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"mhm..there you go baby, such a good boy." you were better at giving head than you thought. your baby hairs were wet and stuck to your forehead due to wiped off cum from a few minutes ago. your jaw was numb and slacked , slurping noises echoed off the schools bathroom stall.

"look at ya baby..suckin' me so sweetly where'd you learn to do it so good?" you hummed, and shook your head as if to say 'no one but you' he chuckled, hand on the back of your head as he adjusted his hips and leaned back— his saliva covered piercing nudging the back of your throat.

you gagged, pulling your head back and leaning your cheek between his thigh and your hand moving up and down his shaft. "love you.." you mumbled , big glossy eyes blinking up at him. he hummed, thumb caressing your cheek. this is where he could always really see you.

—

your entire house smelt like vanilla bean and puppies. there were literal rules for him if he wanted to stay over. no smoking , no cursing especially if your mom was home , no "demonic" music , and he had to wash his clothes each time he came over so he didn't smell like weed or a vape flavor. but he would smoke something or take some sort of gummy beforehand and it was almost impossible to communicate with him.

"and then i had..hello?" you scoffed, waving your hand in front of his face. he had a stupid smile that seemed to be stuck in his face , eyes red rimmed and hooded. you pouted slightly , vision downcast. "are you even listening to me?" he flinched, blinking as if he had just woken up from a long nap. "what— what? no, baby im listening." you felt your eyes burn, and you looked away completely. you weren't trying to cry, because you knew it could be annoying but you couldn't help it. he came to your house high! "hey, hey. no, no, no, no, baby don't cry don't cry im listenin'." "no you're not!"

he'd shush you and his hands would come to your face. "shh , no baby don't do that. you know what it does to me." everything you did, did everything to him. how focused you were in class, the way you spoke, the things you wore which made you look like a fucking muffin. "you always do this.." "i know, i know." his lips came to your cheek, salt tears touching his lips as he moved his head lower.

"im listenin' baby, keep talkin' to me."

—

he'd try to get you to at least hit a vape once , hell he tried to get you to have some shrooms. he personally liked to eat them but he tried to make you have the liquid version of it. usually when someone said no to wanting a hit , he would understand– but you were his goody two shoes of a boyfriend. "oh please baby , you ain't even smoke a cigarette before. no seas coño." you shook your head, brows furrowed angrily. "no! smoking is bad for you , you could get lung cancer!" he tutted , "shrooms don't get ya cancer baby." he was incorrect , on some drug logic.

"that's completely untrue and you know it." he shrugged, arm wrapped around you as you leaned onto his shoulder. it was a comfortable , loving silence for a while. he was comfortable , smelt like himself , and warm.

“Like, right now?” You were just in the middle of cleaning up your desk with your antibacterial wipes and all the rest of the mess that had piled up from the start of the week - some uncleaned dishes, empty ramen cups, all of your clothes that were thrown on your chair, the small bin that was pretty full by now. You’d managed to neglect tidying and doing the house chores right up until the weekend when you really couldn’t ignore it for any longer.

“You’re being in my youtube video.” Beomgyu states matter-of-factly over the phone. You can hear his footsteps, the sounds of cars and the outside winds from his end, which means he quite literally was coming over to yours right this moment.

You tiredly sigh, pulling out another wipe from the packet with aggression, your phone on speaker. “Why do I need to be in it?”

“Your building’s the haunted one right?”

“Supposedly.”

“Thennnn it’s perfect! I’ll be there in ten.” He hangs up.

You close your eyes briefly and shake your head, one hand on your hip, then, opening your eyes to survey your half cleaned room. Dealing with beomgyu, however, was an even greater effort than cleaning your entire messy student accom times ten.

He’s not exactly your best friend. That title belongs to taehyun. Taehyun is unfortunately both of your best friends which is how you met beomgyu. And even more unfortunately, taehyun is traitorously abroad for the semester at the moment, so now beomgyu has redirected his full energy and badgering onto you, because ‘you’re the next best thing’ apparently, beomgyu’s words.

You won’t lie, you were apprehensive of beomgyu at first, didnt quite like him. Taehyun was your childhood best friend. It was only ever you and him from the beginning. Taehyun has always just got you. He thought in the same way as you, a mutual understanding ever since you were four, when everyone else on the playground was wailing over the smallest of things like getting their knee a little scraped and missing their mothers after forty minutes of being in school, both of you unimpressed by the dramatics of the other four year olds, and you’ve been stuck together like gorilla glue ever since. He’s been with you from primary school, the same secondary school, all the way up until you were applying to university together. You’d ended up naturally picking the same one, the same subject, both of you inevitably stem based people.

You’d falsely assumed it would simply be just the two of you once more, navigating adulthood together. But, when you started university, he suddenly got super close to this one dude named Choi beomgyu. To be honest, you had hated his guts. Whenever taehyun talked about him, mentioned him in passing, you gained an overwhelming amount of ugly jealousy at hearing his name.

“Oh, beomgyu this, oh, beomgyu that.”

“Oh, I can’t, I already made plans with beomgyu.”

“Oh, beomgyu says blah, blah, blah.

“Oh, I’m too busy making out with beomgyu that day.”

Alright, he didn’t exactly say that last part, but he may as well have. It was like he was in love with him or some shit. They even had their own inside jokes that you weren’t a part of already.

Now, you’re a pretty good people reader, priding yourself in being a good judge of character. You like to think you can mostly already tell whether you’ll like someone’s vibe and whether they were cool and nice and genuine from first meeting them. In your head, you’d already made up in your mind that this choi beomgyu guy was some slimy bitch trying to steal your close friend away from you. You just thought taehyun had terrible perception and couldn’t see how much of a snake this beomgyu guy really was. So, you were already adamant that once you met him, it’d only validate all the feelings you had towards him and then, you could tell taehyun he was evil and not to be trusted and taehyun would realise you were right and stop being friends with him. Balance restored.

Because, well, you were terrified. Terrified that you could lose the sole person who had always been there and understood you without translation, afraid of having to go through the rest of this scary adult life with that being taken away. This had never happened before. Beomgyu threatened all of that for you.

And then, you finally actually met beomgyu on the campus cafe one day. And you do admit, it was hard not to like him even when you absolutely didn’t want to at all. He wasn’t slimy or snakey or fake. He was alas, very likeable. Annoyingly, infuriatingly so. Warm and friendly and all unadulterated smiles.

He was genuinely delighted to meet you, like you were some kind of micro celebrity. “So you’re the famous childhood friend. Taehyun talks about you all the time. It’s so nice to finally meet you!” Beomgyu's eyes were shining.

You soon realised it was all one sided, all the territorial resentment was of your own invention, that he wasn’t trying to steal your best friend away from you, that taehyun wouldn’t replace you, and that you were being totally, completely childish. Beomgyu always greeted you kindly if he ever saw you on campus alone, he went out of his way to become friends with you too, whenever it was the three of you, he made sure to never exclude you, having this habit of always checking your expression mid conversation to see what you were thinking, and he remembered the smallest things you mentioned only once in passing. He soon wormed his way into your life too. You got it. You guess you liked this choi beomgyu guy as well now.

You concluded it wasn’t the case of taehyun being taken away from you, but that there was now one more person who loved taehyun unconditionally just as much as you did. And you definitely wouldn’t hate that person, because taehyun deserves an abundance of love. ‘Sharing is caring’ or whatever shit they say. In short, you got over it. You embraced choi beomgyu in your life too. But there’s still a limit to just how much choi beomgyu doses you can take in one go.

There’s loud banging on your door nine minutes later.

You open it and unsurprisingly, it’s beomgyu, a little breathless from the flight of stairs he had to go up, hair windswept and cheeks and nose slightly tinted pink from the cold, but he's clearly very excited. He breezes past you and throws his dirty backpack onto your desk, which you had just sanitised, and immediately starts pulling objects out of it, a tripod, a small camera, a ring light. Then, he pulls something else out of his bag with dramatic flair, some kind of obnoxious, glittery, pink box, holding it up proudly in front of you.

“Ouija board.” Beomgyu grins, breathing still heavy, wiggling his eyebrows.

Your gaze travels from the box to his face and back again. “And where’d you get that from?”

“I was at that shop on Croft Street.” He’s entirely pleased with himself.

You furrow your brows, trying to place what he’s talking about in your head, and then you nod. “Ohh,” you think you can picture it now, “the vintage antique place?”

Beomgyu hesitates for the tiniest second, rubbing at the back of his neck, gaze flicking away just briefly. “Erm, no. The one next to it.”

“There’s only the…-Wait, the sex shop??” Your voice jumps an octave. “What? I thought it closed down.”

Beomgyu shrugs, trying to maintain his facade of confidence. “Well anyway, the lady, she gave it to me free with my purchase! Isn’t that so nice?”

“You bought something from there?”

He tilts his chin up in defence and puffs out his chest, expression shifting into a look of totally exaggerated dignity and defensiveness. “I can if I want to. I’m an adult. None of your business.”

Alright, fair. You shrug. “Why the hell would they be giving out ouija boards though? And why would you take it?”

“Beats me. But what’s free is free! Look how cool it looks!” He shoves it more into your face, beaming, waiting for you to agree too.

To be honest, nothing beomgyu does can surprise you that much anymore.

You let out the biggest, melancholic sigh. “I miss taehyun.”

“So do I. At least he’d be giving me way better reactions than you are right now.” Beomgyu points a brow at you, disappointed with your lack of enthusiasm, but then his grin creeps back. “Anyway, this is going to be such a good video for my channel.”

Yes, his channel. A new interest of beomgyu’s, his most recent endeavour. He was now an aspiring youtuber. He'd already gained ten thousand subscribers actually, which he mentions a lot, but it was pretty impressive. People thought he was handsome, apparently, he also mentions that a lot. His goal though has been to get more followers and take the crown of the campus youtuber which currently resided to some other choi. Yeonjun, is his name you think.

Truthfully, beomgyu is pretty good at making entertaining content, you've watched a few (all of them. You wouldn't tell him that though.) he was naturally so very hilarious and quick witted, you wondered how he managed to come up with such funny things to say at the right moment unscripted.

“What’s that gonna be?” You already had an inkling, you just wanted to hear it from his dumb mouth.

He’s pulling out his camera, setting it on the tripod and adjusting its height. “I’m holding a seance in your room. Okay the title,” he turns around to you, continuing excitedly with his hands in the air like he was presenting the headline right there. “We Contacted a Real Ghost in the Most HAUNTED Uni Accommodation Building. NOT clickbait. What d’you think?”

“It’s not actually haunted.” You snort.

“Didn’t some guy die like, years ago?” Beomgyu counters, “some fratboy going up the stairs drunk, slipped, and fell all the way down. Dead. That’s why everyone’s always scared to take the stairs after a night out.”

That is how the story goes. You’re pretty sure it’s fake. An urban legend recycled every year by the first years to scare each other. There’s no real news or evidence for it. “Yeah, but those are just rumours though.”

“Well, we’ll find out for sure today.” Beomgyu declares. “Now, do you have any candles?”

Both of you now sit cross-legged on your carpet floor with a circle of all the candles you own, the strong scents of all of them, mixing together and making your room have a strange amalgamation of smells that doesn’t really go well, the glittery pink ouija board placed in the middle of it and your room dimly lit, lights off, curtains drawn too for the aesthetic.

Beomgyu approves, satisfied and picks up the camera, shoving it into both of your faces. “Okay, make your most scared face. It’s for the thumbnail.” You comply, both of you making theatrical frightened faces, beomgyu fully committed to it, his features entirely contorting and making such a silly face like he was crying, which you can’t help but giggle at a little.

He mounts the camera back onto the tripod, adjusting the lens with careful precision and then checks himself out, running a hand through his hair, content with how he looks. “Let us begin.” Beomgyu says in a weird, deep voice. He deviously smirks and presses play.

“Hey guys!” Beomgyu starts, switching into that slightly agitating content creator voice, his demeanour shifting. “Today we are investigating a real haunted university accommodation building! The legend goes that a student was walking up the stairs drunk after partying, slipped, fell all the way down and unfortunately died. Now they haunt the stairwell and all the students ever since…Today we’re here with one of the victims who has to endure all these hauntings on a daily basis. Tell me, how often is it that you hear strange noises and sounds? See figures?”

“Oh, uh, never.” You reply, staring blankly.

Beomgyu sighs exasperatedly at you, shoulders sagging, whispering. “You can’t just say that. This is content. Make some shit up!”

“Right, sorry.” You try again, clearing your throat and straightening your posture. “All the time. I’m so terrified.” You say gravely into the camera with widened eyes. “I can never fall asleep. I can hear their footsteps and breathing outside my door every single night.” You lean closer to the camera with a crazed face.

“oohh that’s good,” beomgyu says, delighted by your performance, clapping. “You’re actually a better actor than taehyun.” Beomgyu slowly pans the camera across your room. “Guys, just look at this place,” he whispers, “This room is definitely haunted. Look how old and musty it is. Woahh.”

You narrow your eyes at him, crossing your arms. “It’s not musty…” You mutter bitterly, taking offence. You just spent a long while trying to clean it too.

After beomgyu is done with his talking and grand introduction, briefly reading the rules it came with before tossing it away carelessly, you both stare at the ouija board, placing both your fingers on the planchette.

“If we get possessed, make sure to like and subscribe! Oh, and comment down below right now in five, four, three, two, one!” Beomgyu then turns to face you. “I’ve never used an ouija board before. Have you?”

You shake your head. “No.”

“Remember when it was trending back in the day? My mum never let me. I missed out big time.” he says faux solemnly, shaking his head, “but I’m reclaiming what was denied to me,” You have no idea what he’s going on about. “Okay,” he begins theatrically. “Spirits of this building. If you are here, please give us a sign.”

For a moment, nothing happens. You tilt your head despite yourself, trying to listen out, if you can hear anything abnormal, anything out of the blue.

“Is anyone here with us?” Beomgyu asks hopefully.

More silence. It stretches for long enough. The planchette remains perfectly still and the red recording light from the camera is still naively blinking like it was hoping to catch something too. You raise a brow unimpressed, but knowing this would obviously happen. You feel ridiculous, this whole thing is. You sigh, ready to give up already, not sure why you agreed in the first place-

But then, you feel a force, moving the planchette, dragging it beneath your fingers. Beomgyu gasps. As do you. The small triangular piece glides and stops over two simple letters.

H

I

Beomgyu’s jaw drops. “Oh my god! Guys, there’s someone with us! Hello! Thank you for joining us. Who are we speaking to?” The planchette moves again, dragging both your fingers along with it.

C

H

A

D

It spells out. You blink. Beomgyu blinks.

“Chad…” beomgyu says slowly. “Woah. Nice to meet you, chad.”

“How did you pass away?” You ask, sceptical, furrowing your brows and leaning forwards to the board.

S

T

A

I

R

S

Beomgyu slaps a hand to his mouth. “Holy shit, guys! It’s true. This is chad the fratboy! He really did slip and fall going up the stairs oh my god! This is crazy! We’re speaking to a fratboy ghost!” Beomgyu’s eyes sparkle with excitement, looking into the camera.

It slides once again, something else supposedly pushing the planchette.

U

2

S

I

N

G

L

E

?

You stare at him flatly, warning, “Beomgyu.”

“What? I’m not doing it.” Beomgyu then laughs awkwardly. “That’s a pretty weird thing to ask, chad. Haha…”

No, it’s obviously beomgyu doing this for the views. You narrow your eyes at him suspiciously, untrusting, but he’s looking down at the board with those pure glittering eyes of his with genuine fascination and awe. It’s not the first time you’ve assumed the worst of him when he’s been anything but. Still, maybe he’s just a good actor.

Chad, the ‘ghost’ tugs the triangular piece and moves across letters for another time.

