denim, the seam of his jeans catching right on your clit as you rock against him. His hands fly to your hips, guiding, controlling, forcing you down harder and faster until you're both panting.

"Shit-" He chokes, head dropping forward to watch the place where your bodies meet. You follow his gaze and see the way his cock strains against his jeans, the dark spot of pre-cum already soaking through, your hips move in frantic little circles trying to get more pressure exactly where you need it.

"'Toru-"

"I know, I know." He leans up to catch your mouth again, all spit and tongue and messy, open-mouthed kisses that leave both of you gasping. His hands slip down, grabbing your ass and spreading you open over his lap, and the new angle makes you see white.

You're grinding right against his length, the ridge of it catching your clit with every roll of your hips, and you can feel the coil tightening low in your belly.

He must feel it too—how close you are—because his grip turns bruising, forcing you to keep the pace even when you're shaking. "Don't stop," he stutters against your lips.

You nod frantically, unable to form words, too focused on the pressure building and building and building.

His teeth sink into your bottom lip, and that's it—the coil snaps and you're coming undone on top of him, grinding through it while he groans against your mouth and his hips jerk up helplessly beneath you.

Your vision goes spotty, coming down from your high gradually. Slumped against his chest and trembling, you feel him shake beneath you. Look down and see his jaw clenched, veins prominent in his neck, eyes squeezed shut.

"Your turn," you whisper, and you meant to sound sexy, but it comes out wrecked. Neither of you had heard the door open, and the figure standing there watching the scene unfold.

"Damn you actually did it…" Satoru stood by the door with a shocked grin on his face. You froze, your cloudy haze clearing up at the sight of two Satorus. "Y'know, I was about to complain about how dumb your classes are, but…" he whistled.

Were you losing your mind?! Sure, your orgasm was pretty damn good, but nowhere near hallucinating.

Panicked, you climbed off of Satoru, whose hands you had to swipe off of you. Satoru's nonchalance wasn't helping, as you tried covering yourself from the man at the door.

"You have the worst timing…" Satoru groaned beside you.

"You're one to talk. I was in the middle of working my magic when you decided to call over some bullshit, payback bitch."

While the two of them went at it, you were left completely dumbfounded. "Satoru?" Both of them answered, "What the hell is going on? You have a twin?" Two Gojos, standing in the same room, looking at you with expressions that ranged from inconvenienced to proud.

You stared in shock at the two men. Well, not one but two Satorus, according to both of them. That would explain why the weird behavior and why he looked so different when you saw him outside of classes and studying. "So... you're the same person?" you examined, looking between them.

"Pretty much, Alstein over here mixed the wrong shit up," he affirmed. "I wouldn't say 'same', I am nothing like him," Satoru replied, denying any accusation that he was anything like his replica.

"Einstein," Satoru flatly corrected, "but pretty much."

You nodded cautiously. You may not be the smartest person in the world, but it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that this was insane.

"And you're just…... okay with this?" you asked, gesturing between them. "With him running around pretending to be you?"

Satoru shrugged. "It's been useful for research, when he's not trying to burn my flannels, at least. I wouldn't say he was pretending to be me, when he technically is me." He looked back at the other man, "on a biological level at least." He added scornfully. The other didn't fail flipping him off, picking up on his more than arrogant tone.

"They're an abomination against fashion." Satoru 2.0 shuddered dramatically. "Seriously, wear something else, your taste is ass."

"I like flannels."

"Again, zero fucking taste."

You couldn't help the exasperated laugh that escaped. It was absurd, standing here with two identical men arguing about fashion choices like one of them hadn't created an entire clone of himself. If he wasn't lying at least.

"So all those times at the parties, and the car," you said slowly, looking at the clone. "That was you."

"Guilty." He didn't look regretful at all, pretty proud himself. "There's no way this virgin has these skills, babe," he gestured, poking his tongue out playfully.

"The car?" Satoru looked between you, "What happened in the car?"

"The first time I got out, ate her out in the car, before you woefully interrupted." Satoru sighed, reminiscing on the moment as his eyes looked toward your breast, his gaze was anything but polite.

"You couldn't have said something two weeks ago; now I have to go back and add that to the data log." Satoru glared, rubbing his temples.

"Don't get distracted, assholes. I would have preferred not getting involved in this 'experiment'." You used your fingers to add quotations around experiment. "And all the study sessions?" You turned to the real Satoru.

"Correct." That would explain why he wasn't as eager to get in your pants compared to his counterpart.

"And the texts?"

They exchanged a look. "Uh," Satoru mumbled. "That was... both of us. Sometimes."

"Bro- babe," the other started, "think about it, you're like a research assistant, y'know." He tried to make the situation seem better than it was. You couldn't deny it; it was pretty fucking cool that he made a clone of himself, but that didn't negate the fact that you were just an unknowing subject in their schemes.

"Is that what this is? Research?" Both of them nodded cautiously. You should storm out, block them, and pretend this never happened. Go to the mall as you would have, instead of messing with these two. But then the cruel thought of missing out on two Satoru's crossed your mind.

You had worked hard fake studying to get in Satoru's pants, and his little clone wasn't half bad at giving head. Groaning, you prayed you would not regret this. "Fuck it, you better credit me in your paper."

You've already made it this far.

"You'll be in the acknowledgements, I promise," Satoru—the real one—grins, surprised by your response, and it's that same infuriatingly charming smile that made you get onto his couch and car in the first place. "But uh, we might need to collect a little more data first."

His clone's already moving before you can process the words, sliding onto the couch behind you while the original stays in front. You're trapped between two identical bodies, two sets of impossible blue eyes watching you with matching intensity.

"Wait—" The protest dies in your throat when four hands find your skin simultaneously.

The one behind you—Satoru, you need to start calling them something—drags his nose up the curve of your spine, breathes hot against your vertebrae. "Smell so good," he murmurs against your shoulder blade.

The real Satoru cups your face, tilting it up to meet his gaze. His thumb traces your swollen bottom lip, and you hate how your body responds, how your nipples peak under the clone's wandering hands. "I—" You gasp when his mouth closes over the junction of your neck and shoulder, sucking hard enough to bruise. "Fuck."

"That's not a no." The real one's eyes crinkle with amusement. He leans in, kisses you slow and deep while his twin—clone—whatever—works his way down your back. Teeth scrape against your shoulder blade, your spine, the dip just above the swell of your ass.

You break the kiss with Toru— you decided to call him that. He didn't seem to mind— his hands spread your cheeks apart, when you feel his breath against your sensitive rim.

"Look at that," one murmurs, and you can hear the grin in his voice. "She's already dripping. You think she wants my mouth here, too?"

"Only one way to find out." Satoru's watching over your shoulder, eyes darkening as his replica drags his tongue through your folds from behind, a long, slow stripe that makes your knees buckle. You missed his tongue.

"Fuck-" The word punches out of you as Toru's tongue circles your clit, then dips lower, presses against your entrance, then lower still—"Oh god, what are you—"

He answers by licking into you from behind, tongue flat and hot against that tight ring of muscle, and your brain short-circuits completely.

"That's it." Satoru's got his forehead pressed to yours, watching your eyes go wide and glassy. "Lay back." You don't have a choice—Satoru's hands guide you down until you're flat on the couch, and then they're positioning you however they want, rolling you onto your stomach and pulling your hips up until you're on your knees with your face pressed into the cushions.

"Perfect," someone breathes. Could be either of them. "Look at this view."

Something slick and cool drips down your crack—lube, you realize, lots of it—and then fingers are spreading you open, exposing you completely.

"Who wants first?" Satoru's voice, from somewhere to your left.

"She squirted on my face already. You owe me." Toru's right behind you, and you feel the thick head of his cock nudging against your wet folds.

"That was your choice. You could've fucked her anytime."

"And miss watching her come apart on my tongue? Never." He pushes in just an inch, just the tip, and you whimper into the pillow, your hole clenched around nothing, anticipating him. "But now I want to feel that tight little pussy squeezing me while I fill her up."

"Greedy," he scoffs. "Fine. But I get her mouth." Satoru's on his back now, cock standing wet and ready. Your mouth waters, tongue flicking at the slit before taking him into your mouth. He moaned, your tongue swirling around his cock expertly.

Toru, behind you, groans against your cunt, the vibration shooting straight up your spine and making you moan around the real Satoru's cock. Your thighs tremble on either side of that beautiful face, and you feel his tongue curl inside you.

"Shit—" Satoru's head falls back, hips twitching, and you feel him hit the back of your throat. "Y-you're amazing." You hum around him, sending vibrations to his cock, only making him gasp louder.

Toru pulls his mouth away just long enough to gasp, "Don't make him cum too fast, babe." Then he's diving back in, tongue stiff and pointed, fucking into your dripping hole while his nose bumps against your hole with every movement.

You're caught between them, suspended in pleasure. Every time you try to focus on sucking Satoru's cock, the clone does something devastating with his tongue that makes your throat clench and your vision blur.

Every time you try to rock back against that perfect mouth, the other pushes your head further down, cock hitting the back of your throat.

"Look at me." Satoru tugs your hair, just enough to drag your eyes up to his. They're almost completely black, pupils blown wide behind his thick glasses, cheeks flushed. "That's it. That's so fucking good."

Behind you, his replica's hands grip your hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh hard enough to leave bruises. He pulls you down onto his face like you're nothing but a toy for his mouth, tongue plunging deep, then retreating to lap at your clit in quick, cruel circles.

You come with a broken scream around Satoru's length, your entire body convulsing, and you feel Toru behind you groan against your pulsing cunt, feel him drink everything you give him like it's the finest thing he's ever tasted.

Close, Satoru tried to pull your head off of him, you stay planted, he cums down your throat in warm spurts.

His thighs twitching under your grip, it didn't taste bad, slightly sweet even. "Jesus Christ." He falls back against the couch cushions, chest heaving. "That was-"

"Not done." Satoru's voice was determined. He's sitting up now, pulling you into his lap, and you feel his cock—still hard, still leaking— press against your soaked folds. " I'ma show you how it's done, virgin."

Satoru's eyes light up despite his recent orgasm. "How many times- I'm not a virgin." He leans forward, cups your face, kisses you slow and deep— the taste of his cum still lingering.

You nod frantically. "Fuck me, Toru." Hands finding his condom-covered cock, making slow strokes. At least he knew better.

"God- love your voice, baby." Toru's hands guide your hips, and you sink down onto him in one long, wet slide. "Ohhhh fuck- yes so tight, so fucking tight-"

You can't help the sounds you make, can't help the way your head falls back and your mouth drops open. The stretch was dizzying but so delicious. You hadn't been fucked good in weeks, savoring the feeling of his cock stretching your walls. He's so thick, so deep, and the angle lets him hit somewhere inside you that makes stars burst behind your eyes.

"Look at that." Satoru's voice is awed. He's stroking himself again, already hardening at the sight of his twin fucking you slow and deep. "How perfect she looks stretched around our cock."

Our cock. The word shouldn't make you wetter, shouldn't make you gush on his length until he groans and grips your hips hard enough to bruise. But it does.

God, it does.

"Don't cum in two pumps, virgin."

"N-not a virgin, dickhead." Satoru groaned. "Ride her." Watching with hungry eyes. "Want to see you fuck her properly, or I'll do it myself."

The other obeys instantly—because of course he does, they're the same person, they share the same brain, the same desires. Even if they deny it, they are two sides of the same shiny coin. "You wish," He lifts you easily, almost casually, and starts bouncing you on his cock like you weigh nothing. "Like this?" Each word punches out of him with every thrust. "Like- fuck watching her tits bounce?"

"Yeah." Satoru's hand moves faster on his cock. "Just like that. Harder."

"We'll give him something actually useful to report, baby."

You're nothing but a toy between them, a perfect little hole for them to share, and the realization should horrify you, but instead it sends electricity crackling through every nerve. Toru fucks up into you brutally, no gentleness now, just pure need, and you can feel every inch of him dragging against your walls.

"Oh god—oh god, I'm gonna-"

"Not yet." Toru's hand wraps around your throat—not tight, just present. You hear Satoru move. Feel the couch shift. Then his mouth is on your shoulder, teeth sinking in, and his hand joins his twin's on your hip, fingers intertwining.

"Please-" It comes out broken, desperate. "Please, I need-"

"I know what you need." Toru's thrusts are losing rhythm, getting sloppier. "Feel that? Feel how close I am? Want to come?"

"Yes—yes, please-"

"Come with me, babe." He releases your throat, hand sliding down to press against your clit, circling roughly. "Come on my cock."

The command snaps something loose inside you. You come, clenching down so hard, Toru roars, and you feel him pulse inside you, hot and deep and endless. In front of you, Satoru comes, his release splashes across your stomach, warm and wet and marking you.

"So you can ejaculate…interesting," Satoru commented, noting it in his head to write down later.

You can't speak. Can't move. Can't do anything but slump between them, trembling, completely and utterly ruined. But they're not done with you yet. "Bedroom." Satoru's voice has an edge to it now, dark and hungry, that makes your pussy stir despite itself. "We're not done. Not even close."

The other lifts you easily, still half-hard inside you, and carries you toward the hallway. "Agreed. Need to try some things. Not the only one with hypotheses, dork."

"For science, of course," they say in perfect unison.

And despite everything—despite the ache in your knees and your juices dripping down your thighs and the absolute madness of this situation—you laugh. Then moan as the movement shifts his cock inside you. "For 'science', right…" you agree weakly.

They laid you out on Satoru's bed. The sheets are cool beneath your overheated skin, a brief respite before they're on you again—one on each side, bracketing your body with their heat.

Toru's already mouthing at your neck, sucking marks into the sensitive skin while his hand trails down your stomach. "Want to try something," he murmurs against your pulse. "Want to see if we can make you squirt together."

Your breath catches. "Together?"

Satoru grins, that familiar, charming smile, made infinitely more dangerous by the context. "He fucks you from behind. I'll be in front."

"It's basic physics," Toru adds, nipping at your collarbone. "Double the stimulation, double the pleasure. Or whatever."

"Quadruple, technically." Satoru's hands on your stomach, fingers intertwining. "Since there are two of us."

"Sure-" You swallow, try again. "Just get inside of me."

They move with the kind of synchronization that only comes from being literally the same person. The clone one positions himself at your back, cock brushing against your ass, while the real one lifts your hips and settles in front of you, his length sliding through your soaked folds teasingly.

"Ready?" Satoru says behind you, his voice is strained, barely holding onto control.

You answer by taking him deep into your pussy, moaning around him, and that's all the invitation the other needs. He pushes in in one smooth motion, seating himself completely against the other, and the world narrows to the feeling of being utterly, impossibly full.

His cock stretches you perfectly, reaches places you forgot existed, and every thrust presses him against that spot inside you that makes your toes curl.

Above you, Toru groans and thrusts deeper into your cunt. "Oh fuck-"

"Can feel her clenching around me." his thrusts are measured at first, controlled, like he's savoring every inch. "Every time you move, her pussy squeezes me l-like a fist."

They find a rhythm eventually— two bodies moving as one, using you between them. "Look at that." Satoru's voice is reverent. He's pulled back just enough to watch, to see both cock disappearing into you over and over. "Look at how well she takes us. Like she was made for this."

Toru's thrusts are getting harder, faster, and less controlled. "Fuck—she's getting tighter—she's close."

"And I'm the 'virgin', sure." But Satoru's eyes are half-lidded, his hips stuttering. "Want to feel her come on both of us at the same time."

The words alone might be enough to push you over. But then Satoru reaches down, fingers finding your clit and circling brutally, and Toru tangles his hand in your hair and holds you deep. You cum gasping.

You feel Toru moan above you, feel him pulse hot and deep inside your clenching walls. Satoru follows a second later, glasses crooked on his face, hips jerking as he paints your walls, and you realize neither wore a condom. Had it been any other moment, you would've cussed both of them out and broken their dicks off, clone or not.

When you finally come down, you're shaking. Actually shaking, muscles trembling uncontrollably as they ease you onto your back and arrange themselves on either side of you.

The day blurs into night in a haze of pleasure. They take turns— sometimes literally, swapping positions so seamlessly you can't tell who's inside you anymore.

Sometimes they're both inside you, one in your cunt and one in your mouth, or one fucking you while the other watches and whispers filthy things in your ear.

—

You're in the shower— finally, blessedly cleaning up— when the curtain slides open and two identical bodies crowd in behind you. The water's hot, the steam thick, and their hands are everywhere at once.

"Thought we'd help." His voice is innocent, but his cock pressing against your ass is anything but.

"Make sure you get really clean." One in front of you, hands soaping up your breasts, your stomach, sliding lower between your legs.

You lean back against the other's chest, let the water cascade over you while the clone's hands grip your hips, steadying you as you lift one leg over the real one's shoulder, then the other. He supports your weight easily, holding you suspended while the others cock aligns with your entrance.

"Look at that," the one holding you breathes. "She's gaping a little from earlier."

"Let me see." Behind you, peers over your shoulder. "Oh. Oh, fuck. She really is."

The one holding you—you think it's the real one, but honestly, they keep switching, and you're too fucked out to tell—tilts his head. "I bet we could both fit."

"What?" Your voice comes out strangled.

The other behind you hums thoughtfully, his thumb tracing down your spine, over your tailbone, pressing gently at your tightest ring of muscle. "He's right. You're so warm and stretched already from 'Toru fucking you."

"Oh, I'm not 2.0 anymore? You got real influence, baby." Toru is holding you nuzzles against your inner thigh, tongue darting out to taste where the others' cum is still dripping from you despite the shower washing it away. "You can take more. You're a greedy girl, aren't you? Wanting both of us?"

Toru's cock slides between your cheeks, not entering, just... resting there, hot and heavy against your tightest hole while Satoru's tip nudges at your weeping cunt.

"Whatcha think, sweetheart?" They ask in unison, and the effect is devastating.

"Please put them inside me. Both of you."

"See? Told you she'd say yes."

Toru, behind you, laughs, and the sound vibrates through his chest pressed against your back. "You owe me twenty bucks."

"You bet on whether I'd beg for you at the same time?" You're indignant for approximately half a second before his cock notches against your ass, and Satoru lines up with your cunt, and all higher brain function evaporates. They don't push in together. That would be too easy, too merciful. Instead, they take turns.

Satoru slides in first—just the tip, just enough to make your eyes roll back as your abused cunt clenches around him greedily. Then he stops, holds perfectly still while the other behind you presses forward, stretching your pussy inch by agonizing inch.

You cry out. The water swallows the sound, but they feel it, feel every vibration of your body as you're stretched wider than you've ever been.

"Shh, shh, you're okay." The one in front kisses your forehead, your nose, your lips, all tender and sweet, while his twin works his cock deeper into your ass. "You're doing so well, sweet girl. Taking us both. So fucking p-perfect."

Toru's hips meet your ass with a wet slap. "I'm in. Fuck, she's tight. She's so fucking tight around me."

"I know." he starts to move, shallow thrusts that have his cock sliding against the other's cock. One thrusts while the other holds still, then they switch, then they figure out how to move together, opposite directions, so one is pushing in while the other pulls out. "I'll be sure to write that down."

You're nothing but a moaning, drooling mess between them, held upright by two sets of strong arms, fucked from both ends by identical cocks in identical bodies with identical grunts falling from identical lips.

"Want to move to the bed," you manage to gasp out. "Want to see it. Want to watch."

They exchange a look over your head that communication thing that's so unsettling when you're not being split open on their dicks, and then you're being lifted, carried, still connected, still filled, water dripping everywhere as they maneuver you out of the shower and down the hall to the bedroom.

Satoru lies back on the bed, pulling you with him so you're straddling his hips, his cock still buried deep. The clone kneels behind you, positions himself, and pushes back in with a groan.

"Look down," Satoru whispers. "Watch us fuck you."

You look.

Between your legs, two identical cocks disappear into your body, your own flesh stretched thin around them. When they move—and they do, immediately, finding that rhythm again—you can see the bulge in your lower stomach, can see the way their cocks press against each other through you.

"That's me," Toru breathes, reaching around to press on that bulge. "That's my cock right there, fucking into your pussy. Can you feel it?"

You nod frantically, tears streaming down your face, drool dripping onto his chest. "I can feel both of you. I can feel—oh god, I can feel every-"

"Good." Satoru's hands grip your hips, start bouncing you on his cock while the other fucks into you from behind. "Want you to feel us for days. Want you to sit on his cock tomorrow and still feel me stretching you open."

The other laughs, breathless and wrecked. "Possessive much?"

"Shut up and fuck her."

He does. They both do. They take turns being gentle and rough, one whispering sweet praises while the other fucks into you like he's trying to split you in half.

They switch positions—you on your stomach, you on your side, you on top of one while the other takes you from behind—and through it all, they never stop talking.

"You're taking us so well, sweet girl."

"Look at that pretty pussy gripping my cock."

"Can you feel him twitch inside you? He's close, I can tell."

"Shut up, you're closer dickhead."

"Y-you're both-"

You come first, finally, spectacularly, squirting around their cocks while they fuck you through it, both of them groaning at the added wetness, at the way you clench and flutter around them. Satoru follows seconds later, filling your cunt with hot ropes of cum that leak out around his cock immediately.

Toru pistons into your pussy twice, three times, before he stills and you feel him emptying himself deep inside you.

Between their bodies, with their cum leaking out of both your holes onto the ruined sheets, you think maybe sharing isn't the worst idea in the world.

"Round whatever in an hour?" you ask hopefully. Both groan, but they're grinning. You settle back against the pillows, feeling thoroughly used and utterly satisfied. "I'm serious about that credit in your paper." At first, you didn't care that much; it wouldn't hurt having your name down in the history books.

Satoru slides his glasses on after cleaning the lenses. "You'll be the co-author, baby."

"I'm here too, ya know."

"Why would I credit you?" You close your eyes, letting their bickering wash over you like white noise. But looking at the two of them, still arguing while their hands never stop touching, you, one drawing circles on your hip, the other playing with your hair.

"You think you could clone me, too?"

''Sigh.'' Your husband waddled into you guys' shared room, a huge pout displayed on his face, arms folded just a little over the curve of his belly. He stood right next to you, waiting for you to look up at him. But you didn't. He wasn't even sure if you heard him through those thick headphones of yours. You were so immersed in your game, that you hadn't even noticed him standing next to you. His pout grew into him glaring at you. ''I said sigh.'' He repeated.