I

M

H

O

R

N

Y

…

You pull your hands back immediately with a scoff, getting up from the floor in sheer disgust. “That’s it. You’re absolutely moving it.” This whole thing was ridiculous. You don’t know why you almost even believed it for a split second. Damn that boy with his sparkly eyes that almost fooled you.

“I swear it’s not me!”

“It’s literally you.” You grab a pillow from your bed, throwing it at beomgyu. He’s definitely messing with you.

He collapses onto the floor, cackling, throwing the pillow back at you. “Why the hell would I deliberately move it to ‘I’m horny’ ?”

“I don’t know. Maybe because you’re a very strange, very weird person?”

All of your candle flames in the circle suddenly flicker violently, causing both of you to snap your head back and look at the scene of the abandoned seance. The planchette begins to move, but on its own, erratically.

I

D

I

O

T

S

It feels as though there’s an immediate gust of chilling, cold wind in your room, but your window is firmly closed shut. The candles go all out, vanishing. It is all pitch black.

You scramble blindly for your light switch near you, flipping it on, the sudden flood of brightness stinging your eyes but relieving. You tremble, genuinely frightened and creeped out by whatever just happened.

Beomgyu swallows slowly. “….okay see?” He raises his hands in surrender. “It was not me.”

You reach over and flip the board upside down, absolutely done with it. “Seance over. Goodbye, chad.”

“That was…so sick!” Beomgyu blurts out, eyes wide. “I can’t believe we got that on video!”

You bite your nails, unsure what to do, freaking out, trying to process. That was weird. Super weird. Beomgyu, in comparison, seems pretty fine about it, just shocked and very thrilled at the prospect of catching a real ghost on camera, probably thinking that he’s definitely going to go viral with this.

The ghost didn’t seem that particularly threatening, it was just a fratboy, and some ghosts don’t have to be evil. But still, you’re pretty spooked out. Even more so since you’ve never believed in the supernatural. It never made sense to you, no actual proof, no logic to it. But you’d just seen that board move by itself with your own eyes. And even though you’ve never believed in it, you still never loved the horror genre, never a fan. You remember the first time you ever watched a horror film with taehyun at the age of ten. Both of you were scared shitless, deciding to sleep together with the lights on all night in the same bed because neither of you wanted to be alone. And you didn’t really want to be alone in your room now, knowing there was some spirit floating around in your building. You don’t think you’d be able to sleep at all. There’s no taehyun. But asking beomgyu to stay would be too humiliating for you.

It seems beomgyu notices your expression though, studying and checking you carefully. That attentive, perceptive, annoying habit of his where he can tell what somebody is thinking. He softens at the sight of you. “You know,” beomgyu says slowly, thoughtfully, “I’m…pretty creeped out right now.”

You look at him, surprised. “You are?”

“Totally.” Beomgyu scratches his head. “So uh…is it alright if I stay the night with you? I don’t really wanna go back by myself.”

“Yeah,” You nod instantly, without question, alleviated, the reply coming out of your mouth far too quickly. You clear your throat, trying to salvage some kind of dignity, “I have an air mattress.”

Beomgyu presses his lips together, trying not to smile. You really are so similar to taehyun in certain ways.

You lie in bed, flat on your back, restless, looking up towards the ceiling, still scared and paranoid.

Beomgyu is lying on the air mattress that you had inflated. It’s been three hours now. You still can’t sleep. You’re grateful that beomgyu is in the same room as you but you can’t see him at all since he’s below you, your bed frame raised higher. You still feel slightly alone. You kind of want him on the same bed as you. It would be a lot more comforting. But, you definitely cannot ask that.

An hour passes of you contemplating whether to ask beomgyu but it’s way too embarrassing.

Another half an hour passes by painfully slow, still not being able to sleep and thinking whether you should just ask beomgyu. You huff. You’ll just have to do it. Nobody else is going to do it for you. You cannot continue lying here all night having an internal debate with yourself, you think you might go crazy. You’ll just have to swallow your pride and simply say something.

“Beomgyu.” You call out lowly.

There’s a faint shift from the floor. “Hm?” You hear his response coming down from below, his voice deep.

“Are you awake?”

“I wouldn’t have replied if I was asleep now, would I?”

You roll your eyes even in the dark. “Shut up.”

Beomgyu quietly chuckles. “What do you want?”

You brace yourself. You hate this. “Will you…will you…sleep on the bed with me?” Ew. You recoil and immediately consider wrapping yourself in your blanket and throwing yourself out the window.

There’s a pause. Then rustling as beomgyu gets up. “Okay.”

Surprisingly, he doesn’t make fun of you. But, it’s not like your scared behaviour is unreasonable. The ghost was real. Not the most intimidating, a weird one named Chad, but still. It was creepy. Especially since you had never believed in them before.

Beomgyu just quietly lifts the covers up and lays beside you once you scoot towards the edge near the wall, making space for him. Your bed isn’t the biggest, so his shoulders bump gently against yours. You feel his warm presence and body immediately, feeling better and less jumpy.

“Thanks,” you mumble, a little sheepishly.

Beomgyu shifts slightly beside you, getting comfortable under the covers. “It’s alright,” he whispers gently.

You manage to get the littlest of sleep, a sliver of sleep, but at least it was something. You wake up in the morning to the faint sound of your bathroom door opening and closing, beomgyu had just gone in, space beside you empty, you feel the absence of his body on your mattress instantly. It’s colder.

You yawn and stretch your limbs from how cramped you were last night, but you immediately sense something strange. You feel some kind of weird…weight between your legs. It must be something from your shelf that fell off onto your bed and made its way under your covers, or something. You reach down, grabbing to pick it up, but it doesn’t move. It’s attached to you almost. You’re still tired and drowsy, eyes still bleary. You don’t know what the hell is going on and why this weird feeling object won’t move. You sit up, still confused. You try to pull it again, harder. It’s somehow attached to your skin? With a frown and a growing sense of unease, you move the covers off you and lift the waistband of your pyjama bottoms. You think you see something.

WHAT

THE

HOLY FUCK?!

You scream out in pure terror at what you see. At the exact same time, beomgyu screams from the bathroom, high pitched and shrill-like. The both of you screaming simultaneously for a very, very prolonged time.

This isn’t real. This can’t be real. You’re definitely still dreaming. This is not real. It can’t be. There’s no way in hell this is real. It’s impossible!

Beomgyu slams the bathroom door open with a bang, running out. His face is pale, disbelieving, mortified. “MY DICK. IT’S…I-IT’S GONE!” He looks like he’s seen a ghost, but that was yesterday and this is far worse somehow.

“I HAVE A DICK!”

You stare at each other dumbfounded, eyes wide and mouths dropping to the floor.

“WHAT?!” Both of you say at the same time again.

“I woke up with a penis!” You tell him, gesturing downwards, seeing if any of this exchange of information would help and make this make sense.

“I went to go piss and…a-and there was nothing there! I-i I have a-a vagina!” Beomgyu’s voice cracks, he looks like he’s about to weep.

“Right.” You rub your temples, trying to digest any of this, inhaling deeply, seeing you had to step in as the calm one, “Okay. Okay. We have to think about this…logically.”

Beomgyu gapes at you like you’ve lost your mind, “there’s NOTHING logical about this! At all!” He lets out an anguished cry.

You pace around your room, trying to think hard. “What did we do? What have we done that’s different?”

“The ouija board…”

Oh, right. That is really the only thing both of you have done that is different. And if ghosts existed now, you’re not that surprised if any of this can happen too. This has to be connected to it. “Do you think Chad cursed us or some shit?”

Beomgyu also frowns, deep in thought with a pout. “Nah, it can’t be. Why would he do that to us? He seemed nice.”

“He called us idiots.”

“As a term of endearment!” Beomgyu defends passionately for some reason. “I really don’t think we did anything to anger him. Maybe because I got it from a sex shop, it’s like a sex ouija board. It’s...freaky? Freaky…magic? Maybe it’s not actually chad. Chad seemed pretty nice. Just a horny guy. But hey, he hasn’t been able to have sex in years.”

You groan and flop back onto your bed in a crisis. “Shit, man. What should we do?”

Beomgyu ignores you. He’s too busy clasping both his hands together, eyes shut and whispering hysterically near your window. “I have a dick I have a dick I have my dick back I have a dick. I have my dick back I have my dick back I have a dickihaveadickihave a dickihave a dick.”

You sit up slightly to watch him, eyebrow raised. “What the fuck are you doing?”

He shoots you a glare, “I’m manifesting my precious organ back,” then he returns back to his desperate affirmations, repeating the words so intensely like a mad man.

“I don’t think that’s how it works.”

“I say we call taehyun.” Beomgyu suggests, crazed, turning around to your already defeated form, laying spread out on the bed.

“Uh, why?” That sounds like a terrible idea.

He shrugs. “He’s good at magic tricks and all that magic shit. He’ll know what to do.”

“WHAT the fuck, no. He’s not going to know. I’m not asking him. He wouldn’t even know. We are not telling him any of this.”

“He might!”

You give beomgyu an incredulous look. “He does card tricks, bro. That shit’s not going to help.”

You knit your brows and grab your phone, frantically typing into the search bar different variations of your situation. Seeing it written out is beyond absurd and unsurprisingly, no matter how many ways you try to word it, there’s just nothing there. There’s no explanation and this has never happened to anyone else online ever.

From time to time you glance down at it, checking to see if it is still really there and not just both you and beomgyu experiencing some mass hallucination. It is always still there. Your anatomy is still switched.

Beomgyu also taught you how to piss standing up in the meantime, which was a lot harder than it looks to be honest.

The two of you sit on your bed in stunned silence in the aftermath of the discovery and shock, staring off, lost in doomed thought. Because, genuinely what were you supposed to do? What if this is permanent?

“Here.” You snap out of it, refusing to spiral, reaching into your drawer and pulling out one of your lacy, pink frilly panties, handing it to beomgyu.

Beomgyu raises a brow at you, staring at them like they’re going to blow up in his face.

You roll your eyes. “Oh my god, just take them. They’ll be more comfortable.”

He slowly reaches out and hesitantly takes them. Beomgyu’s entire face heats up, turning the colour of a ripe tomato, it’s almost impressive how quickly it happens. He clears his throat. “Do you want my boxers?”

You glance down at him and then back up. “The one’s you’re wearing?”

He nods.

You gag. “Eugh. No, that’s disgusting.”

“What? Why not?”

“Because you’re wearing them!”

He opens his mouth to argue but stops and sighs. “Ugh. Fine, i’ll get you new ones…”

Beomgyu rushes back to his place, running out with his hands covering in between his legs as if anyone would notice and quickly gets some boxers for you, returning swiftly. They’re much more comfortable and they fit better for your new organ at least, but were you supposed to just accept this now? No, you’re just adapting. You’ve always been an adaptable person. You just have to adapt to this situation for now, yes. It’s the best way to react.

Beomgyu comes back from using the bathroom, cheeks dusted pink. “Peeing is still super weird…” he mumbles.

He pulls up his jeans, tugging and wriggling them into place with a small frown, but from the way your underwear is resting on his hips, they’re still so visible, the lacey fabric being seen.

You get distracted by the sight. The way the soft pink fabric sits against his hips, delicate and out of place against his usual style. It does something weird to you. A flicker of something passes through your mind, uninviting, you sharply look away, swallowing. But, you form some kind of sick idea, gears turning in your brain. It’s not a good idea, you know it isn’t.

“Okay, I’m going to be honest. And you need to hear me out…” You start slowly, testing, cautious.

“What?” Beomgyu asks, curious, but very suspicious.

You shift awkwardly on the bed, trying to think of a way to say this out loud that sounds less insane than it currently does in your head.

You take a breath, hesitating. “I think…”

Beomgyu watches you with narrowed eyes, waiting for you to continue saying whatever it is you have to say, “Go on.”

“…We should fuck.”

There is a long silence where he just stares at you blankly as if he didn’t quite hear you right, then his face twists into absolute bafflement.

“Excuse me?! Are you mental?!” Beomgyu squawks.

You hold your hands up in defence at his reaction. “Not because I want to!”

His eyes widen. “That’s not much of a reassuring clarification!”

“I-i mean-not that I don’t want to—!”

“WHAT?”

Fuck. You grasp at straws, trying to defend yourself. It made sense in your head! “Maybe it will be reversed like that! You said it yourself, maybe this is like…freaky magic!”

“What if it makes it permanent?!” Beomgyu shoots back instantly, making a horrified expression at the thought.

You pause. It’s not a possibility you had considered. Your eyes flicker around your room in thought, falling down to the pink glittery board still on your carpet floor. “Wait, we can ask chad! He has to know something.”

You pull out the ouija board and the two of you impatiently set up everything for it, sitting crosslegged once again. You place both your fingers onto the planchette and ask for the frat ghost once more.

“Are you with us, chad?” Beomgyu asks.

There’s a few minutes of silence, finally, he appears.

Y

E

S

You exhale slowly through your nose. “Did you curse us, chad?”

N

A

H

“Then who did?” You turn to beomgyu’s face with an exasperated sigh. “Do you know how to reverse it?” The planchette drags slowly across the board, almost playfully if that were possible.

M

A

Y

B

E

It’s not entirely an answer. You and beomgyu exchange an irritated look, trying not lose your temper over this dead frat boy. “If we…” you clear your throat awkwardly, “fuck, could we possibly go back to normal?” It moves immediately over the letters this time, almost enthusiastically.

Y

E

S

You take your fingers off with resignation. “There’s our answer…”

The planchette suddenly starts moving on its own again, something chad clearly likes doing. Both of you flinch.

F

U

C

K

“Oh my god…I hate this chad guy.” You mutter.

Beomgyu folds his arms across his chest with a grimace. “I’m beginning to hate him too now.”

You fold the board up and shove it into one of your drawers on your desk, wanting it out of your sight. The room falls uncomfortably quiet and heavy. Beomgyu does not make eye contact with you as he fiddles with the sleeve of his hoodie. You can tell he’s thinking about it though and you’re thinking about it more too. You bite your nails, turning to look at beomgyu, at the soft pink sitting across his cheeks, at the strips of lace still visible above the waistband of his jeans, resting high over his hips. Honestly, you are curious. And apparently it will work if you both do it so…it’s worth a try. There’s nothing else you can do. This seems logical to you, or as logical as it can get in this situation.

“I’ve lowkey always wondered what it would be like to have a dick.” You cut through the silence.

Beomgyu finally looks up at you, scandalised.

“What? I have.” You shrug. “Come on,” you continue, sitting up straighter. “You’ve never been curious to what it feels like? What sex feels like from the other side?”

He looks deeply conflicted. “This is the weirdest shit…” beomgyu murmurs.

“Well, yes, but no one has ever had this opportunity before.”

Beomgyu chews the inside of his cheek as he contemplates. You leave him to it. Because, whilst you are sort of strangely game to this, you know beomgyu is not. It’s his call.

You wait for a while to see what beomgyu will decide as he still chews the inside of his cheek, staring down at his lap. Then finally, he gives a tiny, nervous nod. “Fuck it. Let’s just do it. Let’s have sex,” he’s looking at you now with a strange mix of embarrassment and determination.

“Okay,” you reply, exhaling a breath you didn’t realise you were holding. You sit up a bit straighter, like that might make you seem more composed than you feel. “Okay.”

Beomgyu nods again, slower this time. “Okay,” he echoes, though it sounds less confident.

“Maybe we should…kiss?” You suggest, wincing almost.

“Why?”

“To…get us going?” you offer, even less certain now, your voice trailing slightly at the end. You clear your throat.

“Oh, uh, okay.”

“Okay.”

The two of you move onto the bed awkwardly, sitting opposite one another on top of the duvet. And suddenly everything feels much stranger and worse. Because it was one thing when it was all hypothetical, but now, actually sitting here, knees nearly touching, looking at each other like this and so close, is different. You don’t think either of you have ever really looked at each other like this before. You’ve never looked at beomgyu this up close and so intimately before, close enough to see the pretty mole near his mouth and another on his cheek. The pair of you sit there for a few seconds in unbearable silence doing absolutely nothing, both of you too scared to actually start anything.