That is what caught your attention. This time you heard him and were a little startled when you looked to the side and your husband was standing right next to you. Glaring. You gasped, taking your headphones off immediately. ''I'm going to hop off the game, I think I'm in trouble.'' You spoke, turning your PC off. You turned to him, raising your eyebrows expectantly. ''What's up, princess?''

He sighed, hands falling to his waist now. He looked mad. He took a deep breath and started ranting about his day. It was exhausting and everyone and everything was getting on his last nerve. Starting with him wanting to move more and deciding to go on a walk before running some errands and one streetlight taking way too long.

When he finally got to your favourite bakery in town, which took him much longer than it would have a few months ago due to his situation', he was out of breath and ready to go home. Upon arrival, they did not have his favourite milk bread and it took everything in him to break down crying in said moment. Other than that, his day didn't go as well as he expected.

When his shoelace untied itself and he couldn’t bend down to tie it again, he finally lost it. That was his last straw for the day. But a kind stranger helped him tie his shoelace, which was probably the highlight of his day. He didn't even want to walk home after that. He had a taxi drop him off at home. By the end of him telling the story, he was crying hysterically, crying about how horrible his day was.

You, of course, felt bad for him. ''But baby,'' you started, reaching out to grab one of his arms, pulling him in between your legs slowly. ''Why didn't you call me?'' Your hand wandered down his arm, right up to his hand, raising it to press a soft kiss to his palm.

He sniffled, using his other hand to wipe his tears away. He was feeling ridiculous now. ''I-I don't know.''

You sighed, letting go of him before opening your arms wide. '''Wanna cuddle to calm you down?'' He nodded, straddling your lap immediately, burying his face into the crook of your neck. ''Just like that.'' He let out a breath of relief as you felt him let go in your arms. You pressed soft kisses to his head and neck, rubbing his back soothingly. ''There, there'' you hummed when he stopped crying.

You sat there for a moment in complete silence as his sobs died down slowly and you kept one tracing circles into his back as he moved to wrap his arms around your neck. ''Do you feel better now, sweetheart?''

Hesitantly, he nodded leaning back to look at you now. ''Hungry.''

''You're hungry?''

''Mhm.'' He nodded once again. You pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, asking him what he was in the mood for. And once he had decided on what he wanted to eat, you were up and busy in the kitchen. He sat right behind you on the kitchen counter, legs dangling, munching on a little snack as he waited for you to finish cooking. He looked so cute, wearing your oversized shirt that was riding up his plump belly as he leaned back on one arm. He looked so pretty like that. You wanted to take him on the counter right now.

And he was just so oblivious, wrapping his lips around the ice cream cone he was sucking on, slurping like it was his last day on earth. The soft ice cream dripping down to his chin? He licked it all up, and took it like a good boy.

Fuck, you were so hard but you couldn't let him know. Not until you had fed him and your child some real food.

''Please hurry...'' He whined.

''Are you that hungry?''

''Mhm!'' He nodded, now done with the ice cream. You were just about to laugh at how cute he was when he scooped up a little ice cream from the corner of his mouth, using his finger before licking it up and looking at you with big eyes. ''I want it so badly.''

Yup, your dick was standing at attention right now. Fully bricked. You were sure you weren't even that hard the night you conceived that child. Your breath hitched and you turned away from him immediately.

''Are you okay, sweetheart?'' He asked innocently, tilting his head to the side. ''Is something wrong?''

You shook your head no, telling him the food would be ready in a minute and he could already go sit at the dining table. You'd bring him his plate and cutlery like always. He shrugged, getting off the counter carefully, seeing as you had scolded him a few times for jumping off while pregnant. He made his way to the dining room and you tried thinking of anything to get your bones to go down. But nothing helped.

So instead, you tried hiding it from him. Which was going to be hard, seeing as he knew you better than he knew the backside of his hand. You plaited his food and rushed over to him nervously, setting his food down while trying to hide your hard problem. He narrowed his eyes at you, sensing something suspicious was going on after you kissed his cheek, muttering a low ''Enjoy!'' Before running off.

''Y/n L/n, where do you think you're going?'' You stopped in your tracks, turning to face him slowly. Well, you couldn't tell him you were going to rub one out in the bathroom real quick, and you couldn't come up with an excuse that was better any. ''I'm going to... Smoke.''

''You don't smoke.'' He retorted, putting down his fork. ''Is everything okay?'' He sounded genuinely concerned. ''Do you not want to have lunch with me?'' His eyes welled up, filling with tears instantly as you rushed over to him, trying to stop the tears from falling.

''No. Honey, no. Don't cry, it's not like-''

''You're hard.'' He grinned, and suddenly his tears were gone.

''You... Tricked me!''

''I told you I'm a great actor.'' He smirked, picking his fork back up, and digging into the food. ''Sit down and eat first. If you behave, I'll take care of you after.'' And immediately, you were seated like a dog. That was all it took for you. He laughed as you started digging into your food immediately.

But the more time passed, the more pent up you were, and the more your husband was driving you crazy. And I mean absolutely nuts. Had he always been this beautiful? Well, yes. But today it felt like you were being tortured. Forced to sit still while some sex demon was torturing you. And you knew what he was doing, teasing you. When he let out a moan, telling you how good the food was, you were done for. All restraint? Gone.

''Alright, that's it.''

He looked surprised when you got to your feet and stopped him while his fork was halfway to his mouth. You crawled underneath the table while he asked you what you were doing. Before he knew it, you were in between his legs. And before he could say anything, you ripped his boxers off. You were so horny and he was pissing you off.

''What are you-'' He cut himself off, breath hitching as your mouth was on his dick. You went right to work, slurping and sucking as his eyes rolled back into his head. It didn't take long for him to grab at your head trying to push you away. You hadn't sucked him off in a while which meant he was close to cumming almost immediately. He let go of your head, gripping at the edges of the table as he let out a high-pitched whimper that went straight to your dick, having you leaking and twitching.

''W-Wait! Too m-much!'' He squealed while simultaneously wrapping his legs around your head. You could feel him twitching in your mouth as his hips twitched, trying to deal with the pleasure. He let out a desperate cry before hiccuping a little as he gripped the table tightly. ''I'm going to-'' He couldn't even finish his sentence before he came down your throat, shuddering as he tried pushing you away.

He thought you were done with him. But he deserved more than a punishment for putting you through that torture. You pushed his legs up as far as they could without disturbing his belly, telling him to hold them there and not let them go. He looked at you with teary eyes, holding his legs and spreading them apart.

His hole was leaking, waiting for you to do something about it. Your tongue was inside him before he knew it and you started eating him out messily. Your whole chin was wet and he was a crying mess as he looked down at you with glassy, hazy eyes while you looked up at him, swallowing his slick.

''No-No more!'' He sobbed, trying to push your face away but grabbed his thighs, pulling him back to your mouth, which made him whimper. His tongue lolled out of his mouth and his breath hitched as he went quiet. His eyes literally crossed and you couldn't help but laugh at the adorable state he was in. That's when he came again, twitching, soft dick squirting cum all over his shirt and his face as needy whimpers left his mouth. You let go of him as he slumped in the chair and you licked up the cum stains on his face. He looked so fucking pretty.

You were back on your feet wanting to grab a towel to clean him up, but he grabbed your wrist, getting on his knees carefully as he pulled down your pants. That alone could have made you bust a nut on sight. He stroked your pulsing dick a few times, looking up at you with those big, hazy, teary eyes as he licked up a vein, following it from the base up to the tip, before circling it with his tongue. Your breath hitched as you grabbed a fist full of his hair and he smiled up at you, letting go of your dick.

You knew that look. Fuck, he was such a slut. His hands rested neatly on his thighs as he opened his mouth. ''You still got it in you? Think you can take it?'' He nodded shyly as you slapped your dick against his tongue. ''Open wide.'' He complied, opening his mouth further as you pushed in slowly.

His eyes welled up with tears immediately and you smiled. He looked so cute stuffed full with your dick. ''Mmm, such a good slut taking me like this. Your throat is so warm.'' You chuckled, pulling out before slowly shoving back in again. ''You've missed me fucking this throat, huh?'' He nodded right before gagging on it. You gasped, pulling out immediately as he coughed, wiping the spit off his mouth.

''Why-Why'd you pull out?'' He muttered as he looked away from you. He looked way too annoyed for the situation he found himself in. He reached his hands out stroking your length and looking up to you with big eyes. ''Put it back in.'' He opened his mouth wide again, and that alone had you twitching.

You grabbed at his hair again, steadying him and his hands fell back into his lap as you pushed in again. This time you were rough, holding his head in place and thrusting up and down his throat. Tears streamed down his face, but you were concentrating on not cumming immediately. You bit down on your lower lip, throwing your head back, squeezing your eyes shut.

Now, you used both of your hands to push him onto you in the same rhythm as your hips snapped against his mouth. ''F-Fuck, you're going to make me-'' You cut yourself off with a moan, stilling your hips as you were all the way down his throat. ''Oh, fuck-'' You pulled out stroking it as you came all over his face. He looked so pretty with your cum all over his face. He giggled when you leaned down to kiss him.

''Let's go wash up.''

-

To you, anyone could be saved. That was the slogan of your farm and your motto as a psychotherapist. You wanted to help all of them. Which is why you started the farm in the first place. To give them a place where they could be happy and free.

‘’What's going on?’’ It was midnight. You had just received a notification, an alert that one of the new ones was really getting into it with the front quarter guards. And you had a feeling that you knew exactly which one they were referring to. You groaned, getting out of your bed. Trying to find your clothes and a light switch clumsily, without waking anyone. It was way too early for this.

Yawning, you walked down the hallway, a flashlight in hand as you walked out of the facility. The alert came from House-1 and you were currently in House-2 so you made your way over, trying not to trip over your own feet from tiredness. To your luck, commotion came from the backside of the house, meaning you didn't have to walk up the stairs. When you finally turned the corner, there they were.

“What's going on here?’’

You were surprised at how much strength a mere dairy cow could have. Five security guards were trying to detain him, pin him down, but they stood no chance against him. You could see a glimpse of both anger and fear in his eyes. When you shone your flashlight at all of them, they all froze in their spots momentarily. But suddenly, the cow hybrid swung, his fist connecting with the jaw of one of the security guards, dislocating it. The other security guards were just about to pounce on him but you whistled signaling for them to stop. They stepped away from him, and he was breathing heavily, terror written all over his face. This was exactly what you were trying to avoid.

You sighed, taking a step closer slowly, but he backed away, shaking like a leaf in a windstorm, trying to hold on to its branch. You wanted to tell him you weren't angry, you weren't going to hurt him, but those words would probably fall on deaf ears given the situation you two found yourself in. So you went in yourself, thinking about everything you knew about cows. Your late grandpa used to tell you that the way to a cow's heart was to feed them, milk them, and scratch them repeatedly day after day.

That wouldn't work now, he did not trust you yet.

But cows were quite curious, no? You still weren't sure how similar hybrids were to the actual animal, but there was no harm in trying, right? So you tried. Tried ‘’introducing yourself’’ to him properly. You held out your hand, reaching up towards his face, slowly, trying not to scare him even more and stopped a few inches from his nose.He frowned slightly, tilting his head to the side. The look of terror was gone but now you were facing slight embarrassment. There was no way he'd react like a real cow. It was stupid of you to assume that.

Just when you were about to lower your hand, he stepped towards you, taking one careful step, not daring to pull his gaze off you, taking slow steps forward to sniff at your hand. You let him come towards you instead of scaring him again. Carefully, you cupped his cheek with one hand, shooing the security guards away with the other. And he nuzzled into your touch as he had never felt anything like it before.

Before long, you grabbed his hand softly, telling him to follow you. And he did, as if he were in a trance. He followed you right to house two, down the hallway and up to your room. His eyes widened when you closed the door and sat him on your bed. But then, you sat down on a single sofa right next to the bed, closing your eyes. ‘’You're safe here. You can sleep now, G.’’ He had no idea you knew the first initial of his name. Then again, he hadn't been here for long and had no idea what type of person you'd turn out to be. He hadn't had the best experience with people in higher positions. But somehow he felt like, no, he hoped he could really trust you.

For a moment it was quiet and you thought he'd follow your order and go to sleep. You heard the bed ruffle, assuming he was getting comfortable. Suddenly, you could hear him mumble. ‘’G-Gojo Satoru…’’ You opened your eyes and found big baby blue eyes staring back at you. ‘’My name…’’

You looked at him, really looked at him, face red, batting away his long eyelashes, trying to fight sleep. You smiled to yourself, watching him fall asleep in your bed, cuddled up and hugging your pillows as you dozed off. That was easier than expected. Sometimes, they just needed to know they could trust someone. Even if it was just one person, so that their mind could be at ease.

When he woke up the next morning, the sunlight woke him up just in time, and you were gone already. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, propping himself up in your bed. It smelled like you. He stretched, nuzzling into your scent before he got out of bed. He was ready for the day. And to be honest, this was the best sleep he had ever gotten. He felt well rested. Refreshed even.

When he got back to his room, he nonchalantly walked past the security guards who tried to pin him down last night as if nothing happened. He even smirked at them. And he loved getting on people's nerves. That's one thing you knew about him. For the first time since he arrived, the farm was quiet. Peaceful. No fights, no arguments, no disruptive behaviour, nothing. He was quiet, smiled at others, did his work and helped around. It was like he was a whole different person. To the point he even made a few new friends. He was quite enjoyable to be around when he wasn't acting like a maniac. That's what a lot of people reported back to you. You were positively surprised at his switch-up. So you went to see him.

He was in the storage unit with two other guys, chatting it up while sorting a few files. When you stepped in, all three of them smiled at you. The white-haired guy with the fascinating bright blue eyes was smiling the most. To the question of how their day was going, they had a lot to tell you. But the other two had to leave to get something done, leaving you and Gojo all by yourselves.

‘’I heard you were being nice today.’’ You spoke, leaning against a wall. He shrugged, still smiling at you. ‘’I slept well.’’ Then he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, avoiding your gaze. ‘’I tend to have nightmares.’’ He muttered.

‘’Nightmares?’’

He nodded. “When I have them I get very paranopants id and don't act like myself…’’

That made sense. When the security guards tried detailing him, he must have been scared out of his mind if he had been plagued by nightmares. You nodded in understanding.

‘’What helped you sleep better last night?’’His face turned red again.

‘’You were nice to me…’’ Your heart broke into about a million pieces. If being nice to him had such an effect on his personality, people must have been horrible to him in the past.Lunch time came and went and a few hours later, the day was over.

You got to your room during nightfall, after putting a kid to sleep. And now, you just wanted to fall into your bed and fall into a deep coma. Maybe even wake up in a few months. It had been a long day and you were ready for it to end. You changed your clothes, got into something more comfortable, got yourself ready for bed, turned off the lights and got into your favourite side of the bed. The one farthest away from the door. But when you moved the covers you were greeted by two big blue eyes staring right at you.‘’What are you doing here?’’

He pouted, pulling the covers back up ‘’I'm trying to sleep.’’ He muttered, scooting closer to you, nuzzling against you. It seemed like he had started liking you quite a bit. Affection in cows is expressed by tactile approaches, such as nuzzling. Proximity seeking. He felt safe with you. ‘’Please don't make me leave…’’

And how could you say no to such a cute little face? You sighed, eyes fluttering shut. You were too tired to fight him. Not that you would have wanted to fight him. He was a pretty guy. And you really tried. Tried not thinking about him in a sexy way. Tried not to stare at his raging muscles. And god, that chest threatening to burst out of his shirt any given minute. Truthfully, you had imagined him bouncing on your strap more than once. Whenever he'd help you on the farm, carry stuff around, or bend over to work on something. Until now, you had always stopped yourself.

But staying sane was quite hard with him lying on your chest. Pressing up against you. Suddenly, you felt something growing against you. ‘’What's that?’’ You muttered, peeking under the covers. With the speed of light, he stopped you, holding the cover in place making you unable to take a peek. That only inflated your curiosity. It turned into a battle of you tugging at the blanket and him trying to hold it in place. Then, you caught him off guard with a little more pressure and the cover was off him.

His face turned beet red. At this moment, he hoped the floor would open up and just swallow him whole. He was a grown man and couldn't control himself? Acting like a freaking teenager.

‘’You w-were rubbing up against me.’’ Admittedly, it was your fault his dick was pulsing in his pants. Heavy, leaking, aching dick growing by the second as you rubbed against him subconsciously while thinking about all the positions you could put him in. You had no idea who the pervert was. You for rubbing against him without knowing you were, or him for getting hard and not telling you to stop.

You looked at him, looked at him as he watched you with big blue eyes, waiting for your next move. You moved your hand towards him, letting it rest on the side of his waist, pulling him in closer. He gasped, but you didn't reach there. Moving lower, hand tracing down his side, stopping at his hip. With one swift motion, your hand slipped right into his pants, all while staring at him.

By the way his heart was pounding in his chest, he could have sworn he was going to die. His gear was close to beating out of his chest. His throat tightened, his hands were sweaty, the room was unbearably hot and you… You made matters worse. You didn't stop looking at him. Not once. And then you inched closer, grabbing his dick, squeezing his tip softly. Letting out a whine, his eyes fluttered shut as you leaned in, closing the gap between you two.

There it was. The moment you two had been waiting for. You two were making out, your tongue slipping into his, hand pumping up and down his dick slowly as he cupped your face, pulling you in deeper. He seemed to be enjoying himself. At first, you had been scared you had misread the signs he was giving you. But by the way he was clutching at your lips, too busy to pull away and gasp for air, you knew he was right where he wanted to be.He whimpered into the kiss, dick twitching in your hand as you picked up your pace. The room was filled with the sounds of your smacking lips against his repeatedly, his muffled whines and whimpers. Filled with the soft creaking of your bed as he squirmed around feeling too good. Filled with the scent of sex filling the room. And you weren't going to lie, you needed him badly.

‘’C-Close…’’ he mumbled between kisses before he pulled away. But you didn't want to let him go. Not yet. You needed more. You wanted to hear those pretty moans, wanted to kiss those pretty lips, wanted to leave mBoth over his body. You couldn't pull away. He whimpered as your lips sucked at his neck, biting at the soft flesh occasionally, making him gasp. ‘’Hold it.’’ You muttered, thumb blocking the slit on his tip. He didn't need to come yet at least. You moved, making him lie on his back as you got on top of him, still pressing kisses to his neck. Soft, sweet, wet kisses that had no business feeling that good against his skin. Every kiss felt like you were sending a spark of electricity down his spine. You pushed down his and your pants alongside your underwear before sitting on top of him fully. Making sure to push down your underwear just enough to let you ride him.

And he was so fucking big. You've had your fair share of partners. But you have never encountered anyone with a literal monster-dick like his. It was thick in girth, long and veiny. You weren't even sure if you would be able to take it. ‘’You're so big.’’ You muttered, leaning over to get a condom from your nightstand. Praying it would fit and not rip inside you. “I-I'm sorry…’’

You chuckled, rolling it down on his length. Luckily, it fit perfectly. You positioned him at your entrance, leaning down to envelope his lips in a kiss once again. This one was softer than the last one. Sweeter, more gentle and patient. Then, you sank down on him, taking inch after inch, squeezing your eyes shut as you worked past the stretch. You didn't make it all the way to the bottom. How could you? It was way too much to expect a mere human to take all of him. He was throbbing inside you, face red as he avoided looking into your eyes at all cost.

‘’What a cute little guy you are...’’ you giggled, continuing to bounce on it at a slow pace. Hands plastered on his chest as you moved your hips on his. Grinding down on him. ‘’Who would have thought such a big guy could be this easy?’’

He let out a pathetic whimper. High-pitched, breathy, needy. ‘’You're t-too nice to me right-right now…’’ he whispered, lower lip caught in between his teeth, eyes glazed with tears. He was so cute trying to keep in his moans. Not wanting to embarrass himself. Or not wanting to embarrass himself any more.

‘’Right that now?'’ You chuckled, and suddenly, wet patches formed on his chest. Your hands were dripping and you frowned. His hands flew to cover his face that was about to explode from embarrassment. Oh, he was a mess, chest leaking while you rode him. And you were even going fast. You were going painfully slow. Any more than that and you'd probably hurt yourself.

‘’I-I'm so sorry-'’

‘’Wait,’’ you cut him off, ‘’when was the last time you were milked?’’ Silence. He had no idea when the last time was. Quite ironic, seeing as he had been living on a farm for a few weeks now. The farm's literal job was to care for him. And they had the necessary machines to do so. But it had just slipped his mind. After all he had never been or felt this cared for before. ‘’You know you can get serious problems from that, right? Want me to get someone?’’ You were just about to get off his dick. Let it slip out of you, making him leave your warm enveloping walls. Letting him be greeted by coldness. But before you could manage to do as you said, he grabbed your wrists, keeping you right there. You stared down at him expectantly, waiting for him to say something.

He was trying to build up the courage to tell you what was on his mind. He had to be crazy, he thought to himself. So whipped and needy for someone a little closer than a stranger. ‘’’Want you o-only…’’ He whispered, looking up at you with those big teary eyes.You leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. A long kiss, softly playing with his nipples softly. Making him gasp into your mouth. Right after you kissed down his chin, pressed soft kisses to his neck and continued going lower. That's until you reached his chest. Pulling off his shirt wasn't too hard when he helped you. And sucking the milk out of his titts was something you wanted to do ever since he arrived on your farm, but you couldn't admit it to yourself. You felt like a pervert. No, you were being a pervert. That was nothing new though. You continued grinding on his dick while you latched at one of his nipples. G-spot flicking around the sensitive bud before letting your mouth envelop it. You latched up all the milk, sucking at it, making sure he wasn't feeling uncomfortable.

‘’Damn you taste so good.’’ You alternate between his pecks, giving them the same amount of kisses and licks. You even squeezed his titts a little, making sure no drop of his went to waste.

‘’I'm close a-again-Ngh!’’ He whimpered. Such a slut whimpers at him getting his titts sucked like some whore. You wanted to scream. You had no idea what you had done in your past life to deserve this. Maybe you had saved a princess or saved a village from a dragon. Regardless of what it was, you were happy. Grateful you were given this opportunity.

The more you sucked on his titts, the more milk started leaking out of him. It got to a point that you flicking his nipples made him leak. He needed more. Much more. So you grabbed your phone, texted the guards, telling them you were in need of a little milking machine. You knew they'd deliver it to you, no questions asked.Surely, you could feel your orgasm creeping up on you as well. Pussy clenching around his big dick, milking him for all he was worth. Tight knot forming in your stomach, threatening to release. Sparks of electricity running down your spine. The both of you were a moaning, well on his part a whimpery and whiney mess.

The second you told him it was okay to come, he went silent, squeezing his eyes shut until you decided to kiss him again. Inhaling his moans and whimpers. Taking the both of you through your shared high. He was throbbing like crazy inside you, releasing into the condom. Hot spurts of cum filling up the condom to the brim. And you spasming around his dick made matters worse. He was shaking at the overstimulation, holding you close before you pulled away.

Now he could catch his breath. You let his dick slip out again. He was still half hard. Resting there for a second, trying to calm yourself down, you drew soft circles into his stomach. Neither of you was brave enough to say something right now. When he was about to, coming up with the courage to say something, he was interrupted by a knock at the door.

You rushed to the door, opening the door just a little. Wide enough for the guard to hand you the milking machine and for you to thank him. You rushed back to the bed, attaching the suction cups right through his chest. Hoping the container was big enough to keep all of his milk. To be honest, it probably wasn't. But it would do for now. Tomorrow, you'd get him strapped to the real thing and milk him until he felt comfortable again. Because the lord knows what he was doing couldn't be healthy.

When you turned on the machine the suction started at a slow pace. You massaged the sides of his pecks, helping with the suction. All while a frown was plastered on your face. This was serious business to you. He melted into your bed, eyes fluttering shut, body stopping to shake and he let out a content sigh.

‘’Does it feel good?’’ He nodded slowly, biting down on his lower lip. Making you try to refrain from bursting out in laughter. ‘’Do you want me to do anything else?’’ He didn't say anything. So you assumed he didn't need anything else. Helping him get milked was enough. But then he grabbed your hand softly, leading it down his body. First, you thought he wanted you to stroke his dick, seeing as he was hard again. But no, he led you to a place lower than that.

You had almost forgotten most animals on your farm were hermaphrodites. Which meant they had both, female and male private parts. So imagine your surprise when he led you straight to his wet pussy. Oh, you were going to have the time of your life today.

You got off him, getting in front of him instead, spreading his legs and pushing them up slightly. No wonder he was all hard again. His pussy was dripping in his juices, going as for to soak the spot underneath him. The hottest thing you had ever seen. You looked at him and he stared back at you expectantly. Until you rested your hand on his crotch, using your thumb to flick at his clit slowly. He flinched. Literally flinched as his face turned red again.

You wanted to laugh. Really wanted to laugh at him. But you wanted to bury your face into his pussy even more. So you leaned down, licking a stripe from his hole up to his clit, making a shudder down his spine. You continued doing that over and over, pressing occasional kisses to his folds, rubbing soft circles into his eyes while the both of you drowned out the sound of the suction machine.

He was so wet you were sure he could fit a finger. So you slid one of your fingers alongside his folds, getting it all wet before you pushed it in. He had never felt this before. Never felt anything inside him like this. And he didn't know what to do with himself. To think that one mere finger was enough to wipe out his thoughts was crazy. You curled your finger up, rubbing at his sensitive g-spot and repeated the motion over and over until you were certain he could fit another finger.

So you added another finger, making him gasp at the stretch. At first it hurt a little. But when you stayed in place, kitten-licking his clit, he started getting used to the stretch. Then you curled your fingers again, this time spreading them inside him too. You had an idea and needed him stretched enough for it. When you could push in another finger, you latched on his clit, wrapping your lips around it while sucking on it. All while fingering him, abusing his g-spot. He thrashed around, the suction on his chest only adding on to the pleasure. When he tried closing his legs, you slapped his thigh with your free hand.

‘’Fuck… C-Close!’’ He whimpered, hands tangled in the sheets, tears threatening to stream down his face. One more curl of your fingers, one more suck on his clit and he was gone. Eyes rolling into the back of his head, hands threatening to rip your sheets clean. He was a mess, glazed in sweat at how exhausted he was. But you were sure he could take one more. Just one more orgasm and you'd leave him alone.

You rushed towards your closet, grabbing a harness and the smallest strap you owned. After all, you didn't need to traumatise him with a toy as big as himself. A smaller toy would do the job just fine. You got yourself situated. Wearing your strap, lubing up the toy that was going to go inside him, even though he was wet enough to take it. But as they say, better safe than sorry.

Before pushing it inside him, you pumped up the intensity of the suction, making him tremble all over. That's when you pushed in the tip of your you. It was a little bigger than three of your fingers but it wasn't too much.

“Ease up,” You muttered, trying to push it in. “How am I supposed to fuck you like this?”

“I'm t-trying!”

You laughed, grabbing both of his hands, using them as leverage to push into him fully until you hit a wall inside him. His eyes widened. You were so deep and he felt so full inside. Too weak to get out of your grip and prevent you from moving, his mouth fell agap as you started thrusting slowly.

“Do you like this?”

“I-I-”Slut. Absolute slut. What were you thinking even doing? Fucking someone you were supposed to take care of. Was this the right thing to do morally? Your brain was just about to turn back on. But then he wrapped his arms around your neck, gazing into your eyes. “F-Feels so good…” And you were done for. Who cared about authorities anyway? “So fu-full…”

‘’’That so?’’ You smirked moving your hips against his, grinding into him. Grinding into the spot he needed it most. You let go of his arms, pushing his legs apart further, pinning them to the sheets, drilling into him at a slow pace. He held on to you, throwing his head back, mouth agape. It felt so good. Way too good.

And just like that you fastened your pace, pushing his legs up to his legs, adding on to the pressure of the milking machine. Your nails dig into the pack of his thighs, bruising him. He was pretty sure you'd leave marks. No, he hoped you'd leave marks. At this point he wanted you to engrave your initials into his skin. For the first time ever, he wanted to belong to someone. Belong to you. Not out of necessity but out of want. He wanted to belong to you.

Your rhythm changed again, slamming harder, thrusting faster, knocking the air out of his lungs. Squeezing his eyes shut, he let out a ragged breath, followed by a series of high-pitched moans. You increased the suction capacity and that's what had him drooling. You bruising his prostate, trying to dig as deep as he could all while the milk was sucked out of his chest. The milk machine was almost full now. And he was so close once again. Before he could say anything, you flipped him over without pulling out, making him get on his hands and knees.

You gripped at his waist, thumbs resting on his back dimples as you fucked him. In this position you reached much deeper than before.

“W-Wait-”

‘’I know, baby. I know.’’ you muttered. He bit down on his bottom lip, hands entangled in the sheets. And before he could stop himself or say something, his orgasm washed over him in waves. Crashing, thrashing, churning his mind into mush. He came so hard, spurts of cum shot right up to his chin and when you pulled out the toy, he squirted, wetting the bed. He was a mess. Skin glistening in sweat, a mixture of cum and squirt on his body as he plumped down. Rolling him over, you turned off the milking machine since he had been emptied.

He was spent. You hurried to clean him up and by the time you were done he was fast asleep. With no thoughts on his mind. That was better than overthinking. This time when you woke up, when you tried to get out of bed and just run away as the memories of last night flooded you with embarrassment, you couldn't. You were stuck. Unable to move. And why? His arms were wrapped around you tightly.

When you tried to sit up again, his grip only tightened.

“Gojo,” you whispered, trying to pry his arm off your waist.He only buried his face deeper into your shoulder, a quiet, sleepy hum vibrating against your skin. His tail curled loosely around your thigh, warm and heavy, like it had decided you were part of his resting place.

“You’re not leaving me, right?” he mumbled, voice thick with sleep. Your chest tightened. For a moment, you didn’t answer. Just watched the sunlight creep across the ceiling, listened to his slow breathing, felt the steady weight of him holding on like you were the only solid thing in his world.

‘’I have work to do,” you said softly.

His grip loosened just a little, but he didn’t let go.

“Then come back,” he whispered. “I’ll be good as long as you keep me around you. I promise.”

You glanced down at him. Messy white hair, soft lashes, that same face that looked so dangerous yesterday and so painfully gentle now.

Your fingers brushed through his hair before you could stop yourself.

“… We’ll see.”

His tail flicked once, satisfied, as if that was enough of an answer.

-

“Mmhp—! Hnng. .” You loudly moan into the pillow, uselessly scratching at the soft yet slightly wet fabric.

Cock buried deep in your pussy, he rolls his hips— stirring up your cum coated walls with an obscure and nasty squelchhh. In response, his thick cum pools around his thick shaft. . his seed slowly drips onto the dirtied sheets. You let out an exhausted moan into the pillow, squealing loudly when Caleb pulls out until only the bulbous tip of his cock was plugged into your messy hole before slamming his hips into yours, with a pwap plap, causing your walls to quiver around his dick. . gushing out even more of his cum. 

“Nngh sh- shitt, babe! S- so noisy. .” Caleb heavily pants out, teeth biting at his swollen bottom lip, drawing crimson liquid from the flesh. 

“B- baby! Y- you’re soo —hnng. . wet” He hiccups, pausing his motion of rolling his hips against yours, opting to switch to thrusting deep and hard into your gushing cunt.

While you’re exhausted and purely cock drunk, Caleb, somehow, has enough pleasure to pound you into the bed— perhaps it was the godly sight in front of him that spurred him further on. Scattered along your neck, collarbone, and back are purplish red bite marks littered on your flesh. . deliciously pretty. Every time he slams into you, your plump ass jiggles and bounces with the toe curling thrust— there’s a mixture of sweat and dried cum on the flesh. 

You squirm and thrash, weakly attempting to escape from the mind numbing pleasure that’s being fed to your body. The grip on your hips quickly becomes mean and bruising, it’s obvious Caleb isn’t going to let you easily escape from him. You drool into the pillow, tears spilling from your watery eyes. 

One of the hands on your hips shakily grab at your hair, gently yet firmly pulling you from the tear shaken pillow— forcing your body into a difficult arch that lets Caleb abuse your sweet spots even better.

“Do- don’t try to —ohhhfuck. . t- to squirm from me!” Caleb grunts out, releasing your hair, letting you slump back onto the bed before his hips grab at your hips tightly. 

Your eyes go wide, that knot in your belly snapping, pussy gushing around his cock for the nth time. The feeling of overstimulation is familiar, your body trembling against the bed— sobbing into the fabric when Caleb’s full balls slap harshly at your engorged clit, causing jets of cum to squirt from your cunt. 

“F- fuckkk. . Yo- you’re squeezingme sooo tight—! Nnghfuck. . baby!” He chokes on a moan, fingers digging deeper into your plump hips, surely leaving purple marks behind, tugging you to meet his thrust halfway.

“L- leb’ haaah-! Sl- slow!” You squeal, voice muffled by the cloth.

The wet plap and fwopping sounds of Caleb’s skin meeting yours in deafening, mingling with the nasty squelch and slosh of your velvety walls stretching perfectly around his dick. Submitting to desire, a hand grabs at the globs of fat of your ass— fondling and greedily groping at the soft flesh that spills between his fingers. 

“Haah. .? W- what was that, baby —nngh!” Caleb groans out, pinching at your ass.

“Wa- want me to —ngh shit. . s- slow down? N- no. Yo- you’ve. been. teasing. me. all. fucking. day—!” He breathes out between loud moans and whimpers, each word followed by a delicious thrust that makes tingles course through your spine. . the creaking sound of the bed giving way slowly intensifies.

“Y- you’re gonna break —ohmygod. . t- the bed!” You attempt to reason, that doesn’t stop you from squeezing tightly around him as you buck your hips to feel him push in deeper into your pussy. 

Your words seem to go into one ear, exiting out the other. It’s like Caleb hasn’t really processed your words, mindlessly fucking his overstimulated cock erotically into your sloppy cunt. 

“G- gotta t- teach you a lesson. . hnng-!” Caleb hiccups, hands lifting in the air before landing on your asscheek, eliciting a delighted squeal. 

It’s louder and clear now— the sounds of the bed shaking, the faint cracks of the wooden frame giving way. Completely cock drunk, you struggle to push your ass back against Caleb, desperate to feel his cock burying itself deeper and deeper into your gooey walls until you're full of his thick cum. Another painful smack has you drooling and whimpering into the pillow, the dim pain melting into overwhelming pleasure.

“Haah. . Y’knew h- he was —holyshit. . fl- flirting with you, baby!” He whimpers out loudly, groaning when your walls spasm around his length when he brushes against your sweet spot.

Another loud smack, your poor asscheek is already beginning to turn a pretty shade of red— you’re loving every second. That familiar knot in your lower belly is getting tighter and tighter, you are soo close to cumming again. 

“Hnng—! P- please. . d- don’t stoppp!” You mewl, gasping in ecstasy when he pistons his hips to ensure he pounds into your sweet spot. 

You can tell he’s close too— the way his grip on your hips and ass tightens painfully, his thrust sloppily, cock throbbing and bobbing deep in your pussy, his moans and whines getting louder. You let out an open mouth scream into the pillow, cumming for the nth time around his cock, the ring of cum smearing onto his pelvis and the skin of your ass. Caleb whimpers your name loudly, pushing his hips flushed against yours, balls pressed against your puffy clit, cock spurting a copious amount of cum into your cunt, the excess dripping out of your stuffed pussy.  

“Iloveyouiloveyouiloveyoui—“ Caleb babbles dumbly, rolling his hips against yours, the wet slosh of him burying his seed deeper into your pussy. 

He slowly pulls out with a wet pop, silently watching his cum pour out from your messy cunt. Caleb drags his cock through your swollen folds, back and forth, pressing himself back into your cunt with a wet squelchh. A weak attempt, you try to squirm and thrash from his grip but he keeps you still, hips smashing into yours. 

Not a single drop of regret bubbles in you— getting your boyfriend jealous might be your favorite occupation, especially when he’ll fuck you stupid and spank you until your ass is a pretty shade of red in response. 

⭑.RAFAYEL

Perhaps having Rafayel as a boyfriend has made a certain playful side of yourself develop—  you’ve been teasing him all week in numerous ways, knowingly riling up your poor boyfriend. Sitting on his lap randomly, grinding your ass against his crotch early in the morning, bending over to pick up something you accidentally dropped. It was inevitable, he’d eventually submit to his own desires.

He is in heaven— the feeling of plump, squishy thighs pressed firmly against the sides of his head, the scent of you is much more intense, and your sweet cunt for him to mindlessly lap at. So what if he easily fell for your little trap? How could he possibly care when he’d end up trapped between your thighs? Rafayel is nasty messy, dragging his tongue through your slickened folds— the noisy sound of his lips wrapping around your puffy clit, the wet squelch of his tongue dipping into your gummy entrance, and the muffled sounds of your boyfriend moaning into your pussy.

Each time Rafayel drags his tongue along your syrupy slit, perfect nose pressed into your clit— you’d buck, tremble, and hump his face weakly. . smearing your sticky juices all over his face. And every time you’d unconsciously press your pussy harder into his face, he’d let out a shameless moan into your core, the delicious vibrations coursing through your body. . making you moan even louder. Ooh fuck, and the way you’d let out a deafening squeal when he thrusts his tongue in and out of your velvety walls— your fingers darting to firmly grab at the purple strands of his hair, carding through his hair and occasionally tugging on it.

“Mmhp— ohhhfuck! Hung. . r- rafyie” you mewl out softly, voice hoarse and broken from how much moans and whimpers that Rafayel has ripped from you, you weakly roll your hips to grind your overstimulated pussy on his face. 

This is the first time you’ve ever heard your boyfriend soo quiet before, minus all the moaning and whining he’s unbashfully letting out into your swollen pussy, finally not babbling out praise and worship for you. However, that’s just because he’s proving his love in another way— keeping his mouth busy with lapping, sucking, slurping until you can’t help but cum into his mouth. Rafael slowly drags his thick tongue through your sopping folds, up and down in a dizzying manner, his nose pressing against your swollen clit. . lewdly inhaling your addictive scent that surrounded him.

The pressure on your clit has you crying out his name loudly, squirming lightly. Each time Rafayel glides his tongue through your syrupy pussy, your folds part, giving him the chance to taste the arousal that leaks from your messy hole. The grip on your hips tightens, a finger tapping on your plush flesh twice— you lift your hips up enough room for him to breath. 

“Haah. . ohmygod, my pearl” Rafayel breathes out between ragged pants, his warm breath fanning onto your spit and arousal covered clit.

“You taste sooo de- delicous, cutie. .” He says quietly, kissing at your puffy clit tenderly— chuckling softly when the bud throbs against his lips. 

Rafayel tugs you back down onto his face, fingers tightly digging into your plump hips. . forcing you to roll your hips, grinding your heat on his face. He glides his tongue through your folds two times, back and forth back and forth, before he plunges his tongue into your quivering hole— summoning a loud whine of pleasure. The feeling of his tongue dragging along your velvety walls has your toes curling, eyes rolling back, and a whine of Rafayel being ripped from you.

“Hnng-! I-I can’t —nghhh. . can't take anymore. .” You babble out, squirming and writhing, though to no avail.

He tilts his head upwards, lips engulfing your puffy clit— sucking harshly until he feels your hips jolt. Greedily, one of his hands grabs at your ass chick while the other one stays glued firmly to your hips. Rafayel plays with the supple flesh, squeezing and fondling at the globs of fat on your ass— giving it a soft smack. 

“Haah-! Nnghfuck. . t- too much. . raf’!” You sob loudly, tears clinging in the corner of your eyes.

The feeling of overstimulation has you whimpering and trembling helplessly,  but Rafayel can’t stop— he needs to coax out more and more of your delicious juices. Oh, he’s hooked on you. He’s basking in your reactions; every single time your moans become high pitched, he’d peer up from between your thighs.

“Mmhp—! Fu- fuck. . feels too Ra- Rafie! Wanna. .—nghh, cuum” you slur out dumbly between whines, squealing when he spanks to the flesh of your ass.

That knot in your stomach is getting tighter with every passing second, you are trembling violently now. Rafayel’s tongue delves through your sopping folds— tongue tracing through your creamy slit, driving you closer and closer to your impending orgasm. Maybe the lightheadedness, from the lack of oxygen and drunk off your taste and scent, finally got to your boyfriend’s head— perhaps that’s the only explanation of his cock throbbing violently in need.

Rafayel is widely bucking his hips into the air, fucking into nothing— caught between the option of eating you out until his jaw aches or giving into the need. . ultimately choosing to worship his girlfriend. The moment he suckles onto your clit, tongue smoothing the swollen flesh. . you’re letting out a loud sob, tears dripping down your cheek. You wail loudly, cumming around nothing, shakily rolling your hips as you ride out your orgasm.

“Haah—! Fu- fuck me. .” you sigh out softly, shakily lifting yourself off his face.

There’s thin strings of arousal connected between your pussy and his face, his face covered in your juices and arousal. Messy and nasty. 

“Haah. . yo- you taste soo good” Rafayel pants, it’s quite obvious he’s just as drunk as you are— pussy drunk. 

“—Need more. .” He murmurs out, gently spanking the warm flesh of your ass, dragging you onto his face again with the personality of man that intends to make you jelly boned and sobbing in ecstasy.

⭑.XAVIER

You are a complete, hot mess— fat tears clinging from the corner of your eyes, loudly whimpering and whining from the overwhelming pleasure, weakly and helplessly clawing at the soft fabric of a pillow before you. Eyes burning with hunger and need gazes at your body; skin covered in a slight sheen of sweat from the heat and ecstasy. . glistening in the dimmed lights to cast a pretty shining effect on your gorgeous body, scattered along the flesh of your neck and back are purple and red hickey marks from Xavier’s hungry mouth. 

If it wasn’t for the calloused hands, greedily grabbing at your plus hips with a firm grip, dragging you to meet Xavier’s rough thrusts halfway. .you would have already collapsed on the bed from the sheer exhaustion. You’re completely drunk from that additive feeling of intense pleasure, with each orgasm ripped from your body, the pleasure bleeds into overstimulation yet you still beg for more— perhaps this is what it meant to be cockdrunk. You are tumbling violently like a small leaf, you can barely hold your loud whines and tears every time his cock drags perfectly along your velvety walls. . easily pounding into your sweet spots.

The apartment room is deafening, surely the lewd harmony you both are creating can be heard perfectly. Each time Xavier gives you a frantic and rough thrust, his slender cock pushing deep into your gooey walls, an obscure squealchh and sloshing sound of your sopping cunt would fill the room along with the sounds of slick skin slapping against each other loudly. 

“Haaah—! O-ohfuckk. . f- feels sooo good” you mewl loudly, there’s a subtle burning sensation on your arms that’s planted on the bed, it must be from you trying to hold yourself up for soo long. 

“Nngh. . X- xavie!” You cry out his name loudly, earning yourself a pleased groan from your boyfriend. 

A noisy sob is ripped from your swollen lips when one of Xavier’s hands drags along the skin of your back to grab at your plump ass— needy fondling, squeezing, and smacking at the flesh until it turns to a pretty shade of red. In his eyes, he’s leaving his own mark on your delicious body. . just like what you did to his neck, except he’s worse and meaner. 

“Mmph haah. . yo- you knew he was —fuck. . staring a- at you. .” Xavier breathes out between ragged moans and grunts, hips noisily slamming into yours, the red, globs of fat jiggling from the impact. 

“We- were you tr- tryna’ . . nghfuuck so tight— make m- me jealous, darling?” Somehow, his thrusts become inhumanly and mercilessly fast. . causing a silent scream to be ripped from you and your head to become only a mush of thoughts while your white-coated walls quiver around his cock, eliciting a breathless whimper from Xavier. 

Oh godd, the way his cock drags along your sensitive walls has your body trembling from the overstimulation. The mess between your plump thighs is getting everywhere: the bed, the sheets, on your skin, and Xavier’s thighs and abdomen— the mess is starting to become worse and worse, your sloppy hole keeps leaking out a sticky mixture of your juices and his previous orgasms onto the bed below. Another rough spank to your ass has you bucking your hips towards him, weakly fucking yourself on his length. 

“oooh— fuckfuckfuckfuck! Nngh. . X- xavie! I- I. . f- feels amazing!” You squeal out loudly, fat tears dripping down your flushed cheeks— each rough thrust has a pleasurable wave of heat coursing through your body.