You eventually make a move first, mostly because if you do not, you think the two of you might actually stay frozen here forever. Your hand lifts awkwardly to his heated cheek, fingers brushing lightly against his skin. Beomgyu goes very still. You stare down at his lips and he does the same, nervously wetting them and then swallowing.

Awkwardly, hesitantly, you press your lips with his, brief, testing. Your lips barely brush before both of you pull back a little too quickly, recoiling. You try to kiss again before you can overthink it. It is so awkward, obviously, in the way that comes with clearly crossing a line between the both of you. But his lips are soft, very soft, perfectly soft. Yet, it’s not that surprising, they’d always seemed like it whenever you’d watched beomgyu’s lips move in a pout when he talked passionately or argued back about something, fascinated by it. His lips had an annoyingly pretty shape to them.

Gradually, some of the awkwardness thins out, dissolving and melting somewhere between some kisses and the next kisses. Until you’re not really thinking about it anymore, starting to get a little lost in beomgyu’s soft lips, your mouth caught between kissing his plush bottom lip, deeper, becoming much easier. Now, you’re making out with Choi beomgyu. Making out with your best friend’s other best friend. Never would you have thought this would happen, but maybe kissing beomgyu wasn’t the weirdest thing right now. Seriously, how did the most unlikely events manage to happen to you in the span of less than twenty four hours?

It’s getting to the both of you now, all the messy kissing, your faces tilting and moving in opposite directions continuously as you move your lips against each other, both of you kiss-drugged. It’s certainly getting you worked up, increasingly harder to think through, more fervent, your hands are in his hair, beomgyu is pulling you in closer by the back of your neck, then his hands go to your waist, gripping. You can feel the warmth of his breath between every kiss and the way he exhales shakily whenever you kiss him with more intensity. Making out with beomgyu is surprisingly very, very pleasant.

And when your mouth drifts from his lips, down to his jaw, brushing softly against the side of his neck, you feel him shiver. You start kissing his neck instead, sucking, leaving sloppy open mouthed kisses, beomgyu tips his head back, very into it, all of it going to his pretty little head, letting out little whimpers as you suck more and more, kissing the same sensitive spots on his pretty neck over and over.

His fogged up brain allows you to unbutton his jeans, unzipping them and letting you put your hand down them, slightly, slowly rubbing at his pussy through the lace underwear he's wearing, still focused on completely attacking his neck too. The effect is immediate, beomgyu positively squirms and lets out a shy little noise, grabbing to hold onto you more, hiding his face in your shoulder as he continues to whimper shakily the more you rub his folds through the panties. It doesn't take long at all until you can feel the material completely soaked, even catching on your fingers.

You pull away to tug beomgyu's jeans completely off him, leaving him only in your pink panties and his grey hoodie. The second he realises how exposed he is, he shuts his legs closed, his entire face completely red, his neck and ears too.

"Are you gonna let me see? Please?" You ask and tilt your head, cooing softly at how embarrassed beomgyu is. "I'm sure it's pretty." That doesn't really help, beomgyu just lets out an annoyed whine at you and his face somehow becomes even more red.

You place your hands onto his milky, smooth thighs instead, moving back and forth over them. "Come onn, gyu. I'll play with your pussy right. I’m the one who’ll know better. Don't you wanna know what it feels like? Your vagina needs me. She's drenched. She wants me." You can't help but burst out laughing.

"Oh, shut up.” Beomgyu rolls his eyes despite how embarrassed he is, voice going all high and whiny, playfully kicking you away. But after a moment, he quietly speaks up, “f-fine…touch me.” He brings his hands to his face to hide.

“You’re okay with it?”

Beomgyu nods slowly, still hiding his face. “Feels like I-i need it, need something…” he mumbles quietly, confused. It’s so cute.

“Okay,” you gently part beomgyu’s legs, he covers his face even more in his hands at this, slightly closing his legs on instinct but you push them wider. And you’re right, he’s completely soaked your panties, they’re so wet that you can see the outline of his folds through them, they’re basically transparent now.

You suck a breath at the sight, desperate to see fully. You push the cloth to the side, beomgyu’s newly attained pussy on display and you’re almost in awe, because it’s the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen, with delicate folds and a small clit peeking out from under it’s hood. It’s glistening, almost shining with slick too. You can’t take your eyes off beomgyu’s pussy. You swallow hard, mouth watering like you’ve just stepped into a forest clearing with a beautiful, sparkling, waterfall before you. It’s so pretty just like the rest of him.

“So perfect…” You gently trace his pussy lips with your fingers, grazing the entrance and then circling his clit but not touching it directly. Beomgyu takes in a breath, trembling at the light touching, horrified with shame, trying and failing not to react so strongly. He feels a throb inside, at the bottom of his tummy, some kind of itch he knows he himself can’t scratch, he feels this overwhelming kind of feeling, needing it to be taken care of. He peeks just to look a little at you through his fingers, stomach heaving erratically, his body reacting so needily.

You watch him as he does this. “Are you going to keep hiding?”

“It’s embarrassing.” Beomgyu groans dramatically and drops his head back against the wall behind him.

“It’s not that embarrassing. You’re not the only one with your sex swapped here. Take your hands away.” He does actually take them away from his face with a grumble, unsure what to do with his hands now, keeping them balled up on the mattress.

You tug the panties off him. As much as they do look good on him, they were irritating you now. You wanted to see more of him, all of him. Once they’re finally off, you trace gently once more and beomgyu exasperatedly sighs.

“Do something more!” Beomgyu complains, bucking his pelvis into your hand, whining.

“Chill, dude. I’m just trying to get you used to the feeling of having a vagina. It could be too much.”

“Well, I’m used to it now.” Beomgyu snaps back.

You sneer at him, mouth twitching but slightly amused by how he can talk back even with how embarrassed he seems. “Tch, you’re annoying as hell.”

“So are you.”

“I’m just helping you.”

“Helping me? We need to fuck to be normal again! It’s not like I want this.”

“I don’t know, kinda seems like you want it.”

“I-i don’t.”

You raise a brow. “Your pussy says different.” You lightly give it a slap and then rub the folds soothingly. Beomgyu yelps, wide eyed, shuddering, but it’s clear it arouses him. You see his hole clenching and unclenching at that.

You can’t help but grin a little. Mangled, startled mewls slipping out from beomgyu as you continue to lightly slap at his wet pussy over and over again until his clit is fully throbbing and his folds are so puffy and pink. He looks absolutely wrecked already, despite how little you have actually done. His cheeks are flushed a deep pink, chest rising and falling in uneven little breaths beneath the oversized hoodie, slipping off one shoulder and exposing the tank top he’s wearing underneath.

“Please. Need something in it. Please.” Beomgyu gasps, a singular tear falling slowly, elegantly down one of his cheeks. Maybe you are being a bit too harsh with the teasing. With your thumb, you brush the tear away looking up at beomgyu’s teary, simmering, gorgeous doe brown eyes, some of his lashes clumped with unshed tears. You feel almost sorry.

“Aww, sorry. Just can’t help but play with the pretty doll.”

“Y/nnnn.” Beomgyu whines out heavily at you, pleadingly, brows scrunching up frustratedly. So finally, you bring the pads of your fingers to circle his hole, dipping one finger slowly into him, moving the littlest in and out. Beomgyu lets out a soft whimper and when you’re bored of just one, you add a second finger inside him. It slides easily in with an audible squelch, beomgyu winces, embarrassed at sounds he didn’t think his body would produce. You carry on pumping your fingers in at a pleasant pace, watching beomgyu’s reactions intently, loving how sensitive and reactive and new he is to all of this. It’s a lot for him already. But you’re also curious to taste his magical pussy. So bad.

“Why’d you do that—ahhhh!”

You remove your fingers completely out of him in one go, grabbing under his thighs and shoving your face into him instead, taking in the scent of his sweet, magical pussy and then sticking your tongue flat out, licking a sudden stripe on his slit, lapping at the stickiness. It’s like honey. Beomgyu tastes so good, you want to eat and eat and lick until you physically can’t, until your teeth rots from how sweet and yummy and addictive he tastes.

You tongue fuck him too, twisting, trying to reach deep. Every time your tongue drags over him, his body jerks. You decide to pay attention to beomgyu’s currently neglected clit, flicking your tongue over and over rabidly. Beomgyu nearly jumps out of his skin at this, not anticipating the raw nerves there and it is so intense, more than anything he’s ever experienced.

You decide to wrap your entire lips around the bundle of nerves instead, harshly sucking until they’re even more swollen.

“O-oh my godd- !” Beomgyu cries, flustered, taking a sharp intake of breath, screwing his eyes shut at the overwhelming sensation, his hands immediately flying to cover his face yet again. You bring the two sticky fingers back, stuffing them back into beomgyu’s cunt, pistoning them in and out and continuing to suck on beomgyu’s overly sensitive clit. His full lips are parted in an ‘o’ shape, mouth agape, prettiest choked up cries coming out of them, brows knitted together, head reeling back as well as his eyes. Beomgyu is sopping, you feel the new wave of slick every single time you push your fingers back in him. Every slight curl of your fingers making his thighs twitch. You also start a scissoring motion with the two fingers inside, spreading him open, making him squirm so much, he doesn’t know what to do with himself. There’s something almost helpless about him now.

Beomgyu shifts restlessly against the bed, shaking, clearly trying to deal with the strange, feeling building inside him. “I-I I think I’m gonna come!” You’re obsessed. You drag beomgyu down even more to eat him out at a closer, better angle, feasting on his pretty cunt, hungrily, mouth, tongue moving frantically, making your own muffled groans against his flesh that no doubt send vibrations through his already overwhelmed body, going out of his mind with need.

Beomgyu falls apart easily with a strangled cry, tears spilling over his red apple cheeks, fighting against your hold. His hips buck so much into your face as he orgasms, you think he nearly breaks your nose, but you don’t care, his legs trembling and clenching at the sides of your face, a slush of juices gushing and flooding out of his already drenched cunt. You’re genuinely mesmerised by it all, lapping all the juices up, slurping it all clean.

“T-too muchh!” Beomgyu shakes at the overstimulation, squealing and whining slightly painfully. Reluctantly, you pull your face out from in between his legs.

The sheer intensity of it leaves beomgyu breathless and in shock, utterly undone as he pants, and pants in a daze, red in the face, having never felt like that before. “Jesus fucking christ. People with vaginas have orgasms like this?”

You huff out a quiet laugh. “Yeah lol. Why? It’s much more different?”

Beomgyu nods, still panting, trying to breathe regularly. “Uh huh.”

You push your soaked fingers out of his cunt, tapping them together to watch the thick strings connect like webs.

You bring them to beomgyu’s pretty mouth. “Wanna taste your pretty pussy?” Beomgyu does so without a fight, wrapping his swollen, plump, glossed and round lips to them, sucking your fingers dry, looking up at you with those pure sparkling eyes through his doll-like lashes, fluttering his eyelids like a slut. You don’t know if it’s purposeful.

It’s only now you notice the rush of blood to your dick. You’re hard as hell, you were too focused on beomgyu to think of anything else. But it feels even heavier, aching, straining. You need to fuck him so bad.

“Can we fuck?” You ask him.

“A-alright.” Beomgyu gulps, adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.

You rid yourself of your own clothes, taking ahold of your length in your hands, bringing yourself closer to beomgyu’s body. You close your eyes and inhale and exhale a number of times, trying to calm yourself, firstly, slapping the length lightly on his folds. Beomgyu seems to be in the same predicament, trying to calm himself down too, he’s staring down at the scene carefully, feeling his face heat up, cheeks burning.

You start to rub your cock on beomgyu’s cunt, rubbing the slitted tip from his entrance and up to his clit, focused more on the friction with the head and clit together. The tip now stuck with strings of beomgyu’s sweet slick, is much more sensitive than the rest of it and you shiver at the feeling, both you and beomgyu gasping at them rubbing and sliding slippery against each other.

“Okay…I’m gonna put it in. Is that okay?” You brace yourself, mentally preparing for it. Suddenly, you’re reminded that this is actually a one of a kind, very awkward situation to be in.

Beomgyu nods, bottom lip caught between his teeth, he’s bracing himself too. “Yeah, okay.”

Slowly, you bring the head of the cock to his wet, eager hole, pushing it in, stretching out the delicate ring of skin at the entrance until it pops completely in with a small, moist, squelching noise, both of you gutturally groaning out. You wait a little until attempting to push in the rest of the girth inside, inch by inch, watching his face attentively as you carefully ease the rest in. You stop once you do this, allowing him and you to get used to it.

“You okay?” You brush the strands of messy hair away from beomgyu’s eyes.

Beomgyu is stuffed. He nods, blushing so hard and face flushed so much he practically looks feverish, whole face somehow going even redder, which just shouldn’t be physically possible at this point at all.

It’s so warm and soft and slippery, the length being fully tucked inside.

“You can move.” Beomgyu breathes out eventually.

So, apprehensively, you begin to test the waters. You pull all the way back out and then sheath it all the way back in the tight but softly delicate space, the searing friction at this causing you to shudder, lips parting at the feeling. “Oh…”

“Fffuu.” Beomgyu dulcetly whimpers too, it’s hard to get used to, stretched out so much, feeling everything side, every ridge of the length.

You begin a pace of leisurely rocking in and out of beomgyu’s cunt, watching the way the pretty pussy swallows your new dick whole, enveloping it each time, the motion of pushing and pulling creating more intense feelings for you.

“You’re taking it so well,” you murmur lowly and strained, trying not to lose yourself in the pleasure of fucking slow into beomgyu’s goopy, gorgeous, spongey pussy.

He’s still quietly whimpering and you can practically see him trying to make sense of what he is feeling until his expression changes as he realises just how good it feels, allowing himself to relax and succumb to it.

It’s a new sensation. Being the one to fuck into rather than fucked into. You try to hit further, deeper inside beomgyu at a different angle, giving an experimental thrust. He instantly moans out loud and pretty to your ears, his toes curling.

“How does it feel, gyu?”

“Weird. I-i feel so full. Feels good.” Beomgyu barely squeaks out. His pouted lips stay parted, the prettiest little sounds spilling out every few seconds with each push in no matter how much he tries to hold them back, spreading his legs thoughtlessly even wider, both of his hands now coming to rest underneath his thighs, holding them apart for you.

“H-how does it feel for you?” Beomgyu looks up at you, curiously, thick eyelashes fluttering every time you move just right, voice trembling.

“Mm. Feels really good too.” You nod, knitting your brows, lips pressed together in concentration, gritting your teeth, fucking into his gummy walls, deeper, harder, staring down where your bodies connect, his ripe pussy just sucking you in, seeing how deep it goes every time, so greedy and hungry, growing more wet and sticky between you both.

You start to move more confidently without realising it, hips snapping into his with sticky sounds that follow. You’re sweating, it’s tiring, but it feels so good. It’s so hard to think about anything else anymore, it’s just alll consuming. You can see it on beomgyu’s pretty little face too, so debauched, glistening with sweat too, mellifluously whining continuously.

“Fuck, y/nn!-ughhhgh!”

You lift one of beomgyu’s legs up by his dainty ankle, holding it straight against you, the new angle allowing you to bury yourself even deeper in his mystical cunt, against his cervix, sickeningly enjoying the way he cries out at this. The position is far more vulnerable for him and beomgyu looks so hot like this, flustered, body jolting and bouncing along with every ram into him, your dick splitting him open. You love it.

Beomgyu is so fucked out, eyes hooded in ecstasy, dumbly drooling, soft long hair messy and splayed, red, sweaty, button nose scrunched up, biting his glossed full lips raw, you can feel the one leg you have up, shaking, like a pretty fawn. He makes another helpless sound.

“Such a—mhmm-pretty girl…” Fucking beomgyu like this is getting to you, your brain is so pussydrunk, you’re just murmuring any shit as you pound beomgyu’s obscenely puffy, glistening pussy. It’s taking everything in you not to cum so soon.

Beomgyu whines with furrowed brows and a tremor. “I’m not a girl!”

“Come on. You already look like a—hahhh-girl, beomgyu. Maybe you should have a pussy all the time, keep you fucked all the time. I wouldn’t mind.” You meanly laugh.

Beomgyu cries, embarrassed, shaking his head, but he’s quite literally moaning out like a girl right now, so incredibly loud and high pitched and airy compared to his usual deep voice.

You grin suspiciously wide at him, and then you grab a hold of his other leg, folding them both over his chest to plow into him even more, your dick carving and curving up inside of him beyond deeper, hitting such a sweet spot for him, tearing a sudden, alarmed moan to rip out from beomgyu’s mouth.

“Look at you…you love this, beomgyu, being fucked and full like a girl. Don’t you?” You cruelly slap his mushy clit raw and red as you fuck him faster, barely holding off your orgasm. You’re not used to how quickly the sensation builds, immediate. You’re not going to last long. You quickly bring your thumb to beomgyu’s clit, rubbing over it fast, knowing it will do it for him. “You love having a pussy, don’t you?”

Beomgyu’s body arches, writhing, hands twisting in the sheets, full on sobbing, pretty tears streaming down his hot face. “I do, I do! Shitshit-ohhmygod!” Beomgyu completely convulses, spasming, eyes rolling to the back of his head, pussy fluttering and clamping down so hard on your cock, long waves of pleasure completely crashing over him as you watch his pussy give out and squirt all over, juices surging, flowing, cascading out of him gorgeously and wondrously. The sight of beomgyu squirting and clenching around you completely does it for you as you moan out too, cursing, giving one last, hard ram into his cunt until you feel yourself go over the edge too, his magical cunt making you cum so hard you genuinely see stars, filling beomgyu’s hole to the brim, overflowing, stuffed with your cum that you can see a white creamy ring around your dick.

You pull out with a shudder, watching the way your cum oozes and gloops out from his sensitive hole, his pussy completely wrecked. You don’t think his hole can give out anymore cum but it still slowly drips out of him like pearly beads, like pretty pearls from clam shells. You’re so entranced. “Holy fuck…”

Beomgyu completely melts into the sheets, drained, exhausted, boneless, dry tear stains on his pink cheeks. He’s looking up at you so dreamily, so content and satisfied from being fucked.

“I think that was like, the most intense orgasm I’ve had in my entire life. What the actual fuck.” Beomgyu states with very laboured breathing.

You can’t help but kiss his soft lips sweetly again and he kisses you back. “You genuinely did so good, beomgyu. I got a bit carried away, sorry.” You sheepishly tell him.

Beomgyu hides his face in his hands again, tips of his cute ears turning red. “It’s okay. I…liked it.” For a moment, both of you just pant, laying on the bed, but then beomgyu speaks up timidly. “If we go back to normal tomorrow, should we…fuck again?”

Your eyebrows raise in surprise, before you’re grinning again. “Hell yeah,” having absolutely not had your fill of his pussy just yet. You figured you may as well if it will all disappear in the morning.

Now, you’re pushing beomgyu’s face into your pillow, his ass up in the air as you spread his pretty pussy apart, watching the way it’s still dripping, you push your thumb a little in the hole, watching it still twitch and clench, still wanting more, so greedy. Beomgyu’s head is tilted, one side of his cheek smooshed into the pillow to look at you from behind eagerly.

“Come onnnn.” He whines out brattily, so impatient, arching his back even more seductively.

You lightly spank his small ass before digging your nails into his hips and slamming your dick inside once more, pounding into his delicious, succulent, messy cunt once again as beomgyu cries out muffled underneath, drooling onto your pillow, rocking his hips like a whore to meet your thrusts, fucking your cum and his juices back in.

You don’t know how long you guys go at it for but you’re ripping multiple, countless orgasms out of beomgyu, pushing his delicate body into different positions like the pretty doll he is, spurting cum multiple times inside his pussy and all over his pretty body, because you may as well, it’s quite a once in a lifetime thing, savouring how it feels to fuck his cunt and every pretty noise that comes out of his mouth, continuing to fuck the daylights out of him.

Both of you wake up in the morning to your genitalia, thankfully, or perhaps unthankfully, indeed, back to normal. Chad the ghost was actually right.

Both of you go back to Croft Street to return the freaky ouija board to the sex shop beomgyu purchased it from, not wanting to deal with anymore paranormal activity, fine with what experience you have. But, when you stand in front of the sex shop with beomgyu, it has in fact, been closed for months now, boarded up and was definitely not open because you found out the owner had died a while back, hence why it was shut down, even though beomgyu swears down they were the one who served him. Neither of you try to think about that.

Instead, you sell it to the vintage antique place next door, someone else can deal with it. You also make sure not to reapply to that accommodation building next year and to go elsewhere. Beomgyu uploads the YouTube video with the salvageable footage he had left and it goes viral. He becomes the number one famous campus youtuber like he wanted and gains many more subscribers. He doesn’t stop talking about it. Not once.

When taehyun finally returns back from his semester abroad, you and beomgyu decide to surprise him at the airport together, running to hug taehyun’s shocked face once he comes out of the arrivals terminal. He’s so touched he nearly cries, but taehyun swears he didn’t even have tears in his eyes.

Now, all three of you are sitting in a cafe at the airport with drinks.

“I watched the video you guys did together. It was super good. It’s a funny skit. Love how you guys managed to make it look so real.” Taehyun says, watching you both.

“Haha! Thanks.” Beomgyu forces a laugh, slurping his milkshake.

“So you guys had some bonding time whilst I was gone then?” Taehyun asks, curiously.

Both you and beomgyu splutter on your straws. Beomgyu starts actually choking so much that you have to hit at his back. “Y-yeah…!” He manages eventually, eyes watering.

You rub at your neck. “You could say that..”

Please actually reblog !!!!!! and leave comments !!!! guys 😭 if you like the fic. It’s really appreciated and so nice tysm !<3🙏💕🌷🌷! It’s incredibly discouraging and disappointing when fics have such little reblogs. At least send an anon in the inbox if you don’t want to rb, don’t just like. Feedback is always appreciated it makes writers want to actually write more :)

A/n: idk how this reads i didnt proof read I wanted to be more creative 😭 it was very interesting and fun to write smut with the reader having a dick since ive never written that before, I’ll admit I had a bit of difficulty trying to write in that pov 😭😭 but it was so fun !! upside down kiss - txt is absolutely the song for this fic 😼😼 I recommend. Babygirl let’s get freaky.

Your boyfriend sits bound to the sturdy wooden chair in the center of the room, his arms pulled back and secured with thick leather straps around his wrists and the chair's arms. His broad chest heaves with anticipation, those defined abs flexing under the soft lighting. His thick cock already twitches against his thigh, half-hard from the thrill of being exposed to your fans. You've got him stripped naked, legs spread and ankles tied to the chair legs, leaving him completely exposed and at your mercy.

"Hey guys," you say cheerfully, leaning into the frame so only your face shows, though the camera dips just enough to capture his twitching dick and torso. "Today I'm trying out different condom flavors to see if they actually taste good! With the help of my boyfriend, of course!" You grin wickedly, glancing over at him. He shifts in the restraints, his cock jumping visibly as your words sink in.

You kneel between his spread thighs, the cool floor pressing against your knees as you reach for the first condom on the tray beside you—a strawberry one. His eyes lock on yours, dark with need, but you just wink and tear the wrapper open.

"Let's start with strawberry," you announce to the camera, holding it up briefly before rolling it down his hardening shaft. The latex stretches tight over his girth, the faint fruity scent hitting the air as you grip the base and give it a slow pump. He groans low, hips bucking slightly against the bonds.

Leaning in, you wrap your lips around the tip, sucking gently at first. Your tongue swirls over the flavored surface, tasting the artificial sweetness mixed with his salty skin beneath. You take him deeper, bobbing your head steadily, hollowing your cheeks to create that tight suction he loves. His cock throbs in your mouth, growing fully rigid as you work him with wet, slurping sounds that the mic picks up perfectly. You hum around him, the vibration making his abs clench and his thighs tense.

"Mmm, good boy," you murmur against his length, pulling back just enough to praise him before diving down again, taking him to the back of your throat. He whimpers softly, the first sign of his building orgasm. You speed up, hand twisting at the base in rhythm with your mouth, feeling him swell and pulse. His breaths come ragged, breaths turning to pants as he nears the edge.

Just as his hips start to thrust weakly against the restraints, you pull off with a pop, strings of saliva connecting your lips to the glistening condom. "Strawberry's sweet, but a bit too fake," you say casually to the camera, licking your lips. "Not bad, though. What do you think, babe?" He whines, cock bobbing untouched, a bead of pre-cum smearing inside the latex. You ignore his pleading eyes and grab the next one—banana.

"Next up, banana," you declare, carefully sliding the strawberry one off and tossing it aside. His shaft glistens with your spit, twitching harder now from the denial. You roll the new condom on, the yellow tint contrasting his veined length, and waste no time sucking him back in.

This time, you go slower, teasing the underside with flicks of your tongue while your hand strokes lazily. He moans louder, head falling back against the chair as you build him up again, lips sealed tight around him.

You praise him between slurps, "Such a strong man, taking this so well for me." His muscles strain against the straps, abs contracting with each denied orgasm.

When he's thrusting up into your mouth, breaths hitching, you pull away once more. "Banana's smoother, almost creamy," you comment, wiping your mouth. "Tastes better than I expected." He lets out a frustrated groan, cock jerking in the air, but you just pat his thigh and move to the grape flavor.

The pattern repeats, each condom a new torment. Grape's tartness coats your tongue as you deepthroat him, gagging slightly for the camera's benefit while he whimpers your name. "You're doing amazing, love," you coo, fingers digging into his hips to hold him still. He gets closer each time, body trembling, but you deny him relentlessly, pulling off right at the brink, offering your tasting notes like it's a casual review.

By the fourth one—mango—his whimpers turn to full cries. Tears well in his eyes as you suck him hard, your hand pumping the base furiously.

"Please," he begs hoarsely, voice breaking. "Need to cum... fuck—please." You hum around him, ignoring the plea, feeling him throb desperately. When you finally release him, his cock slaps against his abs, the condom slick and shiny. "Mango's sweet, a little tangy," you say to the lens, as if he isn't sobbing softly now.

You switch to cherry, rolling it on while he shakes, pre-cum leaking steadily. Your blowjob is merciless this round, throat relaxing to take every inch, nose brushing his groin. He cries out, tears streaming down his flushed cheeks, body arching as much as the bonds allow.

"Let me cum, baby, please— I-I can't..." His voice cracks into sobs, his frame quivering with both overstimulation and denial.

"Look at you, so perfect and ruined for me," you praise softly, even as you pull off again. "Cherry's my favorite so far! bold and juicy." He's full-on sobbing now, chest heaving with ragged breaths, cock twitching violently without touch.

Begging spills from his lips in broken pleas, "Please, please, I'll do anything! just let me cum... hurts so good..."

Finally, you relent, peeling off the cherry condom and discarding it. His bare cock stands rigid, veins bulging, tip flushed dark. "Alright, you've earned it," you say with a grin, both to him and the camera. Wrapping your hand around his slick length, you stroke firmly from base to tip, thumb circling the head on each upstroke. He bucks into your grip, sobs turning to relieved moans as you pump faster, twisting your wrist to hit every sensitive spot.

"Cum for me, good boy," you urge, leaning in to whisper praises against his thigh. "Show everyone how much you need this." His abs tighten, whole body seizing as he cries out one last time. Hot spurts of cum shoot from his cock, coating your hand and splattering his abs in thick ropes. You milk him through it, slowing your strokes until he's spent, whimpering softly in the aftershocks.

"That's all for today, I hope this video helps!" You sit back on your heels, smiling at the camera as his chest rises and falls. "See you guys on part two! Thanks for watching! <3"

His eyes widened "W-wait! there's a next pa—"

The red light blinks off, ending the video.

175 comments:

@user33550336 — this is soooo hot, when will part 2 come out???

↳ @mynameis[name]— soon...

@49to51commented — men whimpering>>>>

@Ieattrashcans — MORE PLSPLSPLSPLSPLSPL

@user4900051 — Can we see his face?

↳ @mynameis[name] — no sorry <3

See more...

MASTERLIST

( ✎ ) guys i actually don't know what condoms tastes like LMAOAOA

"So, do you lay eggs?"

Lohen, the bastard that he is and always will be, only smiles and patiently waits for you to recover from the attempted murder currently taking place as you choke and sputter over what was supposed to be a nice, quiet tea party. You immediately turn toward Klee, who is thankfully still in the other room preparing more imaginary refreshments. If she had heard him, you would bet your entire hoard that Alice would have appeared out of thin air just to scorch both of you and drag your corpses to the Abyss herself.

"What? Who even starts a conversation like that? I just sat down!" you hiss under your breath, grabbing Lohen by the collar so you can snap your teeth at him, "You'd better thank Barbatos himself that Klee didn't hear you."

Lohen only laughs it off, patting your hand until you release him from your death grip. Reluctantly, you let go and sink back into your seat with a huff. He smooths out the wrinkles in his clothes and readjusts his cape before leaning an elbow against his knee, surrounded by miniature Dodocos that you sincerely hope are not actually bombs.

"It's just a scientific question born from curiosity. Why were you thinking of something indecent?" He places a hand over his chest and fakes a scandalized gasp, "And in front of a child, no less. Tsk, tsk."

This is it. This is the moment you're going to break your pact and torch Mondstadt to the ground. How else were you supposed to interpret that question?

"I may have happened to overhear your conversation with Albedo about Durin. Purely by accident, of course, please put your claws away," Lohen doesn't so much as flinch beneath your glare, "It made me wonder how you came to be. Did you have a mother? Or did you simply appear?"

He never breaks eye contact, and you can see that familiar spark of excitement swirling in his eyes. Annoyingly enough, he means it when he says he's just curious. Which, you suppose, is fair enough; humans have always been fascinated by the unknown. Still, he could have led with that instead of asking whether you... laid eggs. Sure, Albedo had asked similar questions before, but those had been entirely different circumstances. That conversation had been professional, if slightly awkward, comparing the differences between you and Durin. Dvalin, the only other dragon nearby, had made it abundantly clear that he had no interest in discussing the topic.

You glance toward the doorway to check whether Klee is coming back anytime soon. You are fairly certain Albedo would not appreciate you jump-starting her education on dragon reproduction.

"If you were just curious, you could have worded it better," You let out a long sigh, "But I suppose it depends on the region and the type of dragon, much like any other subspecies of animal. Some, like those in Liyue, can be born from nature itself. Rocks, water, that sort of thing."

You gesture vaguely to yourself, fixing Lohen with a pointed look, "As for me, I'm probably the closest thing to an ordinary animal. I reproduce through eggs. So yes, Lohen. I lay eggs. Does that answer your question?"

Lohen nods, looking entirely too pleased that you did not dismiss him outright or attempt to throw him out the window. Though with Klee explicitly asking for both of you to attend her tea party, there is no way you could have. The bastard. That's probably why he decided to spring the question on you now. If you and Albedo had not spoken recently, maybe you would not feel quite so willing to share, but at least with Lohen, you can trust that he is not going to go on some misguided crusade and decide your eggs need to be destroyed.

“Then, can I ask…” Lohen does not bother hiding the way his gaze drifts downward before returning to your face, “What exactly happens when you do?”

“Why are you so interested in this?”

“Like I said, just curious.”

“Well, if there is no '"incubator", they usually dissolve and return to elemental energy,” You glance toward the doorway, “Now, seriously, stop asking. Klee is coming back.”