The sensitivity seemingly makes your senses sharper than usual. . everything feels more intense— the way Xavier’s slender’s cock throbs and jolts deep inside the warmth of your cunt or the way his balls slap, pwop, at your puffy clit til you’re gushing around his base.  

“I- I’m soo sorry— fuck!” You wail out, lips parting as strings of moans are ripped from you, eyes rolling back with a particular rough thrust. 

His hands cracks against your ass again, the sting melted into delicious and addictive pleasure, you gasp in response. Perhaps you did go overboard with making your dear boyfriend jealous, but getting fucking so good that you become cockdrunk. . you really wouldn’t mind doing it again. Those heavy balls of Xavier’s smacks against your engorged clit, heat pooling to your lower belly. 

“Haaah—! O-oh god. .” You drool, becoming awfully aware of that knot in your lower belly growing tighter and tighter. 

“Mmhp—. . a- and you —fuckkk. .” Xavier barely manages to get words out, groaning softly when you feel you flutter around his cock soo tightly.

“. .pretends l- like he wasn’t st- staring —holyshit, darling. . at y- you” he stutters out, another rough smack on your asscheek, eliciting out a yelp from you.

“X- Xavier—!” You voice is high pitched and deafening as you cry out his name, shamelessly moaning your boyfriend’s name. . there’s no way that man basically eye fucking you couldn’t hear from his room. 

“Hhng nngh—! Y- yes. . yesyesyes, scream out my n- name, starlight” Xavier encourages.

Xavier is so close to cumming; that rude and mean grip on your hip tightens ever so slightly, his thrust becoming sloppy and downright needy for an orgasm, and the way he’s just pulsing and twitching inside you. 

“C’mon. . s- scream out my name —gonnacum. . wa- want him to know y- you are all minee” he drools out, hips smacking painfully into yours. 

“X- Xavier —hnng, please!” You squeal, eyes rolling back as velvety walls quiver around his length, creaming around his cock for the nth time— the ring of cum around his base smears onto your skin. 

He lets out a breathless whimper, resting his weight on top of your body. . keeping you trapped against the bed. Xavier’s body is flushed with yours, cock spurting an overwhelming amount of cum into your stuffed pussy. Your eyes roll back, weakly gasping when he presses his hands onto your back, slowly thrusting his sensitive cock into your gushing and creamy pussy.

“X- xavie. . nooo! F- feel’s tooo good. .” You drool into the sheets, unable to make an effort to squirm away from the mind numbing pleasure. 

Even though Xavier is completely dumb from pleasure and overstimulation is biting at his flesh and mind. . he can’t stop— he needs to ensure that man knows you are his. . even if you spend all night fucking like bunnies.

⭑.ZAYNE

Your body feels extremely exhausted, skin sweaty and glistening, skin burning hot to the touch from the delicious heat that’s bloomed between you and your boyfriend. The addictive sensation of your ass cheek throbbing in pain from the countless spanks Zayne gifts to your flesh only serves to further heighten your sensitivity— each cruel swat to the red globs of flesh draws out a whiney whimper from your spit covered lips. Perhaps, acting like a brat towards you boyfriends wasn’t the smartest choice you’ve ever made. .

However; being forced to perch on top of his lap, feeling his hard cock pressing deep into your cunt, while calloused hands tenderly massage and roughly spank at the globs of fat until your flesh was raw and a pretty shade of red wasn’t something you’d object to receiving as punishment. Shakily and weakly, you roll your hip— eyes rolling back when you feel Zayne’s thick cock brush perfectly against your g-spot, whimpering when your puffy clit catches at the rough fabric of his pants. 

“Haah—. . ohmygod. Za- Zaynie!” You whine out his name in such a sweet voice, gasping erotically when he grabs at your sore ass cheek, firmly squeezing on the raw flesh while helping you bounce on his twitching cock. 

It’s a mess, tears clinging onto your lashes, drool seeping from your parted lips as you pant out warm air, mind set on one thing. . to finally cum after being edged for soo long. You quickly bury your fingers into Zayne’s shirt, bunching the fabric up between your fingers. . using it as leverage.

“Hnng—! C- can’t take it anymore. . b- baby!” You whimper out, trembling lightly in his arms.

Each time Zayne slams you back onto his lap, you swear, his cock reaches soo deep into your sopping cunt— forcing your pussy to make the nastiest and obscurest squelching sound. The wet squealchh and sloshing of sound of his dick reaching deep into your gooey walls can be heard from outside the closed room, along with the wet plap of skin meeting each other. 

“Nghh. . oooh, p- please, Zayne! N- needa’a cumm. . sooo badly. .” You beg in a whiney tone, sobbing when his cock massages your velvety walls perfectly. 

There’s a subtle burning sensation in your thighs from overexerting yourself, yet, you just can’t stop. . you really need to cum. Zayne groans out softly when he feels your walls spasm and flutter around his cock, dragging out a delightful moan of your name. 

“Z- Zayne. . c- can, anymore—“ you mewl, words barely making sense anymore. 

You are so close to cumming, that knot in your stomach gets tighter and tighter than expected, the way your gooey walls spasm around his throbbing cock is enough to tell. Zayne huffs out between moans and groans, one of his hands on your plump hips dragging up your back— tugging you to be fleshed against his chest, fucking up into your messy cunt. 

“Pleasepleasepleaseplease—! Wanna cum soo. . — Haah, need’a cum, please za- zaynie!” You babble out pathetically, burying your head into his neck— lips sucking at his flesh until a pretty bruise blooms at his skin.

You let out a loud cry when you feel Zayne’s hands gently smack against your ass cheek, a loud fwop, a silent reminder that he’s treating this like a punishment. You whimper softly when he fondled your ass cheek, pushing deeper into your sloppy pussy.

“You’ve been acting like a brat. . all. fucking. day. darling” Zayne clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, each word followed by a toe curling thrust that makes a delicious wave of heat course through your body— earning a sob in response.

“You h- have clearly —nngh fuckk. . ha- haven’t learned your lesson, m- my beloved” he groans out between gritted teeth, wrapping his arms around your back to keep you trapped and flushed against him, angling his hips to graze against your g-spot.

“P- please, Zayne! I- I won’t tease you anymore —haah nghh, feels soo good”  you wail out, nuzzling yourself deeper into his neck, lips wrapping around his sensitive skin and sucking pretty bruises and love bites on his flesh— eliciting a breathless groan from your boyfriend. 

He knows you are lying. .

“P- please, j- just let me cum. . baby—“ you gasp out, weakly bucking your hips to meet his sloppy thrusts. 

How could Zayne possibly deny you when you’re pleading so sweetly, tears dripping 

onto his skin, muffled whimpers by his neck, gooey walls slamming around him. His thrusts become hurried and sloppy, bringing you closer and closer to your orgasm. Oh fuckk, the way his cock drags along your velvety walls has that knot in your stomach tightening and your eyes rolling back. 

“Come on —nghhfuck. . c- cum for me, be- beloved” Zayne manages to breathe out between broken grunts.

One of the hands gripping firmly onto your hips dips between your bodies, finding where your two are connected— skilled fingers pressing and circling your puffy clit until you let out a loud cry. A loud moan is ripped from you as you gush around his cock, tears dripping down your cheeks from how intense your orgasm was, a ring of cum forming around the thick base of Zayne’s cock. 

“Haah—! F- fuk, Zaynie!” You drool, letting out a shaky breath when he buries his cock to the hilt of your cunt.

His cock throbs and twitches deep inside your sopping pussy, ropes of cum shooting into your gooey walls. Zayne grits out your name, slowly bouncing on his cock to help ride out both of your orgasms. You are a trembling mess in his arms, still recovering from your intense orgasm. 

However, Zayne is still bouncing you up and down his dick— overstimulation creeping over your body, you let out a soft whimper from the pleasure. 

“Nghh. . Haah, mhhp. . ‘M se- sensitive” you mewl out, that doesn’t stop you from rolling your hips to gain some of that delightful overstimulation. 

“You’ve been trying to get my a- attention all —fuckk. . day, darling” he mumbles, tilting his head to the side to press a warm kiss to your hair. 

“Surely this isn’t enough to satisfy you. .” Zayne teases, that tone alone is enough for you to know he isn’t done with you just yet. 

⭑.SYLUS

There was something soo enticing and entertaining about teasing your poor, oh so sweet, boyfriend restlessly. Ranging from innocently bending over in front of him wearing a pretty short skirt, gracing him the perfect view of your crimson panties. Purposely leaving the bathroom door wide open for Sylus to see you— naked and beautiful body covered in droplets of warm water, steamy air surrounding you inside the shower. 

You’ve even resorted to indulging him in his desires, plush lips firmly pressed against each other in a steamy kiss— your warm lips lightly peppering against his jaw to his neck. . sucking a pretty mark onto his neck before pulling away with an obvious excuse. Oh godd, you truly can be quite a little minx. It was inevitable; Sylus would eventually submit to his own desires and corner you. . like a predator finally capturing its prey.

“Mmhp. . doing soo —fuckk. . well f’me, kitten” Sylus groans out between rough and ragged groans, voice muffled slightly by the mounds of flesh on your chest pressed against his face— occasionally taking in your perky nipples into his hungry mouth to suckle and lap at the bud until you whimper.

Sylus has a brushing grip on your squishy and plump hips, calloused hands helping you to ride his cock— the loud fwopping sound of his skin meeting yours is loud. His fat cock easily pushes deep in your velvety walls, due to the amount of wetness you’ve produced, with a lewd squealchh. The sticky mixture of both your essence and his cum is smeared everywhere; his lap, abdomen, and your thighs and ass.

Gazing up towards you with hooded eyes and clouded with desire, everything about you was intoxicating to him— fat tears clinging to your eyes lashes and eyes glossy, lips parted as he rips strings of moans from your swollen lips, and the way your gooey walls squeezes around his cock. . it makes him feel dizzy from the pleasure. You tremble in his hands intensely, barely letting out coherent sentences besides his name over and over. Sylus is soo big; buried deep in your sopping pussy, stretching your walls out perfectly, twitching and throbbing inside your cunt— it has your body burning in ecstasy and creaming around his thick base with a loud squeal.  

Your thighs are beginning to have this slight uncomfortable burning sensation from spending such a long period of time being fucked dumb on Sylus’s cock, the pleasure has officially rendered you cock drunk.

“Hang mmhp—! I- I. . ca- can’t! t- too tired. . nghh!” You mewl out in a whiney voice, panting and breathing heavy from the heat.

Before you can even attempt to finish up your sentence, he’s bucking his hips to push deeper into your gushing cunt, pressing into your poor g-spot. That deep, unforging thrust he does has your eyes rolling back, and whimpering out your boyfriend’s name loudly. One of Sylus’s arms wraps around your back, pulling you closer to push your boobs closer to his face— he lets out a delighted groan into your perky nipples as he drags his tongue against the bud, drawing out a gasp from you.

“Y- you enjoy teasing —ohfuckk, so tight. . me, sweetheart?” He grunts out against your chest, engulfing both of your nipples into his hungry and insatiable mouth before sucking harshly, eliciting out a broken moan from you.

The only response he gains is an unapologetic and teasing giggle from you, it quickly melts into a loud and surprised moan when his hand on your hip swiftly cracks at your ass. Sylus swiftly spanks at the same cheek twice, summoning a loud moan, more tears brimming in the corner of your eyes. It shouldn’t excite you, but it does, the sticky cream that gushes from your cunt and forms around the base of his dick is enough evidence. 

Perhaps it’s the overstimulation that’s making you act so giddy and incoherent— besides, it’s not like Sylus’s tone carries any hostility, in fact, it seems he’s teasing you back. 

“Haaah—! Ohmyfucking. . godd, s- sy!” You wail out, velvety walls squeezing around his cock like a vice, that knot in your stomach getting tighter and tighter. 

“Mmhp nngh! I- I don’t know wh- what you're talking about, ho- honey!” You coo out softly, feigning innocence, whining out when his hands roughly massaged the reddened globs of flesh.

Another loud smack, your poor asscheek is already beginning to turn a pretty shade of red— you’re just in love.

“D- don’t fucking. . —nngh” Sylus starts, interrupting himself by lewdly slurping at your poor nipples, even gently nibbling at the flesh, electing a squeal from you.

Smack

“— act. . innocent with me, sweetie” he purrs out, miraculously speeding up his brutal pace when he feels our gooey walls quivering and flutter around his cock uncontrollably.

Smack. Smack.

You let out a loud wail, the little bossy word you wished to say dies at the tip of your tongue. At this point, there will be red marks on your poor ass cheek and a pretty bruise on your hips, serving as a sweet and lovely reminder of tonight.

“Oooooh. .  fuck! fuckfuckfuck. .” You gasp out loudly, scratching at his chest weakly, leaving only red marks on his skin— earning yourself a raspy chuckle from your boyfriend.

“Nngh—! C- can’t cum. . not again—!” You wail out, trembling violently in his arms. 

“Yes you can, kitten” Sylus murmurs against your swollen boobs, angling his hips slightly.

You drool, screaming out his name, eyes rolling back and toes curling— cumming around his thick cock for the nth time, sobbing when his hands spanks at your flesh again. You whimper, crying out his name when he stills fucking up into your messy cunt. You go limp in his arms, thighs trembling lightly.

“C’mon, sweetie. . — haah. . you’ve had your fun alll dayy” he draws out his words, pressing a soft kiss to the front of your neck, a complete contrast from how meanly thrusting up into your overstimulated pussy.

“Isn’t it fair I have mine. .?” Sylus teases lightly, fingers massaging at your red ass.

# All work belongs to only ME, jadestone2. Translating, plagiarism, copying, posting on another website, claiming as your work will NOT be tolerated, instant block⭑.ᐟ

⭑.[ AUTHOR NOTE ] Tehe. . betta weren’t expecting mommy to finally post hmm<33 but it did, mwah! Anywhores, I'm so so so rlly sorry for being absent, a lil summery, i did gain a leg injury and have already 2 weeks in the boot + i have to do another 2 weeks on ankle braces. . But I decided my babies deserve a long gift, I made to make sure I put my life in my writing<33 btw, if u say there’s obvious bias in how I wrote the characters, mommy is blocking you 4ever, tehe. I rlly love my new theme, I still have to change the whole blog but it’ll happen soon!

SMS Message: Home tomorrow.

Sender: Leon S.K.

You jumped up from the couch as you read it, the words shaking on the screen you held with trembling hands.

You didn’t think he’d come home so soon. You didn’t think he’d come home at all.

The next 18 hours were a blur, and then you heard it: the purr of a familiar motor in the driveway. It stopped you dead in your tracks, standing as still as a statue in the kitchen. You tensed as you waited for the sound of footsteps outside— held your breath as you heard the key in the lock— watched unblinkingly as the handle turned— when Leon walked through the door, time itself went still.

For a moment, all you could do was stare. You didn’t know what to expect. Every mission changed him, and you didn’t know what new version of him would walk through the door now, or how to react to it. And the stakes had never been higher.

The days before his departure were spent mostly in silence, doing little else except hold each other as his departure neared every second. You both knew the two likely results: he’d either die in the place it all began or come home even closer to death’s door. He’d wait for his disease to slowly consume his soul while he made his own funeral plans, and you’d stay close to your gun to prepare for the moment he went cold.

You’d spent the time between his text and now clinging to hope and preparing yourself for the worst. You’d never felt as fragile as the moment he opened the door.

He looked your way as the lock clicked behind him. It was only a few seconds, but they expanded into eons as you searched him for signs of bad news. A knit in his brow, or a downward tug of his lips. Traces of tears he may have wiped away in the car before you could see them. His steely eyes filling with grief.

But you didn’t see any of that. Instead, he grinned and held his arms out wide.

You flew crashing into them. He was steady, firm, and tight as you clutched your fists into the back of his shirt. His arms wrapped around your head and he kissed the top of it softly, swaying you ever so slightly because he was too overcome to stand still.

For minutes, all you did was stand in the doorway and hold. That was the quiet choreography of all of his homecomings, though it never felt routine. Each time it had a different weight, and this one was the heaviest yet by far.

When you finally were able to pull away, you scanned him again for signs of injury, physical or otherwise. You knew him like you knew yourself, and even the most imperceptible changes never got past you.

Your eyes widened when they dropped to his neck.

You didn’t have to ask; he already knew the question. He answered it, still smiling, his voice gravelly and low, soft and tired, but not weary. All of it built up your hopes until he finally spoke it into reality.

“I’m alright, baby.”

His hands grazed your face, and you nearly flinched at the feeling of his bare fingertips purely out of habit. You’d spent months of him preventing you from coming into contact with his infected tissue. But then you realized what you were feeling: real skin sans leather, flesh devoid of flaw. His fingers were roughened from calluses and nothing more, complete with his wedding band returned to its rightful place.

Your eyes watered in disbelief and awe. A trepidatious smile grew on your lips as he cupped your cheek in his palm. You covered his hand with your own and pressed into the warmth while your other hand traced up his torso, until you were grazing over the skin of his neck and nudging down his shirt collar.

It was free of all black-rotted dry patches, no cracks on the surface to be seen. Nothing but a fresh scar you didn’t need to ask about right now. Right now, all that mattered was that he was whole and solid, returned to his natural state, totally healed and hot-blooded under the surface.

Your breath hitched at his body heat. Oh, how you missed his skin.

“You’re really okay..?”

The words were small and barely squeaked out. You didn’t want false hope. You needed to know the healing was more than just skin deep. His reaction assuaged all fears.

“Yeah. I really am.”

The truth took a moment to permeate the air. When it did, he took you in a kiss so firm and certain, it crushed all remaining doubt.

You met it fiercely, pushing yourself against his torso to feel him closer. Your hands threaded into the hair on the nape of his neck as he wrapped his arms around to hold you firmly in place.

Your tongue darted out first, or maybe his did, you couldn’t say. And from there, it happened fast.

His hands moved to the back of your head, then your waist, and then your ass, where they couldn’t help but grope and lift until your legs wrapped around him and he held you in the air. You grabbed his face as your lips parted wider to allow his tongue further inside. He roughly kicked off his boots and then he was walking. He kept kissing you all the way through— he didn’t need to open his eyes, he knew where he was going.

Your back met the cool blankets on your bed and then he was crawling over you, caging you under him in the dark. You wrapped your hands around his biceps and felt the muscles flex as he lowered himself to kiss down your neck, covering each square inch of skin with his sloppy, desperate kisses.

“I feel better than I have in years. Spent the whole trip home waiting to show you.”

'To prove it to you' was in the subtext.

He returned to your mouth hotly and grinded his hips into your center, the friction of his jeans against the soft fabric of your home clothes making you keen into the toe-curling feeling. He pulled his shirt over his head and you took the opportunity to speak.

“Turn the lamp on, need to see you.”

He made quick work of reaching over to it, and then you shuddered as your palms felt the expanse of his abdomen. Tight ab muscles, beefy pectorals, and broad shoulders. The sight you never got sick of that made up his brawny form. All of it healed and renewed.

He kept grinding while you took him in. Your arms went up and around and down again, nearly worshipping the flesh. But when you yanked at his belt, he stopped you with his hands around your wrists, bringing them to each side of your head and caging you in again.

“Spent too much time thinking about what I’m gonna do to you.” He sat back up and you kept your arms where he fixed them as he began to pull at the elastic waistband of your bottoms. He kissed your exposed navel and you shivered as he mumbled into you. “Need’ta show you how I’ve always wanted to fuck you.”

You never felt like his age held him back much in the bedroom— his job relied on stamina and endurance, and though his job was physically demanding and he was not quite in his prime, the toll was mostly seen in the back pain after; it hardly showed in the moment. As his hands and mouth traveled every inch of exposed skin like a starving animal, you wondered if you could even handle him giving you something more. The thought of finding out went straight between your legs.

His mouth went straight there, too.

You nearly yelled as he dove into your cunt with a fervent tongue, lapping and sucking and messily making out with your folds, his thumbs kneading to pull open the soft fatty skin of your vulva. He wasn’t interested in wasting any time on teasing, clearly.

Your thighs clenched around his head and a hand pushed against his head reflexively to fight off the sudden intensity, but it was useless. The pressure of your legs around his head only spurred him on until your cunt was soaked in spit– it certainly wasn’t your own wetness– he devoured every ounce that escaped before it could go anywhere but his mouth.

You bucked and twitched as you cried out his name. “Leon, Leon, s’too much, holy— fuck, Leon—” but he only spread your thighs and kept your there, pointing his tongue to circle sharply around your clit.

“I’m just getting started, baby,” he said, sucking your clit into his mouth and letting go with a flilthy noise, “thought I’d never taste this sweet cunt again, gonna drink my fucking fill.”

Your head fell back as he dove back in, steady and thorough and obscene. You took deep breaths, although they were more like hitched pants and moans until you acclimated to the sensation. He hummed as he felt you melt under him and added a single finger inside, groaning when you arched into it.

He slowed down, his finger rocking and curling in and out and his tongue lapping at you. You looked down to see his darkened eyes gazing at his work between tastes, and you shuddered as he licked his lips before retracting all touch. Your hips flinched upwards to beckon him to return, but he didn’t. He met your eyes and reveled in your wanton expression as he sucked you off his fingers, never breaking eye contact as he rose to kneel between your parted legs.

He finally began to do away with his jeans, and something changed in his tone as he did. You shivered with desire as you watched him move. It was deliberate and slow. He was undressing like a threat.

“Here’s what’s gonna happen…”

His belt fell with a thud against the ground—

“I’m gonna fuck you until you cry…”

The button fell apart with a flick of his wrist—

“Fill you so full of cum you’ll be dripping ‘til next week…”

The zipper seemed to ache as it slowly parted open—

“And you’re gonna fucking take it.”

Unhurriedly and never once looking away from you, he pushed his pants and boxers down until his thick cock sprang free. You whined at the sight of it, eyes fixed where it hung in the air. It was dark pink– definitely darker than usual– his hot blood expanding every vein. He was harder than you’d ever seen him, a full display of the immensity of his desire, so much that it nearly looked painful. When a bead of precum began to appear on his tip, your mouth watered for it.

Your eyes scanned upward as you realized he’d stopped talking and was kneeling there in wait while you stared. You took in his form on the way up; the way his abs tightened with every throb of his cock, the striations of his brawny arms, the few new cuts over old scars. The heavy rise and fall of his chest as he held back for the last time tonight.