You dip your fingers down, careful with your claws so you don't accidentally nick yourself when you touch the area you're both connected. Lohen's hole is stretched wide around your cock, nearly pulled white, and you almost want to feel bad. You both haven't even gotten to the hard part yet.

"Shouldn't you be a bit more embarrassed at how wet you are?" you say, slouching further back so Lohen is only supported by your hands and cock. Tiny moans and sobs pulled out of him as he trembles, as your cock nudges that one spot in him that makes him scream. Your fingers hook around the opening, pulling his hole wider until you can slip them in. Slick and cum start spurting out, coating your fingers and trailing down in a sticky mess onto the floor and up your wrist.

"I..I can't..I can't," Lohen openly cries, head too heavy to hold as it flops back onto your shoulder. He truly looks like he's at his limit if he wasn't wearing that smile and that wild look in his eyes. You scowl before smoothing your expression into something softer, tilting your head to press a kiss against his sweaty bangs. He's about to carry your eggs; you can play pretend for a bit. You buck your hips up, rubbing that one spot deeper mercifully, bouncing him up and down as you fuck into him.

"You can, Lohen, you have to. You'll look so good as a mama, don't you think?" You thrust your fingers deeper, twisting your wrist so your claws briefly scratch him. You have to use your other hand to wrap around his waist so he doesn't accidentally throw himself off as he cums again, hissing as he squeezes tighter against your sensitive cock. He's still shaking and crying, his chest rising up and down as he tries and fails to catch his breath. He looks more wrung out than when he rushed into back-to-back hilichurl camps on his own because he was "bored".

You squint a bit, easing your fingers out to spread them in front of you. They're a lot...wetter than you expected them to be, the usual white stringy cum more watery than it should be. You brace your hand against the ground, gently moving Lohen's knee to the side to see the fucking puddle pooling between his trembling thighs.

"Huh, did you squirt or something?" you let out a laugh in disbelief, though you don't expect him to respond, not when his eyes are rolled to the back of his head. You pat his inner thigh, settling them back into a more comfortable position, "See, you're a natural."

It's a testament to Lohen's stamina that it only takes him a few minutes to calm down. In between you massaging his legs, still sitting heavy on your cock, he lets out a series of coughs before a shiver runs down his spine. With his hands laid loosely at his sides, he reaches out to your tail, wagging back and forth. He gently pets it, and you let out a happy yip. It quickly turns into a pained gasp when Lohen clenches his fist tightly, holding your tail hostage.

"Hey. Why are you stopping?"

You blink past the tears in your eyes when you feel a hand gripping your cheeks, easily going along when Lohen drags your head down until you're eye level with him. Up close, his expression is nothing like calm.

Sometimes you think the Fifth Company exaggerates when they talk about how dangerous their Vice-Captain can be. He is battle-hungry, yes, and stubborn to a fault, but you have lived long enough as a dragon to know what real destruction looks like. Compared to that, he is just one persistent human with far too much confidence.

Still.

"You said you needed an incubator for your eggs, right? I'll make you feel so good, so put it in! Hurry! Give me your eggs!" Lohen's eyes go crazy, and it's almost frightening, and you can physically hear his heartbeat jump louder in your ears until there's nothing but the sound of him.

Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump.

"You're a real piece of work, you know that?" You push forward, settling Lohen back onto his hands and knees, and you clamp your teeth into his shoulder. The iron taste of blood fills your mouth as you grind deeper, as close as you both can be without melting together into one body, as you feel your eggs travel down. The first one is always the hardest, swelled at the base of your cock, and you attempt to push it in. Lohen is tight, even with your cock and fingers inside him; he's stretched to the max, and it's starting to hurt holding your eggs. You grunt, shaking your head as your tail thumps against the ground, irritated. Your hands come back, settling on his hips, and with one forceful yank, you manage to squeeze the last bit of your cock into him.

"Aahh!! Wait- Wa- Not all at once..! I'm-" Lohen flails as much as he can in your grip as the second and third egg follow right after, popping inside him and filling him until his usually flat stomach starts to descend. There's a tell-tale splatter of something wet on the ground, and you can't help the little snicker even when you're pushing more eggs into Lohen to make fun of him. You can feel your cock twitching, bumping against his sensitive walls with each egg that bullies itself into the cramped room. It feels... really fucking good. You thread your hands into his hair, pressing his face into the ground as you pull out as much as you can and thrust back in until the head of your cock bumps against your egg.

"You'll- hah- make room for it right? Here we go, take a deeep breath," you snake one hand up to his belly, rubbing gently as to not jostle them. Your fingers walking up and down as the fourth and fifth eggs finally drop, and you can breathe a sigh of relief. You press a soft kiss to Lohen's back, gently easing him upwards to sit back properly on your lap so you can hold his stomach better. You press another kiss to the nap of his neck, gently coaxing him to turn his face towards you. Lohen looks…pretty fucked out to be honest. Eyes glassy and hazy, his cheeks splotty and wet from his tears, his mouth open as he drools down to his chest. You can't help but kiss him, sucking on his tongue while he lies listlessly in your arms. Lohen is giggling like a madman as you swap spit, his hands rubbing and squeezing at his stomach. The small bumps of your clutch nestled deep inside him, safe and warm. Little mumbles of delusional thoughts of babies spilling out with how badly you've fucked his filter.

It is a shame in its own way. You weren't expecting this so soon, so the timing is off, so the eggs are wrong. Yet he looks so certain, so pleased with himself.

You sigh faintly, watching him spiral.

Well. No point correcting him while he is like this. They still need to be pushed out anyway. When Lohen has settled down, you can both practice for the real thing.

- 🐑

To be completely, unfiltered, absolutely and a hundred percent truthful,

Yuuji can be kind of scary like this.

Scary-- scary when he's focused, and calculated, and so insanely devoted and concentrated on something that nothing can stop him. In any other scenario you would've been less afraid, maybe more-so-appalled, giggle, and give him some sort of sweet treat or maybe simple affection as a reward later on for working so diligently on something.

But in this scenario, with Yuuji between your spread legs, thick, callused fingers dragging against the gummy slick walls of your hole, with his free hand expertly stroking up and down and up and down the shaft of your cock, it's a bit hard (no pun intended) not to be scared.

"Yu-uji, s'-- knock it off, s'not g-gonna... nuthin's gunna..."

"Shhh,"

Yuuji gently kisses the tips of his fingers against your swollen sweet spot, a small groan fluttering from his lips as he watches your spine bow and your toes curl.

"I got this. Y'don't believe me, baby?" His words come out slurred and hot, mingling with the sounds of your moans and whines. "Have I ever failed you when it comes t'..."

Yuuji presses a warm, sloppy, wet kiss to the sensitive tip of your cock, practically making out with the poor swollen thing before sucking hard, then pulling off with a filthy slurp followed by a loud 'pop!'.

"...makin' you feel good? Hm? Baby? My baby?"

All you can do in response is whine. Yuuji isn't wrong, and you both know this. It's just...

A few hours ago, everything was perfectly fine. You guys hadn't had sex in a few days, and besides getting handsy here and there, Yuuji seemed fine. In absolute mint condition, if anything. And then, miraculously, he just happened to scroll across some stupid reddit post talking about men squirting. And instead of behaving like any rational person, and just continuing to read through the strings of posts and comments, he just immediately decides that using you as his personal guinea pig is the best course of action.

So, you've been sitting here, legs forced open over the width of Yuuji's shoulders, fluttering hole stuffed with fingers with your poor cock forced to come for what's been maybe the fourth time tonight. in the past hour and a half.

You've tried everything just to try and get a break. You've squirmed, you've kicked, you've cried, you've tried to physically get up off the bed and crawl away, but nothing seems to work. It's just... nothing seemed to get through that thick skull of his.

You can't say you'd like to completely stop, but a break... a break would be nice.

While he's so dead set on making you squirt, you're adamant nothing is going to happen.

You let your head drop back, hips jerking and rolling uncontrollably when he angles his fingers and thrusts right into your prostate, his other hand wrapped around the base of your cock-- rough thumbpad gently petting the seam of your balls.

"Hm."

You let your eyes flutter shut, letting out a little moan of relief when Yuuji's free hand gently releases your cock. Your hips buck at the loss of stimulation, but ultimately, you're relieved. You let your thighs open wide and fall lax, unbothered to how absolutely debauched and utterly lewd you might look from Yuuji's point of view. Not that he'd care, anyways.

Lidded eyes watch the way your puffy rim swallows up the thick of his fingers, drooling and soft and oh-so-warm-- and, suddenly,

Yuuji gets an idea.

"Baby... baby," Yuuji practically purrs. Hesitantly, you lift your head to look down at him.

"'Need y'to be really, really good for me, okay? yeah?"

Yuuji tuts and coos when you drop your head back with a whine, thighs trembling and beginning to shut before he wrenches them open again.

"Oh, don't be like that, babe. S'just... just sit still, and I'll make you feel really good, okay? really good. Jus'..."

Yuuji doesn't wait for a reply-- instead, he spreads your thighs wide for easier access, slips his digits in just right and angles them so they dip against the soft of your sweet spot, and settles the thumb of his free hand against the silky skin of your perineum. Your cock twitches and jerks, dribbles of precome swelling at the tip in little pretty pearls.

He starts with light little taps, then small, tight circles-- then lastly, progresses to firm but gentle up and down petting motions against your perineum-- a weird, indescribably good feeling coiling deep in your gut and causing you to squirm. Meanwhile, his fingers lavish attention on your sweet spot from the inside as well, causing that same delicious feeling to intensify what feels like a thousand times more.

it feels so weird.

You try to buck away from the feeling but Yuuji just shushes you and applies a fraction more of pressure, not letting you escape the onslaught of weird, weird, so fucking weird but undeniably good sensation.

... Suddenly, another odd... but new sensation settles. Not in your tummy this time, but in your bladder.

"Yuu-- Yuuji, Yuuji--"

"Hmm?"

"G-Get it out-- get them o-out, need'ta, need t'pee, I th-ink, need--"

"No, no, sweetheart. You don't need to pee. S'not pee. It's working, you're close. S'okay, jus' let it happen, 'kay?"

Yuuji leans forwards to kiss you, his eyes fluttering shut, but you crane your neck away before he can land a successful kiss-- which, he grumbles at.

"I'm s-serious Yuuji, I ne-ed to pee, m'not fuckin' a-around--"

"Shut up n' listen to me, baby,"

And you do. Save for the occasional incoherent whines and cries.

So you sit there and take it. Just... just take it, despite this overwhelming pressure in your bladder, despite the waves of pleasure rolling off your spine, despite the over sensitivity of your hole and your cock and your body just begging for a break.

And you're so distracted by your own thoughts that when you do (finally fucking) squirt, it hits you hard. Really hard.

With a mangled shout your body curls in on itself, hands scrambling for Yuuji's shoulders as you try to force him away from you-- yet, he keeps up his gentle ministrations alllll the way through your orgasm.

It's like-- It's like that pressure in your bladder releases itself in a way that feels so fucking good, your sloppy, messy hole fluttering and clenching tight around his still pumping fingers, the muscles in your tummy tightening and contracting in such a satisfying way as you experience what doesn't feel... quite like an orgasm, but something different, and just as intense.

Something wet, something clear, but not quite as thick and sticky as come, but not pee-- shoots from your cock in messy spurts, soaking Yuuji's wrist and the sheets and leaving a little puddle on your tummy.

"O-Oh fuck, fu-uck--"

"Told you that'd feel good, hm?"

Gasping and heaving, you barely manage the beginnings of a sentence before your eyes flutter shut and you immediately pass out.

so when you lean in close to his face, brush in hand, dabbing a precise line of highlighter along the sharp bridge of his nose, you don't think anything of it. you're way too focused on the task; the photoshoot for today is for a high-end fragrance campaign — something moody and black-and-white, all shadow and suggestion, which means satoru's makeup needs to be flawless, poreless, and almost inhumanly perfect.

you hum a little under your breath, a random tune you heard on the radio this morning, and you don't notice the way satoru’s breath catches. you don't notice how his long, pale fingers curl around the armrests of the chair, knuckles going white. you don't notice the way his ice-blue eyes, usually so aloof and unreadable in front of the camera, have softened into something dangerously close to adoration, tracking every micro-movement of your face.

you're beautiful. you have no idea you're beautiful. that's the second thing about you that drives him absolutely insane.

you're not model-pretty. god, no. model-pretty is sharp and angular and intimidating. you're something else entirely; you're warm, your skin has a healthy glow that doesn't come from highlighter, your hands are veined and strong but impossibly gentle, and when you're concentrating, you bite the inside of your cheek. it makes you look a little younger, softer, and satoru wants to kiss that little spot on your cheek so badly it's a physical ache in his chest.

"hold still," you murmur, not looking at him. "you're twitching."

your breath fans across satoru’s cheek, smelling faintly of coffee and mint.

"i'm not twitching," he lies, his voice a low, pleasant rumble. he's got a good voice for voiceovers, deep and honeyed, and he knows it. he uses it like a weapon. "you're just being fussy."

"i'm being thorough," you correct, dabbing a tiny bit of concealer under his eye.

the dark circles are almost nonexistent — the man sleeps like the dead when he's not working — but the photographer wanted a specific kind of hollowed-out, tortured-artist look. you think it's silly, but you're not paid to think; you're paid to make satoru look good.

you're also, secretly, paid to be close to him.

not in a weird way, not in the way a fan would be, but satoru has had four other makeup artists in the past two years, each hired by agencies or magazines when you weren't available. all of them were pretty good; technically proficient, efficient, professional, and all of them lasted exactly one day before satoru threw a tantrum that would make a toddler really proud, insisting that only you could do his makeup, that only you understood his face.

his manager, ijichi, had called you, sounding frazzled;

"he says your 'energy is non-negotiable'," ijichi had relayed, looking pained. "whatever that means."

you'd laughed it off, of course.

satoru is dramatic. satoru is a diva. but you'd shown up, packed your kit, and gotten back to work. because honestly… you missed him too. the other models are fine, but they're not satoru; they don't make you laugh between touch-ups, they don't bring you hot chocolate from the coffee cart without you asking, they don't look at you like you're the only person in the room, in the universe, who matters.

( well, you don't notice that last part. )

today's shoot is in a huge warehouse studio in shibuya, all exposed brick and polished concrete floors.

satoru's private dressing room is a small annex off the main floor, with a large mirror, a comfortable leather chair, and terrible overhead lighting that you've learned to work around. you've got your rolling cart of products next to you — brushes of every shape and size, powders, foundations — and you're so focused on perfecting the contour on satoru’s jawline that you don't hear the soft knock on the door.

satoru does, though. his eyes flick towards the door, and something in his expression hardens for a fraction of a second before smoothing back into pleasant neutrality.

the door opens, and a head pokes in; it's fushiguro toji.

toji is another model, a competitor in the same tier as satoru, though with a rougher, more masculine edge. where satoru is ethereal and untouchable, toji is all muscle and swagger, a little scar at the corner of his mouth that makes him look more dangerous. toji is also, unfortunately for satoru's blood pressure, an unrepentant flirt.

"hey," toji says, his voice a low drawl. he's not looking at satoru, he's looking at you. "didn't know you were working today."

you glance up, brush pausing, and you offer toji a small, friendly smile.

"oh, toji. hey. yeah, it’s just a quick gig. satoru's got the fragrance campaign."

"right, right."

toji steps further into the room, invading the space with his presence. he's wearing a simple black t-shirt and jeans, his usual off-duty attire, and his hair is a little messy, like he just rolled out of bed. it looks good on him.

"you free after this? i'm doing a test shoot down the hall, and the makeup artist they booked is a nightmare. i could use someone who actually knows what they're doing."

your cheeks flush a little at the compliment.

"oh, i don't know. i'd have to check my schedule—"

"he's not free," satoru cuts in, his voice light, almost airy, but there's a thread of steel underneath.

satoru hasn't moved from his chair, he hasn't even opened his eyes fully, but there's a tension in his shoulders that wasn't there a moment ago.

"he's with me all day. exclusivity clause."

you frown, turning to look at satoru.

"i don't have an exclusivity clause with you, satoru."

"you should," he says, finally opening his eyes. that brilliant, piercing blue fixes on toji, and for a moment, the room feels a little colder. "i pay better."

toji snorts, unimpressed.

"i'm sure you do."

toji looks back at you, and his gaze is appreciative, lingering on the curve of your neck, the line of your jaw. you're wearing a simple cream-colored sweater, sleeves pushed up to your elbows, and you're completely unaware of how the soft fabric drapes over your frame.

"think about it, yeah? i'll make it worth your while."

toji winks at you, and then he's gone, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

you simply shake your head, a little bewildered by what just happened, and turn back to satoru.

"weird guy," you comment, picking up your foundation brush again. "he's not usually that friendly."

satoru doesn't answer.

he's staring at the closed door, his jaw tight, his hands now gripping the armrests so hard the leather creaks. you notice the tension, finally, because it's impossible to miss; his whole body is rigid, coiled, like a spring about to snap.

"hey," you say, frowning. "you okay? you're all tense. i need you to relax your jaw or the contour will look weird."

satoru's gaze snaps to you, and for a second, just a second, you see something raw and hungry in the man’s expression, something that makes your stomach flip, a strange, unfamiliar heat pooling low in your belly. but then it's gone, smoothed over by that familiar, dazzling smile.

"sorry," satoru says, but he doesn't sound sorry at all; he sounds off. "just thinking."

"about what?" you ask, leaning in to blend the contour along his cheekbone.

you're close again, close enough to see the individual lashes framing satoru’s beautiful eyes, close enough to smell his cologne — something sweet and expensive, mixed with the clean scent of his shampoo.

"about how long i've been wanting to do something," satoru murmurs, so quietly you almost don't hear it.

your brush pauses. "what?"

satoru slowly reaches up, his long fingers wrapping gently around your wrist. it's not a harsh grip, it's almost tender, but it still stops you completely and holds you in place. satoru’s thumb brushes over the thin skin on the inside of your wrist, feeling your pulse jump.

"do you have any idea," he says, his voice low and deliberate, each word dropping like a stone into still water. "how hard it is to sit here, day after day, while you touch my face like it's nothing? while you smile at other men like fushiguro toji and offer them your time?"

your heart is doing something weird in your chest, a staccato rhythm that has nothing to do with caffeine.

"satoru, what are you talking about? i'm your makeup artist."

"exactly," he breathes, and the word is almost a sigh. his thumb is still stroking your wrist, slow and hypnotic. "you're my makeup artist. not his. not anyone else's. only mine."

satoru pulls you gently, guiding you to stand between his widely spread legs. you go, because you're too stunned to resist, your mind a blank slate of confusion and something else, something you don't want to name.

you're now face-to-face with him, close enough that your knees are brushing his thighs.

"i've been patient," satoru continues, his free hand coming up to rest on your hip, a warm and solid weight. "so fucking patient, you have no idea. i've dropped hints. i've flirted. i've literally sent you memes with the caption 'us' and you just sent back a thumbs-up emoji. a thumbs up, baby. do you know what that did to me?"

"i thought you were joking," you whisper, your voice coming out embarrassingly small. "you're always joking."

"i'm not joking now."

satoru’s blue eyes are so dark, no longer the bright, icy hue you're used to. they're the color of a deep winter sky, heavy with unshed snow.

"look at me. really look at me. and tell me you don't feel this."

he presses your palm flat against his chest, right over his heart; it's pounding a hard, frantic rhythm that matches your own. you can feel the warmth of his skin through the thin fabric of his t-shirt, the firm muscle beneath. he's not just a pretty face. he's solid, real, and he's looking at you like you're the only thing in the world that matters.

"i—" you start, but your voice cracks.

you don't know what to say. you've never thought of him this way. you've never allowed yourself to think of him this way. he's satoru. your client. your friend. the boy who fell asleep in your chair all those years ago.

"you're beautiful," he says, and the word is reverent. "you don't even know. you walk around with your pretty face and your kind hands, and you have no idea what you do to me. every time you lean in, every time you bite your lip, every time you laugh at one of my stupid jokes—i fall a little more. and i am so. fucking. tired. of falling alone."

satoru’s hand slides from your hip to the small of your back, pressing you closer until you're standing flush between his thighs. you can feel the heat radiating off him, can smell his cologne more strongly now, can see the slight flush high on his cheekbones that you didn't put there with your brushes.

"satoru, you're a model," you manage, your voice a shaky whisper. "you could have anyone. why would you want—"

"don't," he interrupts, sharp and sudden. his fingers tighten on your wrist, just a fraction. "don't do that. don't pretend you're not exactly what i want. don't make this about anyone else."

satoru leans in, his forehead resting against yours. his breath fans across your parted lips, warm and sweet, and your eyes flutter closed instinctively.

"i've been good," he murmurs, the words a soft, desperate confession. "i've been so good. i've watched you. i've waited. i've let you be professional and friendly and completely oblivious. but then he came in here and looked at you like that, and i realized—i'm done waiting."

satoru’s lips brush the corner of your mouth, barely a touch, and it sends a shiver down your spine.

"i need you to understand," satoru slowly whispers against your skin, "that you belong to me. you have for years. you just didn't know it yet."

you open your mouth to reply — and to say what? you have no idea — but he doesn't give you the chance.

satoru kisses you.

satoru kisses you, and it's the kiss of a man who has been starving for years and has finally been given permission to eat. his mouth is so hot and so demanding, slanting over yours, and his warm tongue sweeps along the seam of your lips, asking, begging, taking.

you gasp, and he swallows the sound, pulling you closer, one hand fisting in the soft fabric of your sweater at your back.

oh, you should push him away. you should remind him of professional boundaries, of the shoot in an hour, of the fact that you're employees, not lovers. but your body isn't listening to your brain. your hands, traitors that they are, come up to grip satoru’s shoulders, and you kiss him back.

it's clumsy and desperate, teeth clashing, tongues sliding. he tastes like mint gum and something uniquely him, something so addictive. satoru groans into your mouth when your fingers curl into the hair at the nape of his neck, and the sound vibrates through you, settling low in your groin.

satoru pulls back just enough to breathe, his forehead still pressed to yours, his lips swollen and wet. his eyes are blown wide, pupils completely dilated, the blue almost completely swallowed by pure black.

"fuck," he breathes, and it sounds like a prayer. "fuck, i've wanted to do that for so long."

you're trembling, and it’s an actual, full-body trembling; your knees feel embarrassingly weak, and if satoru weren't holding you, you might just slide to the floor.

"satoru, we can't—"

"we can," he insists, and there's no room for argument in his voice. it's a command, a decree. "we can, and we're going to. i'm going to take care of you. i'm going to show you exactly what you mean to me. and then, when i'm done, you're going to look in the mirror and see the marks i left on you, and you're never going to forget who you belong to."

satoru stands up, and because you're still pressed against him, you stumble back a step. he steadies you with hands on your hips, then guides you backwards until your legs hit the edge of the makeup table. the metal legs scrape against the concrete floor, and a few brushes clatter to the ground, but neither of you pays them any attention.

"lie back," satoru says, and it's not a request.

you hesitate for half a second, your mind screaming at you to stop, to think rationally, to remember the shoot. but then he looks at you — with that raw, desperate hunger — and all your resistance crumbles.

you lie back on the table.

it's cold and hard against your spine, but you barely notice; your entire awareness is focused on satoru, on the way he looms over you, all six-foot-something of lean muscle and sharp angles. he's beautiful. achingly, impossibly beautiful. and he's looking at you like he wants to devour all of you.

satoru brackets your body with his strong arms, leaning down to kiss you again.

this time, the kiss is slower, more deliberate; satoru takes his time, learning the shape of your mouth, the give of your lower lip between his teeth. he kisses the corner of your mouth, your jaw, the sensitive spot just below your ear, and you gasp, your back arching off the table.

"so responsive," satoru murmurs against your skin, and you can hear the smile in his voice. "i wondered if you'd be like this. i've imagined it so many times. you, underneath me, falling apart because of me."

satoru’s huge hands are everywhere; one slides under your sweater, palm flat against your stomach, and his long fingers are cold, making your muscles jump. the other works at the button of your jeans, deft and impatient.

"is this okay?" satoru asks, pausing with his fingers hooked in your waistband.

his voice is still low, still so hungry to devour you completely, but there's a thread of genuine concern there, a check-in that makes your chest ache.

"yes," you breathe, because it's the truth.

it's terrifying and overwhelming and probably a terrible idea, but god, you want it. you want him.

satoru's whole body goes rigid above you — not with tension this time, but with something that feels like relief. his eyes, those ethereal deep blue eyes that have stared down cameras and conquered runways, are wide and almost vulnerable for a split second. then satoru’s mouth is on yours once again, and vulnerability burns away into something ravenous.

he kisses you like he's trying to memorize the shape of your lips by touch alone, like he's afraid you'll disappear if he doesn't hold on tight enough. satoru’s tongue slides against yours, wet and insistent, and you taste the faint bitterness of the coffee he drank this morning mixed with the sweetness of the lip balm you applied an hour ago.

it's dizzying; it's too much and not enough all at once.

your hands, still gripping his shoulders, feel the coiled strength in his muscles beneath the thin fabric of his t-shirt. he's not just lean and pretty — there's power there, the kind that comes from hours in the gym because his agency demands it, and you feel that power now in the way he cages you against the cold makeup table, in the way his thighs press against the outside of your legs, trapping you in place.

satoru pulls back just far enough to break the kiss, and a thin string of saliva connects both of your lips for a little moment before it slowly breaks. satoru stares down at you, chest heaving, and you watch his gaze travel across your face like he's seeing you for the first time.

"look at you," he murmurs, and his voice has dropped an octave, rougher now, almost gravelly. "already a mess and i've barely touched you."

you want to say something clever, something that proves you're not completely undone, but then satoru’s hand — the one that was resting on your stomach under your sweater — slides upward, dragging the fabric with it.

his fingers are cold against your heated skin, and you gasp as they brush over your nipple, not quite touching, just passing close enough to make you shiver.

"sensitive," satoru observes, and there's a smile in his voice now, something dark and pleased. "god, you're sensitive everywhere, aren't you? i've watched you for years, you know. i watched the way you shiver when someone touches your neck, the way you bite your lip when you're concentrating. i've imagined what sounds you'd make."

satoru’s hand keeps moving, pushing your sweater up until it bunches under your armpits, exposing your chest to the cool air of the dressing room. you're not built like him — you're softer, less sculpted — but the way satoru looks at you makes you feel like you're the one on the cover of a magazine.

"beautiful," he breathes, and the word is so sincere it makes your chest ache. "so fucking beautiful."

then satoru ducks his head and takes your nipple into his mouth, and coherent thought evaporates.

his tongue is hot and wet, circling the sensitive peak with a precision that speaks to experience, and his teeth graze the flesh just enough to send a sharp jolt of pleasure-pain straight to your groin. you cry out — yeah, you actually cry out, a sound too loud for a semi-public space — and your back arches off the table, pressing yourself further into his mouth.

satoru hums against your skin, the vibration making you whimper, and his free hand slides down your stomach, fingers tracing the waistband of your jeans.

"shh," satoru murmurs against your chest, switching to the other nipple with the same devastating attention. "you have to be quiet, sweetheart. unless you want the whole studio to hear what i'm doing to you."

you bite your lip, hard enough to taste copper, and satoru looks up at you through his lashes.

his lips are wet, swollen from kissing and sucking, and his eyes are almost completely black now, the blue reduced to a thin ring around blown pupils.

"there you go," satoru says softly, and his long fingers start working at the button of your jeans. "such a good boy for me. always have been."

the button easily comes undone with a soft pop, and then the zipper, and satoru doesn't hesitate — he shoves his hand past the denim, past the elastic of your boxers, and wraps his fingers around your cock.

you gasp sharply, hips jerking upward into his grip, and satoru groans like he's the one being touched.

"fuck," satoru hisses, his forehead dropping pathetically to your shoulder. "you're so hard. you're—god, you're dripping, baby. is this all for me?"

you can't answer.

your brain has short-circuited, overwhelmed by the sensation of satoru’s hand — those long, elegant fingers that you've watched hold champagne glasses and sign autographs — wrapped around your most intimate part. his palm is warm and slightly rough, calloused in a way you didn't expect, and when he strokes slowly from base to tip, spreading the wetness that's already gathered there, you see constellations.

"answer me," satoru says, and his voice is soft but there's an edge to it, a command wrapped in honey.

he squeezes gently, just this side of too tight, and you moan.

"y-yes," you gasp, the word cracking in the middle. "yes, yes, it's—it's always been—"

you don't finish the sentence because you're not sure what you were going to say.

it's always been him? it's always been like this? both are true and neither captures the enormity of what you're feeling.

satoru lifts his head and kisses you once again, swallowing whatever sounds you were about to make. his warm tongue slides into your mouth at the same time his hand starts moving in earnest, stroking you with a steady, unforgiving rhythm that has you clawing at his shoulders, leaving red marks on his skin through his shirt.

he's everywhere — his mouth on yours, his hand on your cock, his body pressed against you from chest to hip, the rough denim of his jeans rubbing against your bare thighs. you're pinned to the makeup table, completely at his mercy, and the helplessness of it makes you even harder.

"that's it," satoru whispers against your lips, his strokes never once faltering. "let me hear you. i want to hear every single sound you make."

you're already embarrassingly close, the pleasure building low in your belly like a coiled spring.

it's been sooo long since anyone touched you like this, and never — never like this, never with someone who looks at you like you're the center of their universe.

"satoru," you whimper, and his name has never sounded like this before; raw and desperate. "satoru, i'm going to—"

but satoru stops.

his hand goes still, still wrapped around you but no longer moving, and the sudden absence of friction is almost painful. you whine, high and needy, and your hips try to chase his hand, but he pulls back just enough to deny you.

"not yet," satoru says, and his voice is strained, like denying you is costing him something aswell. "not yet, sweetheart. i'm not done with you."

you want to cry. you want to beg.

but satoru is already shifting, sliding off the table and lowering himself to his knees between your spread legs, and the sight of him there — gojo satoru, the highest-paid model in asia, kneeling on a dirty concrete floor in his designer clothes — steals the breath from your lungs.

he looks up at you with those dark, hungry eyes, and then he pulls your jeans and boxers down your hips in one rough movement, freeing you completely. the cool air hits your flushed, leaking cock and you shudder.

"so pretty," satoru murmurs, and his voice is reverent now, almost worshipful.

he wraps his hand around you again, but satoru doesn't stroke; he simply holds you, watching the way your cock twitches desperately in his grip.

"i knew you'd be pretty. i knew it."

then he leans forward and licks a broad stripe from the base of your cock to the tip, and you lose the ability to form words.

satoru’s tongue is so hot and wet and impossibly soft, and when he reaches the head, he swirls around it, collecting the bead of precum that's gathered there. he hums, low in his throat, and the vibration makes your thighs tremble.

"you taste good," satoru says, like he's commenting on the weather, like this is completely normal. "sweet. i could get addicted to this."

then he takes you into his mouth, and the world narrows to nothing but heat and pressure and the obscene, wet sounds of satoru sucking your cock.

oh, and he's not gentle with it — he's eager, desperate, like he's been starving for this for years. satoru’s cheeks hollow as he sucks, and his tongue presses against the underside of your cock, and his hand cups your balls, rolling them gently in his palm. you're making sounds you've never heard yourself make before, high and broken, and your fingers tangle in his white hair, pulling without meaning to.

satoru moans around you, and the vibration shoots straight up your spine.

he pulls off with a wet pop, and a string of saliva connects his lips to the tip of your cock. satoru’s face is completely flushed, his lips swollen and slick, and there's a smear of your balm on his chin from earlier.