And then, you saw his face. His chin was slightly raised as if he was looking down on his next confirmed kill. His lips were still glistening with slick as they were pulled into something not unlike a snarl. His hair was halfway in his eyes, but it did nothing to conceal the intent within them.

“You think you can handle that?”

Your eyes fleeted to his navel, only for a second, assessing him like a loaded gun that was aimed right at you. His hands held his clothes in tight fists and his cock leaked with pre.

You met his eyes again and blinked as you nodded and choked out a needy, “yes,” and your gulp gave away your uncertainty. But that only seemed to spur him on.

He fell forward; suddenly, his face was inches away from your own, one hand on the mattress beside your head to hold himself up, the other yanking his pants off as quickly as he could.

“You know what to say if you can’t,” he grumbled, hunkering down to glide his tip against you until it notched against your entrance, “because telling me to stop won’t be enough.”

He grabbed your wrist at the same time he violently drove in, knowing you’d leap from it and keeping you there anyways. You were nothing but a mess of yelps and moans as he beat his way inside, clawing against his back and shoulders. A single finger wasn’t enough to ready you for this, and the knocks against your cervix were only soothed by the equal force against your g-spot.

Each merciless pounding of his fat cock stretched your walls to their limit, and he truly didn’t give you any other option but to take it. You groaned at the way he used his broad build to keep your legs open to him, every ounce of muscle that you were no match against weighing down to pin you there.

With an arm wrapped under you to hold you by the back of the neck and the other tightening in the hair on the crown of your head, he caged you in to face him. But your dizzy eyes were squeezed shut and could only open to roll back into your skull.

He shook you lightly by the hair. “Look at me,” he growled. You mewled as you attempted it, but your glossy eyes went straight back behind your eyelids. He did it again, harder, pistoning up to fuck you harder, too. “Look at me, you fucking bitch.”

The shock of his words made your eyes shoot open with a gasp and a furrowed brow, far removed from the gentle reverence he held you in at the door. His gaze bore straight into you with a scowl, his adoration replaced with possession.

He was terrifying. Unhinged. A madman on the loose inside of you. A killer who lashed against your walls with uncalculated raw power. Though you could only see his face, it was the hottest thing you’d ever seen.

While you were still reeling from the disparagement, he gritted angrily into your face, crowding you until your noses nearly touched.

“Who owns you?”

You could only attempt to answer, your voice breaking into a sputtering moan as he bottomed out harshly again and again, not needing any of the great focus it took you to speak.

The pitiful noise you’d made wasn’t good enough for him. He squeezed the sides of your neck and you arched off the bed, but that only sent your body flush against his, which didn’t make you any clearer-headed.

“Tell me who fucking owns you.”

You felt like you were floating as your brain was cut off from blood flow, and out of care for your own wellbeing, you managed to answer him.

“Y-you, Leon—“

He let go of the pressure and smirked as you gasped. “Mouth not so good for talking right now, huh? Only good for one thing?”

He unclasped his fingers from your hair and brought them to your chin, delving into your parted lips to hook around your bottom teeth. You let your jaw fall open and watched in shock as he spat inside.

“Swallow it,” he commanded, fingers digging into your face as he pushed it shut. You shuddered as you did, and his own eyes rolled back now.

His head fell into the crook of your neck with a smoky groan. You felt hot puffs of air against your pulse as his hands became gentler, like he revered you for doing what he demanded.

“Gorgeous fucking girl… needed this cunt so bad, went through hell to get back home to you…”

His hold on you may have lessened, but his words held your heart in his fist and squeezed. He’d captured your thoughts so purely on the present, you nearly forgot the context.

Your arms were limp as they tried to wrap around his back, barely able to hold on as he moved with every pounding of his hips. But still, they searched him, chest filling with every inch they felt unmarred by disease, and your cunt pulsed as he searched you for places to grab. Your ebbing breasts, the small of your waist, the meat of your hips, landing finally on the underside of your knee where he changed the angle to impale himself even deeper.

You were losing it, and he could tell. He thrust upwards to meet where your hips rose to help him land in that perfect spot and he kissed your jugular— first a peck, then an open-mouthed kiss, and then a full-on lick of his tongue.

Your legs trembled under him. “Leon, I’m, fuck, please,” you breathed.

He twisted your nipple and nipped under your ear as if to mock how it made you writhe. “Oh yeah? You sure you wanna cum so soon?”

‘So soon’ ..?

Maybe he wasn’t all talk when this started. Maybe that savage look in his eye wasn't a trick of the light. At this rate, he wasn’t going to fuck you until you cried, he was going to fuck you until you died.

But he wanted it. He lifted himself enough to sear your mouth with a kiss, his thrusts slowing momentarily to wedge his hand against your clit. He gathered the wetness between your bodies to easily rub against the silky nub. Your toes curled and your spine curved to seek the friction of his freshly calloused fingers. He deepened the kiss as you moaned, and it became all tongue so he could swallow the sounds in his throat.

He was debauched. Delirious. A bad man smiling as he plucked petals from a flower. Delightfully drowning himself in sin. All you could do was surrender as he brought you your undoing.

You came with wild cries and jolts of ecstasy, nails digging into his deltoids as he sped up even more. You watched him look down at his cock being covered in your cream, a ragged sound in his throat as you tightened around him with each wave of pleasure.

You panted sharply as you barely began to come down, and he lifted himself up on his haunches, kneeling between your legs as he soaked up the sight.

Once your half-lidded eyes met his, he grabbed your hips to brutally fuck you into him.

You clawed at the sheets as he used you like a toy. You won’t be surprised if your ass is speckled with fingertip-shaped bruises tomorrow. All you could see in front of you was your breasts recoiling from each thrust, and behind them, Leon lost in his own world of feeling. His head was tipped back and you saw the stubble under his chin— his pecs were flexed and flushed pink from the vigor— all of him covered in a light gloss of sweat that shone in the warm lamplight.

He was intoxicating to behold, and it was absolutely unfair, because you already lost the ability to think straight. Now you drank him in with your eyes, and you were totally inebriated.

Your moans turned into some kind of mumble. You didn’t know what words you were hoping to form, but it was something along the lines of a warning that he was approaching the realm of too much. He looked down at your babbling with a lust-filled, lazy smirk, all too pleased with himself already.

“Whatdya want, love? You drunk on my cock already?”

He slapped your clit and laughed lowly as you gasped and jolted, then propped your limp legs around him and barreled in even more. Steady, fast, and loud.

Thank god the apartment days were over or the cops would come any minute. Skin slapping against skin, the headboard banging dents into the drywall, you crying out for him like he was carving out your heart. A noise complaint in the making. But when he signed the property deed, it came with the right to make you scream, neighbors be damned.

And scream you did as he held you even tighter and thumbed your swollen clit, evoking your walls to seize in the way he needed to release. He leaned back with a sharp and airy shout, hips sputtering as you felt him unload deep inside, his remaining jerky movements making it trickle out around him.

You were a touch thankful as he slowed down and his hands rubbed soothingly on your thighs. You could finally catch your breath. But your graciousness was short-lived as he flashed a grin and flipped you onto your stomach. The breath was forced out of you as your chest fell into the mattress, and your eyes went wide as he lined himself back up, slowly pushing inside, his cum allowing his cock to slip easily inside regardless of how sore your folds already were.

You whined and knotted your fists into the fabric under you as he bottomed out and pulled away with slow and liquid motions. You heard the faintest laugh rumble in his chest before he spoke.

“I’m not anywhere near done with you,” he huffed.

You buried your head in the soft sheets below. Filled with his load and the promise of another, you felt totally and completely his. Exactly where you wanted to be. Right where you belonged. You couldn’t help but smile, until he moved and it was wiped off your fucked-out face.

He gripped the meat of your ass as he steadily picked up speed, the silver of his wedding band cold against you in contrast to the heat of your bodies. A wet spot collected underneath you from his cock coaxing out his cum with each thrust. The sounds were softer yet even more crude with your cunt so sopping wet.

“Gripping me so good, look at you,” he spread your cunt apart a little more, “goddamn, you’re perfect.”

You felt mildly embarrassed at the messy sight of you that he was undoubtedly staring at right now, but at the same time, you envied his view. To watch his cock disappear inside of your puffy and well-used folds, then withdraw covered in his cum and a healthy mix of your own. To view his strong hands holding you open, to see yourself laid out in submission.

But all you could do was feel, and that was more than enough to sate you. In fact, you were already well past satisfaction, and you kept having to refind your focus so you could keep taking more. You inhaled deeply as you felt the soreness at your entrance and reminded yourself to relax your body, sighing away the tension in the muscles you didn’t mean to flex: your thighs, your back, your shoulders. But then you’d feel the friction of his tip dragging against the gummy walls of your g-spot, and your mind was clouded by pleasure all over again.

He wasn’t going nearly as fast as before, but it was obviously a choice, and not one made out of tiredness or necessity. It just felt too good for him to change the rhythm. With your knees together as you lay prone, your canal was tightened in a way that made you feel dense and so, so warm around his tender cock. You always felt incredible to him, but if sex always felt like this, he wouldn’t just fuck you all night, he’d stay buried in you so long he’d risk starving to death.

You were each lost in your own minds as the feeling went on and on. The air was heady and thick as you breathed against the blankets, and Leon was humping into you like waves rolling into shore– fluid motions that still crashed onto the shore or your center, followed by another and another, a constant ebb and flow that lulled you deeper into euphoria.

“Feels s’good, Leon, oh my god… d-don’t stop.” Your voice was laced in awe.

“Really fucking does… shit…”

The words were airy and held just as much wonderment as yours had. He traced a hand down the valley of your spine, revering the body that gave him such immeasurable bliss. Knowing that he was feeling the same seventh heaven you were made you feel even more connected to him, and your toes curled at the thought.

It kept going, and going, and going. You couldn’t tell how long it remained exactly like that, neither of you searching for your next orgasm, just totally and completely captured by the present. Time wasn’t something that existed in the room. It was a long time, but it’d never be enough.

He groaned as you felt his hips stutter involuntarily as the next thrust landed even deeper inside. The unexpectedness hit you both and turned it back into something needier. The next thrust snapped against your ass and you arched into the air to meet it. He shifted to hold you firmly as he set on a new wanton speed.

You mewled as you keened into him, legs parting slightly to make room for any spare length he had to give, and gripped the sheets as his balls began to slap against your clit. Each time he crashed against your walls, you felt them begin to bloom with electric want, and you braced against the bed to push yourself back into his thrusts as they became gritty, harsh pounds again.

He felt just the same as you, blood rushing to the parts of his brain that demanded another orgasm, and he felt every flutter of your walls around him that beckoned to milk him dry– exactly what he wanted you to do, to drain him until he had nothing left to give. He wanted to do whatever it took to make sure that fluttering didn’t stop.

He reached under you to rub your clit. You yelped as his fingers made contact, gliding easily against the cum-covered nub. His forearm was pressed against your navel, pinned between you and the mattress, and you could feel the size of his cock protrude against it from within you. Your legs spread even wider as you cried out, struggling to hold onto reality as he worked the thousands of nerve endings he’d already made oversensitive. Now, it bordered on torture.

The way you opened yourself only made it easier for him to find purchase to pound even harder, meeting the way you writhed and keened for more, his eyes rolling back as you bore down as if you were trying to squeeze him out. But all it did was drive him harder into all the right spots inside of you, and you were so overcome with sensitivity, you came before you even knew you were close.

And you came hard. Jolting and seizing as you cried his name, your eyes growing wet from the shock of it. He was loud as he reacted to the way you clenched and pulsed around him, your warm, slick cum covering his cock and making his movements sloppy and wet. And you were even louder as he kept going even harder.

He was surprised that he didn’t cum again right then and there, but it only galvanized him to pull your hips back and use you again. Your body was growing limp, you were shuddering and shaking, and his eyes widened with madness as he watched your face contort in pleasure. He was watching for signs that you’d say your safeword, too, but every moment that passed that you didn’t, he took as permission to fuck you even harsher.

Your head lolled and your lip quivered as you took it like a punishment, not a single coherent thought inside your head. You registered that he was close like white noise, simultaneously in the background and all around you. His hands seared in their grip on you as he hammered in once, twice, and then held himself deeply inside with broken rasps and moans. Your lips fell open as you felt his fresh load mingle with the first, pooling hot against your cervix.

He pulled out with a violent hiss, and you cried out as the fluid stung against your sore opening. Your legs trembled until they collapsed back onto the bed along with the rest of your body.

You were vibrating from the inside out, still reeling from how aggressive both of your orgasms were. You could hear him catching his breath, too. You twitched as you felt him touch the outside of your cunt, bracing yourself for more, relaxing when he only stroked the outside. He drew his fingers up and down the crease of your folds, languid and smooth, leisurely playing in his overflow. He pressed them in once just to watch you jolt, and then cleaned them off with his mouth.

He finally gave you a break and turned his focus to taking care of you. By the way you lay there limp, he knew you needed it. He peppered you with kisses as you floated in the afterglow, sprinkling them softly on your rear, up your spine, and onto your shoulder blades, until he placed one on your cheek.

He brushed your frazzled hair away from your face and the corner of his mouth pulled into a smile at the absolute state of you. But then the lamplight reflected off a tear and he furrowed his brow as he gently wiped it away.

“You with me, sweetheart?”

He chuckled at the small sound you made in acknowledgement, the only thing you had effort to respond with. He placed a kiss onto your head.

“Did so good for me, love. So perfect.”

He grunted as he laid down, pulling your back into his chest to spoon you. You weakly held onto his arm as it wrapped around your torso, shifting back into him to steal his body heat.

You closed your eyes with a sigh as you soaked in the way he took care of you after such a brutal display of lust. His thumbs circling against your sweat-damp skin, nose nuzzling against your hair, gravelly voice soothing you with praise.

“M’so glad to be home, baby. You always made me feel young again, but it’s almost like I am young again. Don’t want to take it for granted. Gonna take some time off, take you on vacation, let you see the world. Might fuck you on every continent.”

You giggled at his ambition, still high on happy chemicals and swimming in the dream he laid out. It’d be a significant change, him enjoying the fruits of his labor with things more permanent than gifts and fast cars. You always encouraged him to, but he said it’d be easier for him to cope with losing a material possession than a vacation being ruined by being called on a mission. You hoped it wasn’t just the endorphins talking.

“Yeah, you like that idea? Good, ‘cause I mean it.” He kissed under your ear and squeezed you in closer. “Wanna spend every day making you happier than ever, make up for how long I was sick. Can’t waste any of ‘em not fucking you the way you need me to.”

You gasped as you felt his half-hard cock twitch against your ass, instinctively arching back into it. A shiver ran over your skin as he pressed it against you in turn, and you realized he still wasn’t done, confirmed by the way his voice darkened against your ear and he started kneading your breast in his hand.

His kisses against your pulse turned open-mouthed and erotic, one hand pinching your hardening nipple as the other reached for his cock, slowly stroking himself with the tip resting against your sopping hole. You were so flush together that with each wave of bloodflow that grew him towards full-hardness, it breached your pulsing entrance without him even trying.

Your toes curled as he leisurely thrust into one centimeter at a time. It was just enough of a tease to eat away your apprehension. You really weren’t sure how much more you could take, but as he shallowly fucked his tip into you, you became increasingly desperate for more, until you were squirming and panting in his arms.

You gasped as he suddenly pushed halfway in, feeling your folds and your entrance smart in their soreness. Just a few minutes left empty and you needed time to accommodate him all over again. He wasn’t quite as big as before after two orgasms, but with his size, being slightly smaller was still pretty fucking huge. And now you needed to adjust to more than his size; you needed to adjust to your own overstimulation, too.

He thrust halfway in and stilled there, holding you tight to prevent you from backing into it, feeling your legs shake around him.

You already couldn’t walk, he was sure of it. But it must be well past midnight now. Did you need to use your legs tonight anyways? He decided that you didn’t. Might as well make them truly useless.

He bottomed out in one smooth, sharp thrust, aided by the lubricant of the two creampies inside. His eyes rolled back as he stayed there for a brief moment, just long enough to feel you throb around his cock, like your body was begging him to make it three.

He’d never cum that many times in a row before, not even in his prime. But now, he felt like he’d entered a new prime, and he wanted nothing more than to see just what his limit was. He wondered if he’d reach yours first. But you were a tough girl, he thought. You took him like you were made for it.

His navel thumped against your ass as he drove in with that goal in mind: find out how much cum he could stuff inside your cunt until one of you tapped out.

He started steadily, knowing it’d take him longer to find his finish a third time, and seeing how you were already a mess of moans, both from pleasure and physical overwhelm. It boosted his ego to know he was pacing himself for you much more than for himself.

You felt like an unraveled spool of thread. You couldn’t believe he had the stamina for another round, his age considered or not. You were shocked you could keep going yourself. But at the same time your swollen cunt ached around him, it sucked him in for more.

He twisted your head back to take you in a kiss, swallowing your moans as he beat fast inside again. You reached back to hold onto any part of him you could until your senses were once again flooded and you melted open to him.

“That’s it, relax for me. Just one more, baby, gonna fill you to the brim. Fucking take it.”

Truthfully, you are equally at fault.

A debutante turned degenerate, you're the furthest thing from pure or lotus-like. Your true nature has stayed hidden from good jujutsu society only through your father's willful blindness—and even now, thoroughly scandalized, you can still do no wrong in his eyes. Nor in Choso's, your annoyingly overprotective half-cursed cousin.

As far as they were concerned, you'd been “corrupted against your will”.

So the blame landed squarely on Toji. And with his less than stellar reputation—to put it generously—no one dared argue otherwise.

Not that it stopped his snark every time he was scolded for it: "That garden had already been ransacked—I merely pitched a tent."

So despite being little more than glorified fuck buddies, both clans scrambled to save face. A shotgun wedding was arranged overnight. Heavens forbid a disgraced black sheep and a thot-daughter spark a war between two of the most powerful families.

The result: you and your squalling little parasite are now Zenin property.

But that alone wouldn't have landed Naoya in this mess.

No—this situation is special.

Seeing as the union only granted you and your daughter entrance to the family—not Toji.

Not that he'd return even if given the chance. He only agreed to marry you for your sake, and your daughter's. Nothing beyond that. So without any real tie to an actual Zenin, you're little more than a ward who took on the name.

Yet Toji thought enough of you not to throw you to the wolves entirely. Before leaving to do gods-know-what as an assassin, Toji asked Naoya personally to watch over you both.

Naoya scoffed at first. Playing babysitter to some woman and her infant? Technically his father Naobito's responsibility—nothing he'd have to bother with until he assumed the role of heir.

Still—Naoya wasn't about to deny a request from Toji, who made it a point never to ask his family for a fucking thing (and who could also destroy them all on a whim.)

Toji-kun said he trusted Naoya alone with the task.

And to Naoya, that acknowledgment was everything.

Fine.

However, that just means seeing to your proper treatment—it didn't mean Naoya signed up to be sleep-deprived. 

Fuck—and if even a hint of a dark shadow appeared on his flawless complexion by morning?

There. Will. Be. Bl—

The final straw arrives before Naoya even finishes the thought. 

A possessed banshee, 7th ring of hell, kind of screech—that even rivals some curses he's previously exorcised—rings out so loud his right ear pops.

That’s fucking it!

Naoya is out of bed, his room and down the corridor in only four strides. 

You had to be awake. 

Not even the dead could sleep through this.

So, why the hell hadn’t you handled it already?

How hard is it of all things to get a baby to shut the fuck up? 

You’re its mother aren’t you?!

Reaching your quarters, Naoya yanks the shoji door open.

And immediately freezes.

As he expects, you’re wide awake. 

Yet nothing could've prepared him for your silk robe to be wide open and resting at your elbows—leaving your breasts completely exposed.

Seated in the midst of tangled blankets and sunken pillows, you shift restlessly to find a position that comforts your baby girl enough to latch while she stubbornly thrashes in your arms.

You give up with a weary sigh, returning to the rocking. Her cries have lessened to frustrated whimpers now that she's moving, but they haven't stopped.

From the doorway, Naoya gives you a measured once-over.

You look like shit. Hair frizzy and damp at your temples, tired eyes, a slight tremor of exhaustion in your hands as you reposition your daughter. 

That said, somehow, infuriatingly, you still manage to look appealing.

The moonlight spilling through the slatted window ensures it as it traces your plush curves, highlighting the faint sheen of exertion on your skin catching the light like a glow.

Gaze dropping, Naoya’s jaw ticks at the sight of your swollen, milk-heavy tits—nipples taut and glistening with pearlescent drops, coaxed free by your baby's cries. 

A creamy bead falls, dotting your daughter's cheek and you gently wipe it away. 

You haven’t noticed Naoya yet, too wrapped up in cooing out the same soft mantras of comfort that have proven useless all night.

Leaning against the doorway now with his arms folded, Naoya narrows his eyes, not used to being ignored. Even if unintentionally. However, his scathing reprimands die on his tongue, something about the scene turning his mouth desert-dry.

Every second drags like an hour, and Naoya with no patience remaining, sharply clears his throat, announcing his presence. 

Your head lulls over to him without startling nor making any move to cover yourself. You just give him a drowsy, crooked smile that practically screams finally, someone capable of rational thought and basic impulse control.

"Tch. Pathetic reflexes. A curse would've killed you both by now."

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. 

Technically, many would consider Naoya’s very presence to be a curse all of its own.

However, in your defense, your own senses have been greatly off kilter since your pregnancy and childbirth. Not to mention, the sheer exhaustion a newborn brings to a first time mother—you’re too concerned with your daughter, Tomie, to notice anything else. 

Of course, you don’t expect Naoya of all people to realize that though.

“See, Tomie?” you whisper preciously to your daughter as you continue rocking her, “You woke up your cousin with all that fuss. Now Nao-chan’s just as grumpypuss as you, my love.”

Nao-chan?!

The nickname lands like a slap and Naoya flinches, no longer reclined on the door.

You weren’t even that much older than him—so what gives you the right to reduce his name to something so…ugh, cutesy?

It makes him sound soft. 

Like some harmless stuffy to be cooed at alongside the child in your arms. Nevertheless, a small flush creeps up Naoya’s neck all the same.

Tutting, you shift Tomie upright so she can get a proper look at her cousin, still rooted in the doorway like he's being personally affronted.

She stills at the sight of Naoya, matching his energy.