"look at me," satoru commands, and when you force your eyes open, he's staring at you with an intensity that pins you in place. "i want you to watch. i want you to see exactly who's making you fall apart."

then satoru takes you back into his mouth, deeper this time, until the tip of your cock hits the back of his throat. he doesn't gag — he just swallows around you, and the sensation is so overwhelming that you actually sob, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

satoru's hands grip your hips, holding you down against the table when your body tries to buck upward.

he sets a rhythm — deep, slow strokes of his mouth, his tongue curling around you on every retreat — and you can't look away. you watch satoru’s lips stretch around you, you watch his eyes flutter half-closed in pleasure, you watch the way his throat works when he swallows.

you're not going to last.

"s-satoru," you gasp, tugging at his hair. "satoru, p-please, i can't—i'm going to—"

he pulls off just enough to speak, his lips brushing the head of your cock with every word.

"do it," he says, and his voice is wrecked. "cum for me, baby. i want to taste you."

then satoru takes you deep again, and that's it.

your orgasm crashes over you, violent and all-consuming. your back bows off the table, your mouth opens in a silent scream, and you spill down satoru's throat in hot, pulsing bursts. he doesn't pull away — he swallows everything, moaning around you, his throat working to take every drop, and his hands grip your hips so hard you know there will be bruises tomorrow.

the pleasure goes on and on, drawn out by the way satoru keeps sucking your cock gently, coaxing every last bit from you until you're twitching and oversensitive, whining and pushing weakly at his head.

finally, finally, satoru pulls off.

his face is flushed, his lips are swollen, and there's a smear of your release on the corner of his mouth. he wipes it with his thumb and sucks it clean, his eyes never leaving yours.

"fuck," satoru breathes, and then he laughs — a breathless, disbelieving sound. "fuck, you're perfect."

you can't move, and you can barely breathe; your entire body is trembling, and the makeup table is cold against your sweaty back, and you're pretty sure you just came harder than you have in your entire life.

satoru rises to his feet, his joints popping from kneeling too long, and he leans over you, bracing his hands on either side of your head. his weight settles over you, so warm and so solid, and the supermodel boy kisses you deeply, lazily, like you have all the time in the world.

you taste yourself on his tongue — salty and sharp — and the intimacy of it makes your head spin.

"we're not done," satoru murmurs against your lips, and your heart stutters. "i told you. i've been waiting years. one time isn't going to be enough."

his hips roll against yours, and you feel him — hard and thick through his jeans, pressing against your thigh — and a fresh wave of want curls through your exhausted body.

"i'm going to fuck you," satoru says, and the words are soft, almost gentle, which honestly makes them infinitely more dangerous. "i'm going to fuck you on this table, and then i'm going to carry you to that chair and fuck you there, and then maybe — if you're good — i'll let you rest before i take you home and fuck you in a real bed."

satoru’s hungry mouth trails down your jaw, your neck, biting and sucking marks into your sensitive skin that you'll have to cover with concealer later.

"but first," he says, pulling back to look at you with those dark, possessive eyes, "i need to hear you say it."

"say what?" you manage, your voice hoarse.

"that you're mine."

your heart pounds, your body aches, and somewhere in the back of your mind, you know that this is the point of no return; that once you say these words, you'll never be able to pretend this was just a mistake, just a moment of weakness.

but looking up at satoru — at his completely ruined makeup and his oh so desperate blue eyes and the way his huge hands shake slightly even as he tries to seem in control — you realize you simply don't want to pretend.

"i'm yours," you whisper.

satoru's smile is blinding.

"such a good boy," he says, and kisses you again.

you're still trembling when satoru's mouth claims yours once more, and this time the kiss is different — slower, deeper, less like a starving man finally being fed and more like someone savoring a meal they've waited years to taste. his lips are soft and insistent, moving against yours with a confidence that makes your head swim, and his tongue slides along your lower lip before dipping inside, tasting every corner of your mouth like he's memorizing the shape of you from the inside out.

your hands, shaky and uncertain at first, slowly find their way to satoru’s chest.

the fabric of his designer tshirt is really soft under your palms — some expensive blend you couldn't name if you tried — and you can feel the warmth of his skin through it, the firmness of the muscle beneath. satoru has always looked lean in photographs, all sharp angles and graceful lines, but up close like this, with him pressed against you from hip to chest, you realize how solid he actually is. his shoulders are broad under your hands, his pectorals defined in a way that isn't showy but definitely exists, and when your fingers curl into the fabric, bunching it around his collarbones, he makes a sound.

it's a small sound at first, a quiet exhale that ghosts across your cheek, but then you pull the shirt upward, exposing the smooth skin of satoru’s stomach, and the exhale becomes something else entirely.

satoru moans, low and almost embarrassing, and the sound vibrates against your lips and sends a shiver straight down your spine, because gojo satoru, the man who has millions of people screaming his name, is pathetically whimpering into your mouth simply because you're taking off his shirt.

"please," satoru breathes, and the word is so unexpected, so naked in its desperation, that your hands actually pause.

satoru never says please; satoru demands, satoru teases, satoru acts like the whole world exists to serve him. but here, with his designer shirt bunched around his neck and your palms flat against his bare ribs, the man is begging.

"please, baby, keep going. i need—i need you to touch me. i've wanted you to touch me for so long."

oh, well, you don't make him wait.

you push the shirt up over his chest, over his shoulders, and satoru has to break the kiss to pull it over his head, which means you get to watch him — the way his arms flex, the way his hair falls messily back into place, the way his chest rises and falls with quick, shallow breaths.

satoru is beautiful, of course he's beautiful, but it's a different kind of beautiful now, stripped of the carefully curated styling and the professional lighting.

there's a faint line across his stomach where the waistband of his jeans sits, and a small mole just below his left collarbone that you've never noticed before despite spending hours in his face every day. his skin is pale and smooth, dotted with barely-there freckles that you want to trace with your tongue.

so you do.

you lean forward, still on the cold makeup table, and press your mouth to that little mole. satoru shudders above you, his hands flying to your shoulders to steady himself, and when you drag your lips across his collarbone to the base of his throat, his fingers tighten almost painfully.

"fuck," he whispers, and his voice cracks in the middle of the word. "fuck, that's—your mouth, god—"

you don't really know what you're doing. you've never been with someone like satoru, someone who looks at you like you're the one doing him a favor by letting him touch you. but satoru’s reactions are so honest, so unfiltered, that you feel bolder than you have any right to feel.

your hands slide down his sides, feeling the dip of his waist, the flare of his hips, and every inch of skin you touch makes him shiver. when your thumbs brush against satoru’s nipples — soft, unpierced, surprisingly sensitive from the way he gasps — he makes a sound that's almost a whine.

"sensitive?" you ask, and your voice comes out rougher than you intended, hoarse from the way he kissed you.

satoru laughs, breathless and a little unsteady.

"shut up."

but satoru doesn't pull away when you do it again, dragging your thumbs in slow circles around the peaked buds, and his hips jerk forward instinctively, pressing his hardness against your thigh. even through the thick denim of his jeans, you can feel how much he wants this — the heat of him, the length of him, and your stomach does a slow, anxious flip because you're going to have to take that inside you.

well, not yet, though.

satoru pulls back just enough to look at you, and his eyes are almost completely black now, reduced to a ring around pupils that have swallowed everything else. his chest is heaving, his lips are swollen and slick, and there's a flush creeping down his neck that you've never seen on him before.

he looks wrecked, and you've barely done anything.

"you're so fucking beautiful," satoru says, and the words are rough, scraped raw. "lying there on the makeup table, looking at me like that. you have no idea what you do to me."

before you can respond — not that you have any words left — satoru hooks his hands behind your knees and pulls.

you slide across the table with a startled gasp, the cold surface shocking against your bare thighs, and then he's spreading your legs wide, stepping between them so there's nowhere for you to go. satoru’s hips press against the backs of your thighs, and even through both layers of clothing, you can feel how hard he is, and how desperate he is.

"i want to prep you properly," satoru says, and his voice is lower now, almost clinical despite the hunger in his eyes. "i'm not going to hurt you. i need you to tell me if anything feels wrong, okay? promise me."

you nod, because your throat feels too tight for words, but satoru shakes his head and cups your face with one warm palm, forcing you to meet his gaze.

"words, sweetheart. i need words."

"yes," you manage, and it comes out as barely a whisper. "yes, i promise. i'll tell you."

satoru's expression softens for just a moment, something tender flickering across his ethereal features before it's swallowed by want again.

he leans down and kisses you once more — quick, reassuring, a promise rather than a demand — and then he pulls back and looks down at where your bodies are pressed together.

"you already came once," he murmurs, almost to himself. "but i think you've got more for me, don't you, sweetheart? you've been so good, letting me touch you, letting me taste you. i want to use what you gave me to open you up. do you understand what i'm saying?"

your breath catches.

you understand, all right — the idea of your own release, still cooling on your stomach and smeared across satoru's chin, being used to prepare you for him — and it's so dirty, so intimate, that you feel heat rushing to your face.

"yeah," you say, and the word comes out strangled. "okay."

satoru smiles, slow and satisfied, and then he reaches down between your bodies.

his fingers find the mess you made earlier — the sticky, cooling evidence of your orgasm that's pooled in the hollow of your stomach and dripped down your hip — and he scoops it up with two long fingers, holding them up so you can both see the way it glistens in the dim dressing room light.

"look at that," satoru murmurs, almost reverent. "look what you gave me."

then… he brings his fingers to his mouth and sucks them clean, slowly and deliberately, his hungry eyes never leaving yours. the sight makes something hot curl low in your belly, a fresh pulse of want that you didn't think you were capable of after coming as hard as you did.

"still tastes like you," satoru says, pulling his fingers out with a soft pop. "but i need more. i need your mouth to help me."

he doesn't wait for you to ask what the hell he means.

satoru brings his hand to your lips, pressing those two long fingers against your mouth, and you understand directly; you open obediently for him, letting him push his fingers past your lips, and you taste yourself again — salty and a little bitter, mixed with the lingering mint of satoru's gum and the faint metallic taste of your own skin.

you suck, because it seems like what satoru wants, and the moan he lets out is downright filthy.

"that's it," satoru breathes, watching your lips close around his fingers. "get them nice and wet for me, sweetheart. i'm going to use them to open you up, and i need you to be ready. i need you to be so ready for me."

so you suck harder, swirling your tongue around his knuckles, trying to coat every single inch of satoru’s hot skin with as much saliva as you can.

satoru watches with heavy-lidded eyes, his hips pressing against your thighs in involuntary thrusts, and you can feel the way his whole body trembles with the effort of holding back.

"enough," he finally says, pulling his fingers from your mouth.

they're slick and shining, coated in a mixture of your saliva and the remnants of your release, and satoru brings them down between your legs without hesitation.

you flinch when you feel satoru’s long fingers brush against your needy entrance — not from pain, just from the strangeness of it, the vulnerability of being touched there by someone else for the first time.

satoru notices immediately, his free hand coming up to rest on your hip, thumb stroking small circles against the bone.

"hey," he says softly, and his voice has lost some of its urgency, replaced by something gentler. "hey, look at me. we don't have to do anything you don't want to. we can stop right now, and i'll still be happy just because i got to kiss you. okay? you're in control here. not me."

the words settle something in your chest, some anxiety you didn't even know you were holding. satoru — commanding, possessive, i-belong-to-you satoru — is giving you an out, and the fact that he's offering makes you want this even more.

"i want to," you say, and your voice is steadier than you expected. "i want you to. just... go slow?"

satoru's answering smile is soft, almost boyish, so different from the sharp, smoldering looks he gives the camera.

"always slow. i've got you, baby. i'm not going to hurt you."

his finger — just one, just the tip — presses against your entrance, circling gently, spreading the slickness around the tight ring of muscle. the sensation is strange, unfamiliar, but not unpleasant; it's just wet and warm and present, a new kind of touch that makes your thighs tense involuntarily.

"relax for me," satoru murmurs, his thumb still stroking your hip. "breathe, baby. you're doing so good. just breathe."

you try. you take a shaky breath and force your muscles to unclench, and satoru rewards you by pressing a little deeper, the first knuckle of his finger slipping inside.

the feeling is — woah, it's a lot. it's pressure and fullness and something almost invasive, but satoru's hand on your hip is grounding, and his voice is a steady murmur of praise that keeps you from panicking.

"that's it," satoru says, his finger still, giving you the time to adjust. "see? you can take it. you're doing so good for me, sweetheart. so fucking good."

satoru waits until your breathing evens out, until your hips stop trying to squirm away, and then he pushes deeper. his finger slides all the way in, slow and careful, and you feel yourself clench around him involuntarily, your body unsure whether to push him out or pull him in.

"feel that?" satoru asks, and there's wonder in his voice, like he can't believe he's actually inside you. "feel how tight you are? god, baby, you're gonna feel so good around my cock."

the dirty words should make you uncomfortable, but instead they send a bolt of heat through you, and you feel yourself relax further, your body accepting the intrusion. satoru notices immediately — he notices everything, the little bastard — and he starts to move, pulling his finger almost all the way out before pushing it back in, slow and deep.

"t-toru," you gasp, and his name comes out broken, fractured.

"i know," he says, and there's something almost smug in his voice now, hidden under the tenderness. "i know, baby. just wait. wait until i add another one."

satoru does, eventually, once your body has stopped fighting the first finger.

he pulls out completely, coats his fingers again — this time with a fresh layer of saliva, leaning down to spit on them because the slickness from before has started to dry — and then he presses two fingers against your entrance.

this time, the stretch is real.

even with the preparation, even with the saliva and the remnants of your release, two fingers feel like so much more than one. you hiss through your teeth, your hands gripping the edges of the makeup table, and satoru pauses immediately, his forehead dropping to your shoulder.

"breathe," satoru reminds you, his voice muffled against your skin. "breathe through it, sweetheart. i've got you. i'm not going anywhere."

you breathe. you breathe and you focus on the weight of satoru's body above you, the warmth of his breath on your neck, the way his thumb is still stroking your hip in that steady, grounding rhythm.

slowly, the too-full feeling starts to fade, replaced by something that might be pleasure, if you let it.

"okay," you whisper. "okay, you can move."

satoru lifts his head and looks at you, and the expression on his face is so raw, so full of want and relief and something that looks terrifyingly like devoted love, that you have to look away. but satoru doesn't let you — he catches your chin with his free hand and turns your face back toward him, holding your gaze as he starts to move his fingers.

he goes slow at first, just shallow thrusts that barely push past the tight ring of muscle, but each time he goes a little deeper, a little faster, until he's fucking you open on his fingers with a steady, relentless rhythm.

the sound is truly obscene — wet and squelching, mingling with your breathless gasps and satoru's quiet groans — and the feeling is like nothing you've ever experienced in your whole life. it's pressure and fullness and heat, and somewhere deep inside, satoru's fingers brush against something that makes your whole body jolt.

"there," satoru says, and his voice is triumphant. "found it."

he presses against that spot again, deliberately this time, and you cry out — loud, too loud, the sound bouncing off the concrete walls of the dressing room. satoru shushes you with a kiss, swallowing your moans, but he doesn't stop pressing against that spot, he doesn't stop curling his fingers just right until you're seeing stars behind your closed eyelids.

"that's it," he murmurs against your lips. "that's it, sweetheart. let go for me. let me take care of you."

you're hard again — you don't even remember getting hard, but you're achingly erect, leaking against your stomach, and every thrust of satoru's fingers sends sparks of pleasure straight to your cock. you're babbling, saying things you don't remember thinking, begging for more, begging for him, and satoru just shushes you and keeps fingering you open with that steady, devastating rhythm.