Appraising him with tiny copies of Toji's stark emerald eyes, Tomie holds that same unsettling scrutiny packaged in a cute face that carries you both unmistakably.

Not to be outdone, Naoya sharpens his gaze, his lips set in a thin line.

You snort under your breath at the scene. 

Looks like the infamous Zenin scowl curses another generation—and Naoya, the pompous heir himself, doesn't look remotely inclined to lose a staring contest to someone who can't even burp unassisted.

Growing bored, ultimately Tomie gives first as she blinks, babbling baby talk. A chubby arm wriggling free and batting clumsily toward him, breaking the stalemate.

"Oh?" you simper, eyes flicking from Naoya, who looks smug to have bested an infant, to your daughter. 

"Not you being the mature one, my girl."

Your giggles make Naoya bristle, his mouth opens to speak—but you're already talking over him.

“C’mere, she wants a truce.” you beckon sweetly, inviting him in. 

Frankly, you’re thrilled something has caught your baby girl’s attention long enough to distract her from crying—even if it is her obnoxious ass cousin.

Naoya, for his part, fully intended to reject the invitation. 

To snap at you to—shut that thing the fuck up and put those saddlebag tiddies away while you're at it—to be done with the whole debacle so he could sleep. But his scathing reply dies somewhere between your airy laughter and the light sheen of milk saturating your areolas. 

Conceding like he’s being called by some unknown force, Naoya crosses your threshold. He reasons that if a quick greeting would quiet the petite goblin for the night, he could comply just this once for his own sake.

Approaching your futon, Naoya sits beside you, back straight, on his knees. His posture is cautious, as if through mere proximity alone either your baby girl or your milk heavy tits could explode at any moment.

Which brings him to the point that you still haven't moved a muscle towards covering yourself for some fucking reason that eludes him entirely.

However, Naoya isn’t about to let a mere pair of tits shake him. If you don’t care, neither does he. At least that’s what he tells himself as he forces himself to keep his eyes level with yours. 

Noaya, steady with all the focused determination expected from the leader of the Hei and Zenin heir—eyes shoot to your tits again the moment you glance at your daughter.

Fuck.

Swallowing heavily, Naoya doesn’t even understand why he’s so enthralled with them. He’s seen plenty of boobs, ones that look way better than yours too. From this close, Naoya can make out the strain of them, skin stretching thin and the small veins showing from underneath. Not the delicate sight of a lady’s chest, no, yours are so obscenely engorged—not to mention leaking—more like fattened cow udders.  

So huge, in fact, that they look heavy and feverish. 

Or…maybe, that was just him. 

The room is getting kinda stuffy.

Shit. Naoya just can't seem to look away from your ginormous mommy milkers. Unable to decide if he's repulsed or utterly entranced. And he's so busy wrestling with that internal crisis that he doesn't stop you from doing something completely fucking unhinged—

—like handing him Tomie.

Realization hitting, for the briefest, teeniest micro-second, Naoya nearly yeets her. 

Not even to be an asshole. Just pure reflexes.

Naoya genuinely abhors children. He’s never held anyone’s child and he sure as hell hadn't expected you to dump yours into his arms out of fucking nowhere.

Thankfully—as that very well would have been his ass once Toji found out—Naoya’s a well skilled sorcerer. His own self-preservation instincts reduce the action to a mere undetectable twitch of muscle.

Even so, he looks far more petrified than he realizes and that you do pick up on. 

It doesn't register to him how ridiculous he looks until you're practically shaking with suppressed laughter at his statue-like posture. 

“She’s not made of glass, you know,” you chuckle at Naoya clearly being so majorly out of his depth. “Just relax, yeah? Rock Tomie a little—she likes you for some reason. You can manage that can’t you?”

Naoya looks at you like you've sprouted two heads. 

He doesn’t want to rock a fucking baby—even if it is Toji-kun’s offspring. 

Who the fuck do you think he is? 

Besides, relaxing wasn't really an option considering how close he'd come to his own death sentence moments ago. But even stranger, he realizes, he hasn't said anything cutting in a minute to remind you of your place, which is frankly weirding him out more than holding the baby is.

However…

You’re simply trusting Naoya to hold her at the moment, easy as that. 

He’s the Zenin heir—of course that’s fucking something ‘he can manage.’

To Naoya’s surprise, Tomie has actually settled—tension gone from her tiny body, that very Zenin furrow smoothing from her brow as though to say finally, another Zenin graces her prescenes. 

She gurgles up at him, blows a bubble and pats his chest with a proprietary little hand.

Naoya frowns. Why does this feel less like soothing a child and more like being evaluated?

"There—" you yawn unceremoniously, a flicker of life returning to your voice as you treasure the break. "See? She's just bored of mommy. Probably wondering where that deadbeat daddy of hers is."

Your slanderous, yet entirely accurate, remark about Toji is what finally has the venom returning to Naoya’s tongue. 

You of all people should consider yourself lucky to be married to him and birth his child.

Eyes flaring, Naoya turns to you and—

Big mistake.

You're in the middle of a stretch. Arms overhead, back bowed, the sheer weight of your tits pulling at your spine until something cracks between your shoulder blades. Milk beads at your nipples from the motion—then scatters. Futon. Blankets. Your lap.

A single drop landing square on Naoya's robe.

He braces for disgust. For his throat to tighten at the sheer audacity of your bodily fluids landing on him.

But the feeling never comes.

Just an overwhelming chemical need to lick the creamy droplet from his sleeve before it soaks in.

“Aha!” you whisper excitedly, attention still on your baby girl in his arms. “My little angel is finally asleep.”

You lean into Naoya, shoulder resting against his, your nipple grazing his arm—and a dribble of milk trails down his sleeve. The drops bleed through the fabric, faint but undeniable.

He doesn't want to notice.

But he does, along with its scent—something like warm mochi and milk buns and pure want to taste it surges so hard this time he bites his cheek.

"Aww, how sweet..." Seemingly oblivious, you dare to poke his cheek, cooing. “Tomi-chan loves her cousin Nao-Nao~!"

Nao-Nao?!

Hairs up on end, Naoya wants to hiss at you.

But your tone is too pure, too genuine.  

You’re just… like this. 

A gentle aura surrounding you while next to your newborn causes you to mother everything in your surrounding area.

And that makes it all the worse.

Naoya doesn’t need mothering. He never did, not even as a child himself.

Yet those thoughts contrast the awkward and unfamiliar warmth Naoya is so insistently trying to keep out of his chest.

Truly, he’d rather be put out of his misery than suffer it a moment longer. 

As a Zenin, Naoya had been trained to treat any affection as weakness—and weakness as a Zenin was the worst sin one could commit.

There’s an unspoken understanding in the clan: No scared cows. 

No one member valued more than the strength of the whole.

And now, as a Zenin, you'd be no exception either. Even at the risk of Toji’s or the Kamo clan's displeasure. 

The Zenin are well practiced at making consequences look like natural outcomes—be it accidental or personal failures. 

Watching you smile so tenderly at your child, Naoya tells himself what he feels isn't guilt.

It's obligation.

Toji left you and Tomie in his care. Therefore it falls to him to set you straight if you both are to survive.

That's all.

"You're Toji-kun's wife and my ward.” Naoya growls—albeit low, careful not to trigger Tomie into another hellish chorus.

“You will henceforth address me, the future head of this clan, as ‘Naoya-sama’." 

His words are cutting and to the point.

“And fuckssake, you will cover yourself when in front of men. You are not a Kamo any longer, you’re a Zenin. You will act accordingly or you will be handled.”

You retract immediately, smile dropping, wetting your lips into a pretty little pout that might have worked on a lesser man.

Naoya considers, for a moment, that he almost feels bad for you. Your lack of discip—

Then you dissolve into hushed giggles and he regrets it entirely.

"Oh my gawwwd, you're actually deadass right now, aren't you!?" Hand over your mouth, tears of amusement prick your eyes as you try to keep your voice contained.

“..or you will be handled”, you mimic, trying to sound as pompous as Naoya, although you don’t imagine anyone ever could.

Noaya growls but you pay him no mind through your amusement, so he is almost startled when you suddenly stop and crowd his space once more.

“Handled, huh?”

Naoya keeps his eyes on yours through sheer force of will—refusing to acknowledge your tits swaying in his peripheral.

“And just who is going to handle me…” You challenge, batting your eyes with a sensual pull of your lips, “...you, lil Nao-chan?”

Naoya grits his teeth, his eyes flashing. 

Here he was trying to warn you and you’re making a mockery of him?! 

If you weren’t Toji’s wife he’d teach you a lesson, he’d—

"Awe, c'mon, Nao-Nao," you purr, caressing his arm which he quickly snatches away. "I thought you'd be the fun one! Ya know…Toji said you were the only half-decent guy in the family."

He stiffens. 

"Toji-k-kun…” Naoya clears his throat.  “...he said that?"

“Mm-hmm.” You hum. Not missing how Naoya’s golden eyes catch light at his older cousins' praise of him. “Told me you were the only one here Tomie and I could count on.”

The light blush on Naoya’s ears creeps down his neck and just like that Naoya begins rocking Tomie as you initially suggested. Carefully, too—as if in this very moment he's made it his life’s mission to earnestly exceed all of Toji-kun's expectations for him.

Chest puffed and prideful, Naoya insists that, as future clan leader, it's ‘only natural’ Toji-kun would say such a thing about him.

You on the other hand have to perse your lips to keep from bursting into actual hysterics this time.

Why’s that?

Because you just lied through your goddamn teeth.

The only thing Toji told you was that Naoya was an easy mark.

And he is. 

Almost painfully so. 

The way his ego swells. The way his whole aura brightens just from hearing his cousin's name. 

It’s all too adorable, honestly.

Naoya is too easily charmed and you're no stranger to charming all kinds of men. Hell, that's how you got knocked up in the first place.

But this type of emotionally stunted man? 

Oh, you could definitely have some fun with him. 

With Tomie finally asleep, you feel the familiar pull of mischief tug at you. 

“Besides, Naoya-sama~~”

Your voice is all velvety compliance causing Naoya to completely miss the sarcasm underneath. He's also too distracted by your head on his shoulder and your boobs molding into his arm as you reach across him to fix Tomie’s swaddling.

"I think I'm decent enough, no?" Your lips curl deviously. "Seeing as I don't exactly count you as a man."

Naoya’s cursed energy spikes, fury bleeding through his veins—but your Tomie shifts in his arms and Naoya has to choke it back, holding his fury. 

You just cock your head, all innocence, like you haven't said something utterly slanderous.

"You shameless fucking slut—" The chill in Naoya voice drops to frostbite temps, “I know you of all peo—”

“Aye!” 

The whiplash is instantaneous—Naoya doesn’t finish the sentence before you have two fingers pinching his cheek, twisting with the particular ferocity of a momma bear who's been awake for thirty-six hours and has simply stopped tolerating bullshit.

"Watch your fucking potty mouth around my damn kid, asshole."

Naoya seethes. He wants to tear into you—the thot-daughter of the Kamo clan, standing on absolutely zero moral grounds—he really, genuinely does. But the twist on his cheek tightens and this time he doesn't even need his survival instincts to do the math for him.

Naoya doesn't know your grade but you aren’t a weakling.

Half his cheek isn’t worth it—especially if it woke the little hellhound in the process.

"...Whatever."

Satisfied at him backing down, you release him, smirking at the red blooming across his face. 

Naoya resists rubbing it. Instead he huffs, hoisting your Tomie up onto his shoulder and bouncing her there in pointed silence. She'd stirred more from your outburst than anything he'd done all night.

This is all fucking ridiculous.

Naoya thinks and the second she settles once more he thrusts her toward you.

"Here. Take her. You're welcome, by the way—since clearly it takes a real Zenin to do what her own mother couldn't manage all night."

Rolling your eyes, you stop just short of slapping the shit out of Naoya. 

The facts remain: that even as a newlywed, your ass might as well be a single mother. Your exhaustion is near biblical and your nerves are near shot and Tomie—the perceptive little thing she is—has likely picked up on every ounce of it, your nerves feeding hers in one miserable feedback loop tonight.

Yet, thanks to Naoya of all people, that loop is finally broken.

Shaking your head, you reach for your daughter—and then your body seizes. The pain hits your chest like a vice, jolting you back hard enough to steal your breath. Your hands fly to cup your breasts on instinct, fingers sinking into the weight of them.

"OH, shiiii—owwww!" You wince.

“What the hell now?” Naoya still holds the baby out to you expectantly, brow arching as you curl into yourself.

"What the hell do you think, Naoya?" You grimace, biting back at him. 

Face crunched in pain, eyes shut, you’re careful to take measured sips of air.

“She cried all night and didn't eat. My tits are fucking killing me."

Realizing this meant he’d have to hold your baby girl even longer, Naoya makes an exasperated sound as he brings her fully into his arms again.  

“You know this is your archaic ass family’s fault, right?” 

You crack an eye open at his diva-like attitude.

“I asked for a pump and the old battleaxe of a caretaker said no. ‘All Zenins are fed from the source’, you mimic in a nasally voice. “Like be so fucking for real—what damn century is this again?!”

Naoya snorts. 

You've never had house rules imposed on you—your father let you run the streets without consequence. So really, you're in no position to complain about the Zenin clinging to their traditions, insufferable as they may be, at least they had them.

"You know—Zenin wives are typically chosen for their training and poise. To think that the Kam—" Naoya stops. 

Mid-sentence, mid-thought, mid-everything—his mouth open, agape like a fish. 

Robe now pooled around your hips, you begin working one of your swollen breasts in both hands. Clinical in the way only fatigue makes a person, no couth left in you at this hour. Your thumbs knead carefully, pressing firmly into tender tissue, heel of your palm dragging across a tight knot to stimulate the stagnant flow of your milk glands.

A deep moan slips from your lips in tandem with a hard squirt spraying from your breasts as a reward for your efforts.

Another escapes, then another. 

Your oversensitive nipple is drawn taunt with the prickly pain of relief as a thin stream begins to run along the curve of your tits, painting your skin in shiny rivulets all the way to your bellybutton. 

Through it all Naoya has not even blinked, nor taken a breath for that matter. 

Oblivious to his own staring—and your haughty smile. 

"Really now, Nao-chan? You're salty I don't consider you a man—" you muse, hands still diligently working out small drops of milk, "—but how can I? When you’re drooling over my tits like a thirsty newborn."

Shaken, Naoya’s eyes lock on with yours. The flush that had been camping at his neck floods his face all at once, searing his cheeks.

“I...”

You hush him.

Two fingers find your sternum, unhurried—drifting down your chest, down your belly, tracing the streaks of milk all the way down to your navel, gathering in the soft pudge of your mommy tummy.

Fingers thoroughly soaked, you gradually lift them to his lips. You hover them patiently, like you would a treat to a dog. 

“Open.”

Not used to taking orders, Naoya hesitates—then parts his lips anyway. Your fingers slide in and the taste hits him, rich and creamy with a faint savory edge he wasn't expecting.

It's good. Dangerously good.

His brain short-circuiting, Naoya doesn't stop even when the taste fades, lapping at your fingers and sucking the remnants from your nails with an eagerness he'll hate himself for later. A low croon threatens to escape his throat—the kind of sound he'd never make consciously—and he forces it down along with the last traces of your milk.

More—he wants more.

One look in Naoya’s eyes tells you that. Dark, hooded, their usual sharp calculation completely gone—replaced by something unguarded and hungry. He's still tonguing your fingers like there might be something left to find. The needy, restless flick of his tongue stroking heat into your core.

"Good," you murmur, retracting your fingers. "Now, go put Tomie down on her futon."

Naoya doesn't move.

But this stillness is different. Every muscle is coiled, feral cursed energy strumming hot through his veins. A wire crossed. His restraint is less like surrender and more like the moment preceding a strike.

So he says nothing. His aura speaks for him as he rises smoothly, crosses to the tiny futon, and sets your daughter down.

You simper in approval—he's not half bad at this—but you couldn't tell him that now. Not with the tension this thick.

Returning, Naoya lingers at the edge of your futon. The particular stillness of someone who's already decided how this ends—he’s just letting you go first.

"Well, c'mere—don't go shy on me, Nao-Nao."

You crook a manicured finger at him, giggling.

Poor thing doesn’t realize he’s playing right into your hands.

"I'm not shy."

He's not. But you're Toji's wife, and he's well aware of that. Somehow though, it only makes whatever this is more forbidden.

More worth taking.

"No?" Your voice dips playfully, baiting.

"Just a virgin then?"

Naoya sucks his teeth. He's never met a woman as infuriating as you he decides.

"I'm no virgin, whore."

No real bite to Naoya’s voice this time though, not as he drops to his knees in front of you like a good dog. His own annoyance betrayed only by the whitening of his knuckles in his lap.

"Gotta be mommy issues then," you murmur, closing the remaining distance with a crawl—one last barb delivered right as you sink into his lap, forcing him cross-legged beneath you.

His contained fury is the most endearing thing you've seen all night to be sure.

"Shut u-up," he grits, voice scraping thin.

You rest your arms on his shoulders, holding deliberate space between your bodies. Tilt your head and take stock—he's handsome, you'll give him that. Good bone structure, pretty mouth. 

Shame he ever has to open it.

Your fingers drift to the piercings at his earlobe, toying lazily—while your other hand works the short hairs at his nape, featherlight scratches that make him shiver.

Naoya steels himself, an unwelcome and unexplained feeling blooming in his chest as he wills himself to stay focused.

"I'll shut up once you help me." Your hand leaves his ears to find his wrist, guiding it to your body. "Please, Nao-chan. It hurts."

The need etching in your voice worms its way under his skin like a tick and Naoya is finding his ability to keep control greatly diminished from all the blood flowing into his cock.

"Massage from the base," you breathe, giving him instructions to stimulate the milk flow. "Pressure out, not in."

Naoya's palm flattens flush against your breast and whatever plans he had for control slip away on contact.

The heat hits first—it's swollen, much heavier than he expected. Then the give of it, firm but yielding as his fingers curl to sink deeper. Naoya can feel the subtle shift of milk tracking beneath your skin, your breath hitching when he finds the right pressure, your nipple drawing tight against his palm.

"Just like that," you sigh when his rhythm smooths out. "You're a natural."

He adjusts without being told, reading your body's responses, and soon adds his second hand—finding the knot easily, pressing with both thumbs.

Surprise flickers across his face when milk spurts over his knuckles.

He nearly stops breathing.

You don't. 

Your shaky exhale of relief punches straight through him and his cock throbs against his robes like a second heartbeat. 

Naoya shifts, trying to adjust himself without you noticing.

You do however, gaze dropping, at the motion. He's so much larger than you'd have guessed for a man with such a fragile ego.

"Hmm. Certain parts of you are definitely enjoying this, Nao-chan."

Naoya clicks his tongue but doesn't deny it. He's too fucking hard to deny it.

His hands move again—one on each breast now, thumbs circling, palms compressing—drawing a deep moan past your lips. He watches with something close to reverence as milk wells up with each careful stroke.

The less your chest aches, the lower heat travels, melting into your core. You’re pulsing at the thought of his thumbs sweeping the same circles across your clit.

Breath heavy, biting your lip, you grasp at the robe on his shoulders to brace yourself. A  momentary loss of your own control which Naoya is in no position to take advantage of.

Not when his attention is fully captured by a fat, opalescent drop welling on your nipple, shiny even in the dim light.

Eyes wild with need, Naoya’s tongue nearly pokes through the inside of his cheek.

"You wanna taste."

It’s not a question. 

"I already said you could—or would you rather lick it up again, like a dog?"

But you’re just as desperate to be drained as he is to drain you. Naoya notices, you can tell. But his jaw is clenched so tight his molars might crack, eyes still glued to your nipples, and you almost tell him to relax before he breaks something and really does require nursing.

Your tits ache too badly to wait on his pride all night.

This time Naoya doesn't flinch when you cup his cheek. You guide him forward with unhurried gentleness—the same patience you show your daughter—and something about that tenderness dissolves whatever protests he had left.

His mouth closes over your nipple and he sucks, greedy and unguarded. Your fingers card into his hair immediately, drawing him in as the first pull sends an achy relief flooding through your breasts.

Naoya moans around you, shameless. Gluttonous. All pompous pretense abandoned.

"There it is," you murmur, smiling as you stroke him affectionately.

Your touch only makes him hungrier though—his tongue flickering, writhing for more even as your milk flows steady now. You jolt when his hands grip your hips without warning.

Naoya braces himself but he's nowhere near steady. Nothing about him is. Breath ragged against your skin, his whole body carries a tremor he probably doesn't realize is visible.

"It's okay, I'm not going anywhere…" you whisper, honeyed coos finally reaching him. "You’re a good boy."

Naoya freezes.

He unlatches with a wet gasp—glossy white ring around his lips, golden-brown eyes blown wide and wild. Something just cracked open in him that he wasn't prepared to feel.

"Don't—"

Croaking on his own spit.

"Don't what? Praise you?" Your hands keep working through his hair, lightly scratching his scalp, lulling him toward a surrender he's still trying to fight. "For doing so well?"

"I'm not a child."

But his voice wavers, unconvincing even to his own ears. 

You're teasing him, yes—but there's no cruelty underneath it. No disdain he can pinpoint as an excuse to push you away and escape from whatever this is.

"No?"

Bending forward, your lips ghost against his temple as you whisper:

"You don't want to be my good boy, Naoya?"

His nostrils flare—anger, need, humiliation—all of it written plain across his face. 

Like an animal he’s cornered, unsure of his next move.

A moment passes. 

Then Naoya’s gaze flicks sharply to your other breast he’s yet to sample.

You raise a brow, but Naoya has just enough pride left to not dignify your question with an answer. Can't anyway—his mouth is already latching onto the next target—the conversation over.

Need won. Clearly.

Naoya feeds more ravenously this time—tongue rolling around your sensitive flesh, teeth scraping in a way you'd smack him for if it didn't feel so fucking good.

He's messy about it too. Milk running down his chin, neck and spilling into his collar.

Fuck—this little shithead can really work his tongue.

Your head lulls, arching into him, melting against his mouth as you let him take his fill. 

Your own lust is dampening your thighs now.

Damn. This wasn't the plan. 

You'd meant to tease him a bit—let him suck on your fingers, string him along and then duck him. Peel his pride back layer by layer, slowly, to keep yourself amused living amongst such a stuffy clan.

You had no idea how affection-starved Naoya was. 

Let alone how much seeing him like this would turn you on.

Your pussy is screaming at you, becoming impossible to ignore. You haven't seen Toji in weeks—relief is overdue in more ways than one.

"N-Naoya…?"

You call him, but he doesn't answer.

His thoughts are in disarray—walls crumbling around something long abandoned inside him.

What this is—what he’s feeling?  It’s deeper than anything he's charted. And it has nothing to do with your tits, your supple skin, or the way your milk dissolves on his tongue.

Naoya rarely finds himself lacking. 

An upbringing in the Zenin estate hones you for perfection built from very specific arithmetic—cursed technique, tradition and hierarchy. Assembled inside those walls you learn quickly that anything useless you cut out—or someone else cuts it out for you.

But now?

Your gentle words. 

You warm embrace.

Your hand moving through his hair like—like he's something worth tending to. 

Like his worth was never something he had to earn.

It's driving him mad.

Worse—he doesn't want you to stop.

“Hello? Earth to Nao-chan.” You lit, snapping him out of his daze. “Not you milk drunk already, baby?”

Pouty and petulant, Naoya’s arms snake around your waist to drag you closer until his face is buried between your tits, ignoring you.

Your hand slides between your bodies and finds him—thick and straining through his robes, the rigid shape of his cock unmistakable even through the layers. You lazily trace the outline of his long length with your palm.

Naoya's hips jerk up, gracelessly bucking into your touch.

You won’t let him go soft on you at the moment. Figuratively or literally.

"Aw, Nao-Nao," you coo mischievously. "What would Toji-kun think if he saw you like this?"

That finally gets you a reaction. 

Naoya looks up at you scowling—though not to much effect as your nipple stays lodged in his mouth like a binky, spit-slick against his bottom lip. 

He doesn't pull off—can't, maybe.

Because as much as he worships his older cousin, the realization is settling in like rot: Toji-kun, for all his monstrous strength—enough to tear apart the entire Zenin legacy—wasn't strong enough to resist you. 

Hell, could anyone? Naoya considers the strongest he knows but—pshhh—he’s seen how Gojo is around women, too—he wouldn’t stand a fucking chance against you either.

It makes him feel slightly less pathetic, if only barely.

"He'd not have any room to talk," Naoya growls against your skin as he continues to fuck himself against your palm, grinding his cock against your hand through the fabric in urgent thrusts.

You’re feeding him and unraveling him at the same damn time. Leaving him chasing release and something else he can't articulate.

“Shit—let me fuck you before I completely lose it.”

Naoya’s hands shoot to your ass, fingers digging into your flesh, gripping hard enough to bruise.

You blink, a part of you shocked he's even asking—even if it is half-demanding and half-begging.

"Oh? So now you want to be in charge?" 

Your hand withdraws and you let him roll your hips forward against his—it’s more leisurely than the pace Naoya wants though, especially as your robes spread around your thighs and your bare pussy slides against his clothed cock. 

You're so soaked, and he can feel your juices flooding through the silk, your wet heat branding him through the fabric.

Naoya grits, caught somewhere between rage and ruin. 

God, how he wants to slip his cock inside you—inside your mouth, your tits—and definitely that haughty lil cunt of yours.

See what was so good it even stopped Toji-kun from pulling out.

"You think you're fucking me, Nao-Nao?"

Cradling his head, you swipe at your own cream still lingering at the corner of his lips.

“You still have my milk around your mouth, baby.”

Naoya groans, barely controlled, like he's trying to rut through the layers of fabric. 

He doesn't even realize how undignified he looks. The sounds he makes suckling at your tit are sloppy and needy—and you know he'd be mortified if he could hear himself over the squelching of your pussy rubbing against his silk robe.

Tightening your grip in his hair, you wrench his head back, forcing him to release your nipple with a wet pop.

A string of milk stretches from your bud to his lip—then snaps.

Naoya gasps. 

Lips trembling, chin sopping, eyes unfocused. Poor thing. He looks completely ruined and you've barely started.

Naoya’s fists the fabric of your robe, already working at the tie. His gasps puff against your throat, mouth grazing up to your chin as he nibbles harder—threatening meaner bites.

"L-Let me fuck y-you." 

Naoya is begging now, not even trying to mask his need.

You tilt your head, considering, pondering on it like Naoya wasn’t on his last thread of sanity, driven to insanity by the treacley taste of your creamy milk.

"Mm. No."

"I need—"

Cutting him off, you push Naoya onto the futon in one smooth motion. 

"Haven’t you realized I know what you need, Nao-Nao?" Your voice is syrupy as you straddle him, hovering.

"I-I—Fuck—" The word scrapes out of him, guttural, clutching the sheets and throwing his head back onto the futon as his hips buck up into nothing.

You stay perfectly still. Not letting him take a single thing.

"Look at you." You coo, skimming a finger along his milk-stained collar. "Reduced to humping the air? Imagine, a Zenin heir with so little self-composure."

"S-Shut the fuck up, s-slut." 

But his insults don’t stop his hips, microthrusts wanting to chase the feeling of your messy pussy sliding over his cock again.

"Why?" You swivel your hips—one deep agonizing grind that lets him feel your cunt clench against his cock through the ruined fabric. He's dripping now too, precum mixing with yours. 

"I think you like it when I make you beg. You want to, don't you? So beg me."

Naoya's cheeks burn. He could easily flip you, pin you, and have his way.

He won't though.

Even through your teasing there's a care to your touch he's never let himself experience—and resisting it has his nails biting crescents into his palms, hard enough to bleed.

"I bet you'd cum just like this…" 

Your plush lips ghosting his Adam's apple, smirking as he squirms under you. 

"...without ever getting inside. Soiling your own robe like a needy, prideful little boy who couldn't simply ask nicely."

The moan that rips from Naoya's throat is feral with need and thick with humiliation. His hips shoving upward, wanton for contact.

You don't give it, suspended just above him, your drooling cunt barely grazing his cock, watching him fall apart with all the patience in the world.

"Naoya, baby" Your hand slides up to cup his cheek, tenderly. "Tell Mommy what you want."

Naoya’s eyes go wide. 

Every muscle taut. Cheeks flushed dark. 

The Zenin composure he was built from crumbling, reducing him to this. 

On the brink, never has Naoya waited this long for something. Never has he been this turned on—and as much as he’s fucking furious about it, he’s also way past giving a fuck.

His eyes rake your body and snag on the trail of milk—smeared on your tits, your belly, all the way to your cunt where it glistens in the dim light.

His mouth waters. Whatever resolve he had left shatters.

"Please..." Naoya whimpers, tears dusting the edges of his eyes, too wound up to realize he's handing you everything. "...fuck me."

You raise a brow, waiting. 

Oh, he’s so close.

He knows it too. He knows what you want. 

Naoya can see it on your face but there's no coming back from it once he says it. But what choice does he have? He’d die if you sent him away like this.

"Please, fuck me—"Naoya’s voice cracks clean in half, a single tear running down his cheek. "—Mommy."

You push his bangs up fondly, planting a chaste kiss right on his forehead. 

"That’s my Good boy."

Naoya watches you with tears burning his eyes, chest heaving, too far gone to resist you any longer.

You tug the ties loose on his robe until the fabric falls away. His cock springs free—angry, leaking and bobbing with every shaky breath he takes.

You have to admit it's pretty. His flushed red, cockhead peeked through its foreskin. You can feel his whole body shiver as you peel it back more. 

Your mouth is watering for a taste yourself and god, if Naoya wasn’t such a fucking tool you’d gladly suck him off. 

That could come later though—you’d make him earn that too. Subservience looks good on him afterall. 

You'd be tempted to deny him longer if you weren't so hard up for it yourself, your gooey walls vibrating at the thought of a cock inside, at long last. 

Toji's been gone for weeks and you need a stress release, bad.

You position your cunt just above the swollen head of his cock—close enough for your juices to drip salaciously onto his tip, dribbling down his shaft.

Naoya squirms beneath you, and you drink it in.

"Craving to wet your cock inside Toji-kun's wife, hm?"

He can't answer—not when you sweep his cockhead through your folds, letting him glide through the mess of your wetness and the milk still coating your thighs. You're soaked enough to take him whole right now, no prep needed, and the thought makes your cunt clench around nothing.

Naoya moans, hips snapping up, trying to piston into you—and you shove him back down by the hip, pinning him to the futon.

"Behave."

"I'm—" He swallows, voice wrecked. "I'm trying."

You smile, wiping the sweat off his brow with something close to care in your touch.

"Try harder for Mommy then, yeah, Nao-baby?"

You don't wait for his response.

You sink down, pussy swallowing him whole in one brutal stroke.

The stretch punches the breath out of you—wet as you are, he's still thick enough to make your walls spasm, to make your spine bow as he splits you open. You hate how good his cock feels dragging over every ridge inside you, the fat head kissing your cervix hard enough to make your thighs tremble.

Naoya gasps like you've knocked the wind out of him. You watch his mind go blank.

Hands flexing useless at his sides. Mouth falling open, slack and dumb. Eyes rolling until you can only see the whites, lashes fluttering against his cheeks.

"Y-You're f-fuckin’ tight," he rasps, too loud. "F-Fuck—you're tight, y-you're so—"

Clamping your hand over his mouth, palm pressed to his lips, your nails curl into his cheek. You feel him arch off the futon beneath you, a muffled whine vibrating against your skin.

"Shh." You hush. "You'll wake the baby."

Naoya nods furiously, chest heaving. You smile once he settles.

"Atta boy."

Naoya whines as you start to move—hand still clamped over his mouth, bracing yourself as you ride him. A calculated wind at first, controlling the roll of your hips as you get a feel for him. The way he stretches you. The way a meaty vein throbs against your g-spot as you move. 

Shit—Not bad.

Naoya trembles beneath you, hands fisted white-knuckled in the sheets, whole body wracked with the effort of staying still. Of not fucking up into you like a desperate, rutting animal.

"Mmmm," you murmur, rotating your hips in a lazy figure-eights. "Just like that, let it all go. Let me ride you. Let Mommy take care of you."

Naoya’s whimpers bubble under your palm—pathetic, needy. He knows he’s being used. He’s maintained zero control of the situation. 

And yet? 

He can’t deny a he’s a fucking fiend for it.

Not when your cunt grips him like a fist. Not when he can feel how wet you are— slick saturating his balls, staining the futon beneath you both. Your gooey pussy squeezes him so tight he can barely breathe, silky and warm, milking his cock like she was made to ruin him.

Then you feel it—his balls twitching underneath your ass, drawing up tight. He's close. 

Fuck, already?!

“C-Cumming that fast?” you pant out. “ T-That fast? From your cousin’s wife’s tits and cunt? Do I feel that good?”

Naoya is groaning as his eyes squeeze shut, biting his inner cheek and fisting the sheets.

"Nuh-uh." You tsk, stilling completely. "Bad boy. Not allowed."

Naoya's eyes fly open as yours begin to glow—red and ancient, blood-dark lines blooming beneath your lashes. He feels it. Your cursed energy pouring into him, flooding every vein, every capillary, settling hot and heavy in his balls.

The Kamo inherited technique—blood manipulation—seizes complete control.

Instantly, he veins in his balls bulge obscenely, his cock swelling even harder inside you. But he can't cum. You won't let him.

Naoya cries out, breaking into a sweat, pleasure flaring through him to excruciating levels as every one of his nerve endings lights up.

"I may be a Zenin by name," you breathe, leaning in until your tits smush into his chest and your lips brush his ear, "but I'll always be a Kamo by blood."

You bite down on the tender tissue, feeling him shudder beneath you, cock throbbing helplessly inside your cunt.

"Don't worry." You sit up, savoring his broken whine from the loss. "I'll let you cum, Nao-baby. I'm going to milk you dry—just like you milked me—after I get my nut."

You lift up just enough to meet his wild, glassy eyes.

"Nod if you understand."

Naoya nods. He understands perfectly now—understands exactly how you wound up pregnant by Toji. Understands why a man like that couldn't stay away.

He sobs beneath your hold, tears spilling hot over your fingers, breath hitching against your palm. You clench, a methodical squeeze—and his whole body jerks violently, a broken "nnngh—!" muffled against your hand.

You ride him in earnest now. Harder. Faster. Greedy for it. Your tits bounce wild, milk spilling with every slam of your hips—they’re sore but you don't care, chasing your pleasure like nothing else matters. You're soaked, the sound of it obscene—wet squelching filling the room, your arousal and milk splashing filthy with his pre where your bodies meet.

Naoya’s cock hits that gushy, spongy spot inside you over and over and your rhythm starts to falter.

"F-Fuck—"

You're getting sloppy. Losing focus. Your thighs burn from exertion but you can't stop, can't slow down, bouncing on his cock like you'll die yourself if you don't cum on it. Your pussy greedily convulsing around him—shit, you could easily fuck your own self stupid if you aren’t careful. 

You learned well enough not to underestimate Zenin dick fucking around with Toji.

Thankfully, however, Naoya is ruined. Flushed crimson from chest to ears beneath you, his tears streaming and his cock so engorged inside you that he looks like it must hurt. His hips spasm with aborted thrusts, toes curling as he is fighting his body's urge to rut even now.

He’s still trying so hard to be a ‘good boy’ for you and that thought alone almost makes you cum.

You consider, through the haze of your own pleasure, appraising his pathetic form beneath you, that you might accidentally give him a brain aneurysm if you keep this up much longer.

“P-Puulease—Mommy” he gasps out when you lift your hand from his lips.

"Wait your turn," you moan, brows furrowing as you try to concentrate.  

You're close. So fucking close. You use him like a toy now, hips rolling carnally, chasing the tingling friction. building white-hot at the base of your spine. Your nails dig into his abs as you tilt, angling yourself so his girth scrapes against your g-spot with every bounce. 

Quiet sobs tumble over your lips as you tense, fucking yourself on him until—

"O-oh—oh fuckfuckfuck—"

You shatter, orgasm ripping through you, pussy fluttering wild around his length and gushing to coat his balls as you ride it out. Vision edges white, as your thighs quake, your hips rotating in stuttering circles as the waves crash through you.

Chest heaving, when you regain your senses again, Naoya is barely there himself, sanity hanging by a thread with eyes blown—watching you cum so erotically on his cock like a man witnessing something holy.

You bring your face centimeters away from his, your lips ghosting his own as you release your technique.

"Cum."

And he does.

With a broken moan Naoya busts inside you—cock pulsing thick and hot, spurts of cum flooding your cunt white as his hips stutter up helplessly. You let him pull you down, let him clutch you like you're the only thing keeping him tethered to earth as your lips smash together.

You seal your mouth over his, devouring every ragged cry. Your tongue sweeps sweetly against his trembling one as you steady his face in your hands, thumbs brushing his tear-damp cheeks, kissing him quiet.

All the while his cock continues to pump you full—and you’ve kept your promise. 

This is the most Naoya’s ever cum in his entire life.

When he comes down enough, Naoya rolls onto his side, taking you with him as he curls into you—face buried in your chest, sucking in breaths, completely undone and still twitching inside you. 

A bit overspent yourself, not having activated your ability since Toji got you pregnant in the first place, you don't move yet. You keep him buried inside of you, pulsing with the aftershocks of what he just let himself become.

His arms wind tight around your waist like he's afraid you'll disappear. You cradle the back of his head, stroking softly.

He doesn't speak and you don't rush him. Not eager to test for any remaining snark you failed to fuck out of him.

It feels good just being needed like this, you are a mother afterall.

Eventually the heat between your thighs starts to cool, and you shift—peeling him off slowly, feeling the thick spill of his cum leak out of you. He shudders at the loss, an inaudible sound catching in his throat.

You ease him onto his back, robes rumpled beneath him, face still ruddy. He watches you through heavy-lidded eyes—quiet, stunned, like he doesn't recognize himself.

And then—

A single, involuntary whimper escapes him when his gaze catches on your breasts again. 

Still heavy and still leaking—milk beading at your nipples.

You smile.

"Still hungry?"

He turns his face into the pillow, ears burning.

You laugh—not mocking this time. Your voice is warm, almost fond.

"Poor Nao-chan," you murmur, settling beside him as you reach for a baby wipe nearby. "Your first time letting someone take care of you, and now you don't know what to do with yourself."

"I didn't say I wanted—"

You wipe his chest clean of milk, sweat—all of it with a tenderness that makes him forget what he was saying. Naoya’s throat bobs as he goes silent.

Unhurried, you wipe yourself off next. Then once satisfied, looking over to confirm that Tomie is still sleeping peacefully, you secure the discarded blanket over you both, effectively tucking him in, before gathering him in your arms.

"You don't have to say it," you whisper against his hair. "Mommies always know."

Sure, you certainly aren't his mother.

Yet something in your heart still aches for the broken little boy inside Naoya all the same. His cruel upbringing was hardly his fault, although it's been everyone else’s problem since. 

Plus, you're fairly certain you just did more for his mommy issues in one night than years of therapy could ever achieve—even if someone managed to drag Naoya there, against his will.

Sigmund Freud couldn't have even accomplished this. Someone should really give you a nobel peace prize.

You hum a low lullaby against his temple as Naoya’s eyes close. He doesn't fight it. Between your soothing song, warmth and the exhaustion your technique left behind, he doesn't have the strength to fight you—nor does he want to.

Naoya’s lips are at your nipple again. He's not sucking this time—just holding you on his tongue, lavishing slow and kitten-soft licks, nursing you like a pacifier.

"You did well, Naoya."

It's the last thing he hears as sleep pulls him under.

⟡

Hours later, Naoya wakes to the sound of your voice.

His eyes squint against the harsh morning light pouring into the room. As they adjust, he makes out your shape—sitting on the edge of the futon, knees tucked beneath you, fully dressed, bouncing Tomie in one arm while you chat on the phone.

A dizziness hits him all at once. Naoya finds himself sluggish, bodily functions recalibrating as the effects of your technique linger. 

He feels like he got hit by a goddamn truck. 

A truck that happened to also fuck him stupid and then tucked him in after.

Grumpy, the loss of your warmth pulls a low growl from him.

Naoya hauls himself across the futon and plants his head in your lap, nuzzling into you like you owe him now.

You try to ignore him, continuing your conversation, but Naoya is persistent. His nose keeps traveling higher—nudging toward the apex of your thighs and burying his face into your mound. The lingering musk of sex is still strong through your kimono and Naoya's cock stirs, already half-hard at the thought of tasting how well his seed has marinated inside you.

Naoya hums petulantly into your pussy, clearly territorial of whoever has your attention.

You roll your eyes at the display. 

Give men an inch and they will always take a mile. 

You threw him a crumb of affection and now he's acting starved for it.

Shifting your daughter to one arm and wedging the phone between your shoulder and cheek, you card your fingers through Naoya's hair. It's enough to soothe him—for now. He sighs against your thigh, using your plush lap as a pillow, and drifts back toward sleep.

"Huh? Say that again—" You grit, more irritated now at the man on the other line than the one in your lap. "Ugh, fine. I'll spot you this time, Toji."

Even half asleep, Naoya goes deathly still.

You smirk, feeling him tense in your lap as you continue to speak.

"But that’s only on the condition you visit Tomie this weekend, you oaf. She'll forget your face if you keep this up, ya know."

A pause. Then snort.

"Hm? Oh yeah. Yup, uh-huh.” You smirk amused by whatever Toji's saying on the other line. "Yeah, yeah, Ji. I'll let him know—and jeez, I got it, okay…I'll do the transfer now. GOODBYE."

You hang up with a huff, mildly annoyed—until you glance down and see your daughter happily cooing, her tiny hand patting Naoya's head alongside yours as you reluctantly transfer Toji the money he asked for.

Naoya, mortified, had been holding his breath this entire time—just in case Toji could sense it over the phone—sighs in relief.

"Shit... that was close," he mumbles, wincing as your daughter's pats turn into enthusiastic slaps against his temple. 

Toji-kun told him to take care of you, sure. 

He's fairly certain this wasn't what he meant.

"Huh? Oh, you mean Toji?" You blink down at Naoya. "I already told him."

Naoya shoots upright like you just announced a curse had just blown up half of Tokyo.

"Relax, Naoya, my god." You wave a hand, dismissing him. "Toji's cool about it. We were never exclusive or anything, ya know."

Naoya exhales, exasperated, and flops onto the futon, on his back, his hand over his face as you rise shuffling elsewhere in the room.

He knows his cousin—this won't be the end of it. Toji will definitely expect something in return.

But Naoya can't think about that now. His head is throbbing, it's early as hell, and he's gotten maybe two good hours of sleep.

He knows he should return to his own sleeping quarters—but this is his wing after all and he honestly can't be arsed to move for anything right now.

"However," you add lightly, when you see Naoya's body bracing for blow, "he did say you have to bankroll a parlay for him every time you fuck his wife."

And there it is.

Naoya doesn't even lift the hand over his face, just grunts.

"Sure."

"Anddddd, he's charging you by the pint for—and I quote—'sucking up all his tiddy milk like a pansy lil b-i-t-c-h.'"

You spell out the word in lieu of saying it now that Tomie is awake.

Naoya groans, wishing he'd woken up earlier. He's not sure what kind of narrative you fed Toji, but he's too exhausted to argue about it now. 

"...Fine." Naoya replies, wincing at your giggles prickling his skull.

Toji's money schemes don't matter much to him anyway—he's rich, he can afford whatever bullshit ‘tiddy milk tax’ this is.

Naoya just needs you to shut up about it now.

Every chuckle out of your mouth drives another rusty nail into his skull.

"Oh, one last thing," you call over your shoulder, smirking as you scoop Tomie's diaper bag and head towards the bathroom to change her.

"Toji says if you get me knocked-up, you’re raising that one too."

You laugh hardly, leaving the room with Tomie happily cooing in your arms.

Whatever.

Naoya sighs, smashing two pillows over his face. 

He'd just pull out next time.

Simple. Problem solved. 

It's a small price to pay for your soft creamy tits and that sweet, gooey mommy puss—

...

Hold on.

What the fuck did Toji-kun mean by 'too'?

𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚎𝚍. 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚍𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚕 𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚕𝚞𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚛𝚜. 𝚋𝚕𝚔𝚔𝚒𝚣𝚣𝚊𝚝 © 𝟸𝟶𝟸𝟹-𝟸𝟶𝟸𝟼

♡ hope u enjoyed! i hope to see a lot more recruits in the naoya army after this fic lol! also i loved writing in tomie here. i didn't name toji's and your's baby in the previous one but i really like this name so i decided to use it. shes so sassy shes def gonna give noaya hell. hsjdfbvjshdbfvhsd. read my other naoya fic here

Status updates: Caracal!sukuna p4 (20% done), invisible man!gojo (35%), stepdaddy!nanami (60% done), nerd!geto p2 (45%), 69 choso fic (30%) [y'all remember caracal sukuna won the poll so freddy!sukuna and elevator will have to wait!] stepdaddy!nanami next

˖ ࣪꒰ PROFESSOR SATORU ꒱ ˙˖ knew that his validation meant everything to you. now you weren't his top student, weren't the object of his praise. no more mouthed “atta girl”s or treating you to your favourite restaurant after another stellar score.

you were struggling to get by. scraping to get back to your straight a's. to achieve even a hint of his favour.

you never did. it was a downhill spiral. and everyone knew what an asshole professor gojo could be. so of course no one batted an eye when he belittled you in class.

“guess I expected too much,” he'd sigh after calling out your marks for the last test. he didn't have to. but you knew what he did.

as he leaned back in his chair with his arms behind his head. cutting that stare that you'd grown to flinch at over.

“so much for star student, huh? try better next time. know you can do it.”

he knew you could.

but knew you wouldn't. not now that you were spiralling.

not when you weren't his favourite girl anymore.

˖ ࣪꒰ PROFESSOR SATORU ꒱ ˙˖ caught you outside at the steps that day. night time. you probably spent all afternoon in the library studying to make up for the embarrassment. for your sin of slipping in your grades. he knew you would. knew how you operated.

knew you'd be all teary as you walked down the steps with your hand tight on your book bag. trying to ignore him.

“awww baby. what's wrong? you crying?”

you didn't flinch when satoru caught up to you. when he cradled your face in that way he knew you loved to be comforted. bit back a grin as you resisted the urge to press your head into his palm and fall into his arms.

“oh c'mon. you crying over me? didn't say anything bad. you know how I operate.”

all low and gentle. in that voice he used when he used to tutor you and you just couldn't grasp what he was saying. like you were his silly girl. his sweet girl.

long fingers slipped around your jaw. gripped on your cheeks and squished them as he tilted your head up. towering over you but leaning over so that his white strands tickled your tears.

“don't look like that, princess.” he muttered. pressing a firm kiss into your lips and smearing your gloss. not tender, but taunting. not comforting, but still charming enough to have you whimpering and clinging to his shirt.

and as he pulled back, a grin split his lips still hovered over yours. half-hung lashes batting at your falling tears.

“just try harder next time, yeah?”

before he patted your cheek and you left you stranded on the stairs.

˖ ࣪꒰ PROFESSOR SATORU ꒱ ˙˖ knew that you needed him in more ways than one. not only did he soothe that insecurity in your heart but he also sealed the hole in your wallet. and now? he knew you were struggling. you didn't order out as much. didn't have the luxury to. you walked back to the dorm. lifts must be costly. you sure as hell didn't have your nails done every other week. he missed the acrylics and blue you'd insist on. but hey— you made your bed.

didn't mean that he didn't feel sorry for you when he spotted you at your favourite cafe. probably ordering a tea like you did now. not your favourite sweet treat and hot chocolate.

yeah. it was pity. definitely not the need to remind you what you were missing— as he called to the barista from behind you. “get the lady a hot chocolate and a strawberry crepe, please?”

as he leaned over your stiffening form, arm grazing yours as he slid his black card over. murmuring a soft, “I've got you, sweetheart,” to your ear when the barista turned.

you let him sit with you that day. spoke to him properly for the first time in months. even if you couldn't hold his eye contact. even if you thanked him a hundred times and over.

while he gave you a gentle look, inwardly? he was grinning.

bingo.

˖ ࣪꒰ PROFESSOR SATORU ꒱ ˙˖ knew he had you slowly wrapping around his finger again. that's why he had no shame when he leaned back in his couch that day. remembering your weight in his lap. swiping through his folder that he refused to delete. full of your pretty body, your slutty expressions and your messy thighs.

that's why he didn't feel bad as his hand wrapped around his hard dick that slapped back on his tummy, smearing some pre on his abs.

why he groaned your name without care as he squeezed in his angry tip. remembered the way you'd whine as he rubbed it on your little clit. how you'd cry out as he kissed it in your cervix.

fuck. he remembered how your thighs would quiver for him. how that smart mouth of yours would reduce to a babbling, stuttering, slutty whimper of his name as he ragdolled you on his cock.

his hand sped. his other swiping to your contact. you hadn't blocked him. it's your fault for the voice note you'd receive. of his harsh grunts and his rasped gasps accompanying that wet shlick shlick shlick.

of his voice, groaning your name low like it was both his sin and salvation.

“sweetheart, fuck. look at what you do to me— fuck. still work me up so fuckin' much even when you aren't mine. miss your pretty pussy. miss my sweet girl so soooo bad."

he'd whine. he remembered how much you like that. liked hearing him lose himself as he slammed all the way in and rutted as he frothed you up.

now? it was all over his hand. and he made sure the voice note heard just how much he wished it was in your sweet little cunt instead.

˖ ࣪꒰ PROFESSOR SATORU ꒱ ˙˖ expected you to not answer him. but you still didn't block him. still didn't report him. you wouldn't. you loved him too much. loved the thought of him. did you think that while you touched yourself to his voice note?

he knew you did. knew you didn't get yourself that. knew you probably sat there playing with your cute clit and whining his name all pitifully as you tried so desperately to cum the way he'd make you squirt back then. back when you were his.

you know what else he expected? you to storm into his office and accuse him of marking you down purposefully. your mid term marks were sent out that morning. he made sure of it. made sure you'd have to face the man, your ex, who sent you a five minute long voice note of him fisting his big cock to you.

“such accusations, sweet girl.” satoru drawled, lazy, as he leaned his head on his hand and his elbow on the desk.

“if you think so, I'm not opposed to you sitting with me while I mark your next assignment. I've got the next stack set for this afternoon. wanna come confirm your claims?”

his brow arched. his diamond eyes invited you. his velvet voice dared you.

and you did. of course you did. he expected that too.

his fourth expectation? that you'd find your way in his lap. with that skirt he loved so much. with your thighs slotted over his knee and his hand cradling your ass while his other graded papers.

you were soaking through his pants. he could feel it. the same way he felt you tremble as he flipped to your assignment. squeezed your ass and bounced his knee to grind up on your cunt.

“those poor panties must be so drenched, huh pretty?” he crooned to your ear, squishing you down onto his bounces and grinds. enjoying your whimpers. your whines as your hands fisted on his shirt.

“look at that,” he pouted, dragging the edge aside of your panties aside so that your clit ground perfectly on the fabric of his pants. “such a slutty student. think this is gonna get you extra credit?”

swat! his fingertips came down in your clit. his leg bounced again to force your needier grinds.

he grinned. cruel and cold on your ear as the sharp strokes of his red pen sliced through the air.

“mm. you're gonna need it. my sweet girl's become a stupid girl in my absence.”

he laughed as you whipped around. as you looked over. saw your assignment littered in red.

and the worst thing is? as he unbuckled his belt and manhandled you over his thighs so your back faced his chest to give you a better look— as his cock slapped on your cunt and dwarfed your folds as he slid between them. as his tip rubbed on your clit in that same way that had you trembling—

you saw it.

saw that he wasn't marking you down in any way that you didn't deserve.

and as his cock plunged in and your back through in an arch. as he snatched your waist and bounced your little cunt on his cock that split you open and had you creaming in seconds. . .

he taunted you. squishing your thighs and biting on your ear. “poor girl. poor, stupid girl.”

˖ ࣪꒰ PROFESSOR SATORU ꒱ ˙˖ wasn't even surprised when he got a call the next week. an internship at that institution you'd always prattle so excitedly about. poor you. you probably thought just because he had you in his lap and called you his sweet girl— just because you were his once upon a time, that he wouldn't give you a bad reference to the job of your dreams, huh?

poor, sweet, stupid girl.

he was beginning to like your tears. your eyes looked pretty when they were glossed and your lashes were all damp. as you blinked up at him after you burst into his office again. face blotched and hands clenched.

“how could you?” you croaked. “I— you know how important that is to me—”

“you were important to me too.”

“that's not the point! so what you sabotaged me because I broke up with you? what don't you get satoru? we can't do this! what kind of person would—”

you trembled so prettily when he stood. when shook his head with a sigh and slipped his glasses into his hair.

“sweetheart, sweetheart," he tutted, circling his desk and backing you into it once he got in front of you.

“you don't get it, do you?” there's that condescending tone again. the one he used because to him, you were just his dumb, naïve girl.

big hands came down on the edge of the desk that you pressed into. trapping you against the wood and his wickedness as he leaned over. towering you as always. face pressing closer. brows pinched and knitted upwards. face that mockery of sympathy.

“baby, sweetheart, my sweetest girl. here's the thing.” his lips brushed yours. you tensed. teary eyes wide and staring into his.

“I realised. I'm not a good person when it comes to you.”

velvet and diamond. smooth and cutting. like it was simple fact. a set fate.

his head crooked. glasses slipping down his nose and brutal blues pinning you from over the rim.

“y'know. if you come back to me, you wouldn't have to worry about all this. . .”

his sly fingers brushed your hair back. a kiss pressed to your temple.

“I'd take care of you.”

˖ ࣪꒰ PROFESSOR SATORU ꒱ ˙˖ knew you were on the brink. knew it wouldn't take long before you were in his arms again. he just had to wait. even when his fingers ached for your skin. when his lips burned for yours. when his palms itched to just grab you by the waist and drag you back to him cause you were such a stubborn girl.

but he'd wait. wait for you to make the decision. wait for you to realise that you were always his and he was the best you ever had.

so you could imagine his grin when you stayed back after class. when you stood in front of his desk with your eyes batting at him. hesitant. shaky. when you asked him for extra credit in his class that you were now borderline failing. but most of all, when you offered your pretty body to him without him even uttering a word.

this is what he meant. what he waiting for. for you to make the moves. to miss him. to want him.

he fucked you into your dorm bed that night. with your face shoved down and your fingers clinging to your pillow. ass clapping and brushing with his brutal thrusts that smacked his heavy balls on your folds. cock splitting you open and spilling your creamy mess all over the wrinkled sheets.

his hand in your hair. his voice rough in your ear.

“like that, sweetheart? want it like that?” he grinned, feral and cruel as you mewled when he angled right. shoved into a sweetspot and ground so filthily until your eyes rolled back as you drooled his name into the pillow.

“missed how I fucked you— right here?”

“r-right there! please!”

“uhuh? righhhttt here?”

he drawled. hand smacking down on your ass and leaving a sting, before he reached around. pinching and pulling on your spasming clit. as he slammed! all the way in. jamming his hips with yours and rutting on your messy, creaming folds. so a lewd, clickclickclick muffled from your overly-stuffed cunt.

“fuck—” satoru rasped. eyes wild and dilated as his fingers bunched your hair tighter. shoved your face further into the pillow. “take it. take this cock like you were born to. like this slutty cunt missed it.”

he missed your squirts. missed your sobs. missed the way your hand tried to scramble back and grip on his hair as he pummelled your pussy all raw and rough into the ruined sheets.

his eyes fluttered back as you squeezed him again. as you struggled on his name and squirmed beneath him.

“s-sato— sat— hngh.”

“say it, sweetheart.” he grit, twisting your head up. slamming his hips faster. bouncing your body on the bed and slamming the headboard into the wall. making your cunt all puffy and his cock all creamy in your cum.

“say my name. say you missed it. tell me whose pussy this is.”

“satoru— toru! toru torruuuu.”

“and don't you ever—” he whined, cock plunging deep as the knot within him snapped. as he frothed him up the way he's been missing. lashes fluttering and eyes rolling back. a filthy, wet, thrust smacked on your bruising ass emphasised every word.

“— ever. fucking. forget it.”

˖ ࣪꒰ PROFESSOR SATORU ꒱ ˙˖ thought you would have came back to him after that, but he guessed you were more stubborn than he gave you credit for. that's fine. you just needed one more push. one more and then you'd be back where you finally belonged: in his arms.

so, yeah. he was responsibly fucking pissed when he saw you chatting up the campus fuckboy. hell— when he heard rumours that you two were a thing.

but he calmed himself down. enough to not snatch you by the wrist in the hallway and shove you into a wall. kiss you until your knees trembled. shoved his tongue into your mouth for all to see until he lost his job. that what you wanted? wanted him to be ruined for you?

calmed himself down enough to wait until the day ended. so he could back you into an empty corridor's corner. his hand on your jaw. tilting your face up. so that you could stare into the eyes of the man who had you squirting all over his cock just a few weeks ago. the man who was always yours no matter how much you tried to admit otherwise.

“you know he's not me, right?” he spoke, that nonchalance breaking for the first time in these wretched months you've been apart from him.

he leaned close. didn't kiss you. not your lips, but your temple. as he stared you down. cold. calloused. a warning cracked in those brutal blues.

“he'll never treat you like me. never know how to handle a sweetheart like you.”

his voice shook. breath thinned.

and for the first time since you left him, satoru shattered.

not pitifully, not pathetically, not violently nor catastrophically—

but sharp. and soft. and the kind of breathlessly that made you think his lungs were giving out— as he slumped over you. free hand trembling on the wall right beside your head. still holding your face. cradling it now.

“guys your age won't treat you like I do baby. not like you deserve.”

his thumb brushed your lower lip. he whispered. raw and wrecked.

“won't love you like I do. I love you sweetheart. I fucking love you. don't leave me here.”

˖ ࣪꒰ PROFESSOR SATORU ꒱ ˙˖ really underestimated your stubbornness. your resolve. he was almost proud when you shoved him off and he let you go. when you walked away from him.

fine. he just had to wait a little longer. a little longer and you'd come back to him.

next week. a friday night. a phone call.

he didn't blink when he saw your name. when he answered. when he heard your soft, choked sob.

his voice melted into tenderness. soothed your cries. asked you where you were. came and picked you up, because he always would. you'd always be his sweet girl, after all.

satoru warned you about that guy. so he wasn't surprised when he pulled up to the street that you were dropped off on. in the middle of the night. cold and alone. all teary eyes and trembling knees. wasn't surprised when you scrambled into his car and clung to the jacket he gave you.

he listened. as he always did. listened as you cried and ranted and raved about how that guy broke your heart several times tonight. then kicked you out of his car and left you stranded. like you were nothing.

he took you into his arms. as he always did. took you into his arms after he cradled you into his apartment. held you close as you clung to him. hiccuping into his chest and sobbing into his shirt. apologising, crying, apologising, sobbing.

apologising.

begging.

“ssshhh I've got you sweet girl.” strong arms looped you closer. cradled you in that protective warmth with one hand cupping the back of your head and the other one your hip. as he hushed your cries. assured you. squeezed your hip and whispered so tenderly.

“I've got you no sweetheart. not gonna let you go again, okay? I promise baby.”

˖ ࣪꒰ PROFESSOR SATORU ꒱ ˙˖ who cradled your head closer and pressed his lips to the top of your head.

who held your close. who promised to never let you go.

who slipped his phone out of his pocket and held it up behind your head. still cradled by his other, big hand. with his soft kiss still on your hair.

his thumb slid across the screen.

transaction completed.

the final half paid to that bum of a guy you insisted on. who broke your heart for some cash. funny how a little bit of money was all you needed to have your way.

and as satoru held your close. with his arms snuggling you to his chest, and his eyes finally fluttering shut. he relished.

because yeah. you're finally back into his arms. just needed a little nudge.

© 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒊𝒔𝒎. no plagiarism or ai training authorised. divider: @/cursed-carmine. art cred: @/_teaforgods (ig).

The bristles are soft to the touch, but you’re gentle as you comb over his strands. You delicately trace over his scalp, separating his hair into different sections as you go. You’re always so careful with his hair, even when you know he can handle worse–he has handled worse. You see the evidence at night when his face is settled into the crook of your neck, his scar-littered body ragged with shaky breaths. You know he won’t flinch or even grimace if you were to yank on his scalp. Still, you keep your touch light, because it’s the only part of him that’s still soft. 

You think he appreciates that, maybe that’s why he sits in front of you, head tilted in a way that makes it easier for you. He keeps his eyes closed, allowing you to work without his piercing gaze sifting through your skin. He’s often so still you might’ve thought he was dead if not for the shallow rise and fall of his chest. 

You like this part of the morning. There’s no monotone chants of his followers, no drones of sermons. The twins aren’t awake yet, much preferring to sleep until the sun is higher in the sky.

 You use this time to let your brain wander, and your gaze drifts outside the window. Patches of flowers swayed just outside, dancing to the rhythm of the wind. 

“You’ve been out there a lot, recently.” 

Your eyes travel back to Suguru. His face is tilted upwards. His eyes are open. Sharp purple. 

“The girls like the garden.” You admit, continuing with his hair. “I make sure they don’t pick any flowers. They like to chase around the butterflies.” 

“They can take the flowers,” Suguru tells you. “I can always have more planted.” 

“They’re too pretty to be plucked.” You respond, bunching his hair up in that signature bun. “Besides, the butterflies might not return if they do.” 

He seems satisfied with your answer and leaves it at that. A short while later, you’ve finished with his hair. Not a strand out of place, just as he likes it. You expect him to rise from his chair and stride outside the bedroom with you behind him as always. 

Instead, there’s a delicate grip on your wrist. You’re gently guided into his lap. You reluctantly settle into his hold. His face buries into your neck. You can smell the scented oils you applied to his hair. Scarred fingers dance around the edge of your clothes, grazing at the skin just underneath. 

You frown. “Suguru.” 

He hums, pulling down the elastic that covers your skin. 

“We–we still need to–” Your breath hitches when he sinks his teeth into your neck, licking at the flesh. 

“The sermon–” The rest of your words disappear into a gasp when a single finger works itself into your pussy. 

You’re still sore from last night, but that’s never stopped him. He’s more than content to drive his finger deeper into your cunt as you writhe on his lap. His thumb rolls your clit like his own personal toy. 

“It can wait.” He hushes your protests. “Nothing in this temple moves without me anyway.” 

His words are the only truth you know. Nothing breathes without Suguru’s explicit acknowledgement. Despite his soft demeanor and gentle tones, the thing he craves most of all is control. 

“Yes, but the girls–” 

He interrupts your ramblings with his lips. Gentle, but all-encompassing. He curls his fingers into you, touching a spongy spot at just the right angle. You spill moan after moan into his mouth. 

“Relax, dear,” he coos when he pulls away. 

You shut your eyes, collapsing into his chest as he works. It’s so quiet you can hear the slick sounds of your hole creaming around his fingers. Your body is so quick to accept him these days, as opposed to the fight you used to put up, even when you accepted your new life with Geto Suguru. You can’t tell if you should feel relieved or pathetic. 

“Let me take care of what’s mine just once more.” 

As you come around his fingers, you know it won’t be the last time. 

⚘

Nanako and Mimiko are happier in the temple. 

In the village, even before your exile, their eyes were always so dull. You thought it had more to do with their father–the man who abandoned you three long before they were even born. They never acted like proper children. They never played, barely even laughed. 

And then, their powers awakened. 

Curse technique, Suguru later told you. 

“We’re never gonna find her.” Nanako pouts. 

You squeeze your daughter’s tiny hand in reassurance. Nanako was always the more impatient of your two children–constantly hoping from one emotion to the next. Even now, as the two of you poke around the temple grounds, searching for her sister, she is quick to state her thoughts as though they were certain. 

“We’ve barely looked.” You smile. “Let’s try a couple more minutes before we give up.” 

She frowns, but she trails behind you regardless, continuing the search. 

“I just don’t get why you always find me first.” She mumbles. 

“You were giggling so loudly, I could hear you across the courtyard.” You affectionately reach out to pinch her cheek. “You think I don’t have ears?” 

She looks away as her ears turn red. 

You spot a brown blob huddled in a corner. Immediately, you hush your daughter’s chattering, silently pointing out her sister. 

Nanako grins. You let her go, watching as she slowly advances on her sister. 

“Found you!” 

Mimiko nearly jumps as Nanako pounces on her. They immediately burst into giggles. A part of you wants to chastise them for rolling on the grass, but you can’t bring yourself to. 

“Now you have to find us.” Nanako very seriously tells her sister. 

Mimiko frowns. “But I wanna hide again.” 

“You were the last one found. That makes you seeker.” Nanako argues back. 

“I’ll be seeker again.” You relent, as you have the last three times they’ve had this argument. 

Both girls are happy with your compromise. They’re so much brighter now, you think to yourself as you observe them in the light. The smiles almost make their faces glow with childish innocence. Their clothes are always clean, their bellies are always full, and it’s all because of this place. 

Nanako looks behind you. Her eyes light up. 

Only one person in the world makes her do that. You try not to let your smile drop as she rushes past you. 

“You’re back!” She chirps when she’s snuggled in Suguru’s hold. 

When Mimiko joins her sister in the hug, he lifts them easily from the ground. They both giggle, kicking their feet as Suguru holds them. You could barely carry them after they became toddlers. Suguru, on the other hand, hardly staggers. 

They gush to him for a few minutes. He lowers his voice as he answers their questions. He’s good with them, you think to yourself. Suguru is gentle, patient, nurturing, and fatherly. 

Your smile gets more painted by the minute. 

His eyes meet yours when he sets the girls back on their feet. 

“Why don’t you both head inside?” He dismisses the girls with a nod to you. 

They’re quick to obey, always eager to impress him. 

“Yes, Geto-sama!” They both happily chirp before turning heel and scurrying away. 

Everyone calls him that: his attendants, his followers, and your daughters. You don’t know anyone who calls him by his given name. 

Except for you. 

You’re not sure why he allows it. Maybe it’s for the girl’s sake, more than it is for yours. So they can see some semblance of equality between you two. Kindness. 

A sham. A farce. 

You watch them until they disappear inside the temple, until it’s just you and Suguru underneath the sunny sky. 

“They get bigger by the day.” He finally comments. 

You nod. Your daughters are finally going to bed with their bellies full, their hunger sated. No longer are their cheeks hollow. They look like proper, healthy children now. 

It’s all because of him. 

“You were gone for a while.” You say because the silence feels heavy. 

He turns, smiling against porcelain skin. 

“Did you miss me?”