"please," you hear yourself say, and you don't even know what you're begging for. "please, satoru, please, i need—"

"i know what you need," satoru says, and his voice is dark now, possessive. "you need me inside you. you need my cock stretching you open, filling you up. don't you, baby?"

"yes," you sob, because it's true, and you're too far gone to be embarrassed about it. "yes, please, i want—i want you to fuck me, satoru, please—"

satoru pulls his fingers out, and the sudden emptiness makes you whimper. but he's already moving, fumbling with the button of his jeans, and the sound of his zipper lowering is the loudest thing you've ever heard.

"you're sure?" he asks, pausing with his jeans open, his cock straining against his boxers. "last chance to say no, baby. after this, i don't think i'm going to be able to stop."

you look at him — at his flushed face and his swollen lips and the desperate, hungry way he's looking at you — and you know, with absolute certainty, that you want this.

"i'm sure," you say. "fuck me, satoru. please."

the words barely leave your mouth before satoru is moving, and there's something almost frantic in the way he shoves his jeans down his hips. the denim catches on his thighs for a moment, and he makes a frustrated sound low in his throat, something between a growl and a groan, before he kicks them off the rest of the way. satoru’s boxers go with them, a tangle of black fabric pooling around his ankles, and then the man is standing between your spread legs, completely bare from the waist down, and you forget how to breathe.

because gojo satoru is beautiful everywhere, apparently. of course he is. why wouldn't he be?

his cock is — god, it's a lot.

it's long and thick, curving slightly upward, flushed a deep pink at the tip where a bead of precum has already gathered, glistening in the dim light of the dressing room.

you'd been so focused on the impossibility of this whole situation, on the weight of his fingers inside you and the heat of his mouth on your skin, that you hadn't really let yourself think about this moment. but now it's here, and satoru is stroking himself slowly, almost absently, spreading the slickness along his length, and you can't look away.

"see what you do to me?" satoru asks, and his voice is rough, scraped raw at the edges.

his eyes are fixed on your face, watching your reaction, and there's something vulnerable beneath the hunger, something that looks almost like fear.

"i've never—i don't—this is just you, baby. only you."

you want to say something reassuring, something that tells him you're not scared, that you want this just as much as he does, but your throat feels tight, and all that comes out is a shaky exhale, your hips shifting on the cold makeup table, an unconscious invitation.

satoru steps closer, his thighs pressing against the edge of the table, and the heat of him radiates against your bare skin.

he's so close now that you can easily feel satoru’s cock brushing against your inner thigh, so hot and so velvety soft despite how insanely hard he is, and the contrast makes your head spin. satoru’s hands find your hips again, those long fingers curling around the bone with a grip that's firm but not painful, and he pulls you toward him until the curve of your ass is flush against the edge of the table.

"i'm going to go slow," satoru says, and it sounds like he's reminding himself as much as he's telling you. his forehead drops to yours, and his breath is warm and uneven against your lips. "so slow, baby. i need you to tell me if it's too much. i need you to be honest with me, okay?"

you nod, because words still feel impossible, but satoru shakes his head slightly, his nose brushing against yours.

"words, sweetheart."

"okay," you manage, and your voice sounds strange to your own ears; breathless and high, stripped of any pretense. "okay, i'll tell you. i promise."

satoru kisses you then, soft and sweet, a stark contrast to the way his hips are pressing forward, lining himself up against your entrance. you feel the head of his cock — huge, impossibly huge — nudging against that tight ring of muscle, and your whole body tenses in anticipation.

"shh," satoru murmurs against your lips, and one of his huge hands leaves your hip to softly cup your face, his thumb stroking along your cheekbone. "just breathe, baby. i've got you. i'm not going to hurt you."

he doesn't push inside yet.

instead, satoru rocks his hips gently, sliding his cock along your crack, letting the head catch against your entrance before slipping past, over and over, coating himself in the slickness that's still there from his fingers.

the sensation is maddening — the heat of him, the weight of him, the way he's so close but not quite there — and you find yourself pushing back against him, trying to take him inside.

"awh, so eager," satoru says, and there's a smile in his voice now, something fond and almost teasing. "you want it that bad, sweetheart?"

"yes," you gasp, because there's no point in lying, not when you're spread out on a makeup table with his cock sliding against your hole. "yes, please, satoru, i want—i need—"

"mhh. i already told you; i know what you need."

and then satoru pushes.

just the tip at first — just the very head of his cock, breaching that tight ring of muscle with a pressure that instantly makes your eyes water. it's been years since you've done this, and even then, you'd never taken anything this big. the stretch is immediate and overwhelming, a burning fullness that steals the breath from your lungs.

satoru stops forthwith, his whole body going rigid above you.

"breathe," satoru says, and his voice is so strained, like holding himself back is taking him every single ounce of his self-control. "breathe, baby. just breathe through it. you're doing so good. you're taking me so well."

you try to focus on satoru’s soft voice, on the warmth of his hand still gently cupping your face, on the way his thumb is stroking your cheek in slow, steady rhythms. you breathe — in through your nose, out through your mouth — and slowly, gradually, the burning starts to fade, replaced by something that feels almost like pleasure.

"okay," you whisper. "okay, you can—you can move."

satoru pushes deeper, another inch disappearing inside you, and this time the stretch is more manageable, still intense but no longer unbearable.

he's watching your face with an intensity that makes you feel seen in a way you've never felt before, his blue eyes searching for any sign of discomfort, any reason to stop.

"that's it," satoru murmurs, his hips pressing forward again, another inch. "that's it, sweetheart. you're taking me so well. you feel so good—god, you feel incredible—so tight and so warm, i could stay inside you forever."

you want to tell satoru that he feels incredible too, that the weight of him inside you is like nothing you've ever experienced, but the words simply won't come. instead, you just lie there, gasping, as satoru continues his slow, inexorable push, filling you inch by inch.

satoru pauses halfway, his forehead pressed to yours, both of them breathing hard.

you can feel him trembling, his muscles shaking with the effort of holding back, and something about that, about the fact that gojo satoru is barely keeping himself together, makes you feel powerful in a way you didn't expect.

"satoru—more," you say, and your voice is steadier now. "i can take more."

satoru groans, a low, desperate sound, and then he's pushing again, the last few inches of his huge cock sliding home until he's buried completely inside you, his hips flush against the backs of your thighs.

the feeling is… well, there aren't words for it.

it's fullness and heat and pressure, and you're so achingly full, stretched around satoru in a way that feels almost too much but also exactly right. you can feel every inch of him, you can feel the way his cock pulses inside you, you can feel the slight curve of it pressing against your walls.

satoru isn't moving yet; he's just lying there, his body covering yours, his face buried in the curve of your neck. his breath is hot against your skin, each exhale a shaky, uneven thing, and his hands are gripping your hips so hard you know there will be bruises there tomorrow.

"look at me," satoru says, and his voice is muffled against your neck. "please, baby. look at me."

you tilt your head back, and satoru lifts his face, and the expression you see there immediately makes your heart stutter in your chest.

satoru is looking at you like you're the most precious thing in the entire world; like you're the answer to every question he's ever asked, the solution to every problem he's ever had. there's no trace of the cocky, untouchable supermodel in his gaze — just a man, just satoru, looking at you with an adoration so raw and so real that it makes your chest ache.

"i've got you," satoru says softly, and his voice cracks in the middle of the words. "i've got you, sweetheart. you're mine. you're finally mine."

then he starts to move.

slow at first, just a gentle rocking of his hips, barely pulling out before pushing back in. the sensation is overwhelming, your body still adjusting to the size of him, and every small movement sends sparks of pleasure shooting up your spine.

satoru watches your face like he's cataloging every expression, every twitch, every bitten-off moan, and he adjusts his angle based on what he sees, tilting his hips just slightly until—

"there," you gasp, your back arching off the table. "right there, satoru, please—"

"yeah?" he asks, and there's a note of triumph in his voice, buried under the tenderness. "that the spot, sweetheart? that where you need me?"

he thrusts again, hitting that same spot, and you cry out, your fingers scrabbling for purchase on his shoulders. he's still going slow, still careful, but each thrust is a little deeper, a little harder, and you can feel yourself opening up for him, your body finally accepting what it had been resisting.

"you're doing so good," satoru murmurs, punctuating each word with a thrust. "taking me so well, sweetheart. feels like you were made for this. made for me."

satoru leans down and kisses you, and it's so messy and so desperate and so perfect. his tongue slides against yours as his hips pick up speed, the thrusts becoming longer, smoother, the initial resistance gone. the makeup table creaks beneath you, the metal legs scraping against the concrete floor, but neither of you cares.

all that matters is the heat of his body and the weight of his cock and the way he's looking at you like you're everything.

"faster," you beg, because you're past caring about pride or dignity or any of it. "p-please, satoru, i need—i need you to —"

"faster?" he asks, and there's a smirk in his voice now, even as his eyes remain soft. "you want me to fuck you faster, baby? you think you can take it?"

"yes," you gasp. "yes, please, i can take it, i want it, i want—"

satoru doesn't make you wait.

he pulls back until just the tip is inside you, and then he slams forward, burying himself to the hilt in one sharp, brutal thrust. the sound you make is something between a scream and a sob, and your whole body convulses around him, your nails digging into his shoulders hard enough to draw blood.

"there you go," satoru groans, and his composure is cracking, his voice rough and dark. "there you go, sweetheart. that's what you wanted, isn't it? you wanted me to fuck you properly. to stop being so careful and just take what's mine."

he sets a rhythm then; deep, hard, punishing thrusts that drive the breath from your lungs.

the makeup table is sliding across the floor with every impact, and you can hear things falling off it — brushes, palettes, a glass bottle of setting spray that shatters somewhere behind you — but you can't bring yourself to care. all you can do is hold on, your legs wrapped around satoru's waist, your hands fisted in his hair, as he pounds into you like he's trying to carve out a space inside you that belongs only to him.

"look at you," satoru says, and his voice is wrecked, broken into pieces. "look at you, taking all of me. you're so beautiful like this. so fucking beautiful. i've dreamed about this—about you—every single night for years."

satoru is not exaggerating.

you can see it in his eyes, you can feel it in the way his hands are shaking even as they grip your hips, you can hear it in the desperate edge of his voice. this isn't just sex for him — it never was. this is something deeper, something that's been building since the very beginning, and now that it's finally happening, he's barely holding himself together.

you lean up and kiss him, and it's clumsy and off-rhythm because he's still thrusting into you, but neither of you cares. you kiss satoru and you taste salt — tears, maybe yours, maybe his — and you hold him as close as you can, your arms wrapped around his neck.

"i'm yours," you whisper against his lips. "i'm yours, satoru. i'm not going anywhere."

satoru makes a sound — a broken, desperate sound that's almost a sob — and then he's kissing you again, harder this time, and his hips are slamming into yours with a ferocity that borders on desperate.

the pleasure is building now, coiling low in your belly, and you know you're not going to last much longer.

"m’close," you gasp, pulling your mouth from his. "satoru, i'm close—"

"not yet," he says, and the words are a command, even as his voice shakes. "not yet, baby. hold on for me. i want you to cum when i tell you to."

you whimper, because it feels impossible, the pressure building inside you with every thrust, but you try; you try to hold back, to focus on anything other than the way his cock is hitting that spot inside you with every stroke.

satoru's hand wraps around your cock — you didn't even notice him reaching down — and he starts stroking you in time with his desperate thrusts, and that's it.; that's the very end of your resistance.

"please," you beg, your voice cracking. "p-please, satoru, i can't—i can't hold it—"

"look at me," he says, and his voice is soft now, gentle, even as his hips keep moving. "look at me, sweetheart. i want to see your face when you cum."

you force your eyes open, and satoru is staring down at you with that expression again; that terrifying adoring, reverent, i-would-burn-down-the-world-for-you expression, and it's too much. it's all way too much.

"now," satoru says, and his voice is barely a whisper. "cum for me, sweetheart."

oh, you certainly do.

your orgasm overtakes you completely, violent and all-consuming, and you don't even have the breath to scream. your mouth opens, but no sound comes out, just a silent, gasping sob as you spill over satoru's hand, your release painting both of your stomachs in hot, pulsing stripes.

your body clenches around satoru's cock — once, twice, three times — and that's what pushes him over the edge.

he groans, low and guttural, and you feel him pulse inside you, feel the heat of his release filling you up, deep and hot and seemingly endless. his hips stutter against yours, grinding in small circles as he rides out his orgasm, and he's saying something — your name, over and over, mixed with words that might be i love you or might be just sounds, you can't tell.

for a long moment, neither of you moves.

satoru is still buried inside you, his body completely covering yours, his pretty face pressed into the curve of your neck. his breath is warm and uneven against your skin, and you can feel his heart pounding against your chest, a frantic rhythm that slowly, slowly begins to steady.

the makeup table is cold beneath you, the shattered glass from the setting spray digging into your back, and you're going to be sore tomorrow in ways you can't even imagine. but right now, with satoru's weight on top of you and his warmth seeping into your bones, you can't bring yourself to care.

satoru lifts his head, and his eyes are red-rimmed, his lashes wet. his makeup is completely ruined by now — highlighter wiped away, lipstick kissed off entirely. he looks wrecked, and beautiful, and so unbearably drunk that your heart aches.

"holy fucking shit," satoru says, and his voice is hoarse and rough and perfect.

you laugh.

it's a small, breathless thing at first, more exhale than sound, but then it grows, bubbling up from somewhere deep in your chest, because yeah — holy fucking shit.

what else is there to say? your body is still trembling, still pulsing around him in tiny aftershocks, and satoru’s cock is still buried inside you, softening slowly but not gone yet. the cold of the makeup table is seeping through your back, and there's shattered glass somewhere behind your shoulder, and gojo satoru — the gojo satoru, the one whose face launches a thousand magazine covers — is looking at you like you've hung the moon with your own two bare hands.

so you laugh, and it's shaky and disbelieving and maybe a little hysterical, but it's real.

satoru's eyes widen for a fraction of a second, and then his own mouth curves into something soft and wondering, like he's never heard you laugh before even though he's heard it a thousand times over the past years. but this is different, and you both know it; this is after.

"there you are," satoru whispers, and his thumb traces along your cheekbone, softly wiping away a tear you didn't know you'd shed. "there's my boy."

satoru leans in and kisses you again, and this kiss is nothing like the desperate, hungry ones from before; this one is slow and savoring, his lips moving against yours with a tenderness that makes your chest ache all over again.

his tongue slips past your teeth lazily, like he has all the time in the world, like there isn't a photoshoot waiting and a shattered bottle of setting spray drying sticky on the floor. you melt into him, your fingers curling into the damp hair at the nape of his neck, and you feel him smile against your mouth.

"i'm not done with you," satoru murmurs, and the words vibrate against your lips. "i told you. i'm going to fuck you on that chair, remember?"

you do remember.

you remember him saying it, his voice soft and dangerous, and you'd thought it was just talk, just the heat of the moment. but satoru is already pulling back, already wrapping your legs around his hips, and the movement shifts his cock inside you, still half-hard, and you gasp at the sensation.

"hold on," satoru says, and then he's standing.

he lifts you like you weigh nothing — and you're not small, you're not light, but satoru is all lean muscle and core strength from years of posing and gym routines, and he handles you like you're made of feathers. your legs lock around his waist automatically, your arms tightening around his neck, and his cock slips out of you as he stands, leaving you suddenly completely empty and aching.

you whine at the loss, high and needy, and satoru shushes you with a kiss to your temple.

"patience, sweetheart. i've got you."

the walk to the makeup chair is only a few steps, but it feels like an eternity. satoru's hands are splayed across your bare ass, fingers dimpling the flesh, and every step jostles you against him, his half-hard cock pressing against your thigh.

you can feel satoru’s release — yours too, probably — sliding down the inside of your leg, warm and sticky, and the sheer filth of it makes your face burn.

satoru lowers himself into the chair, the leather creaking under his weight, and you settle onto his lap without needing to be told. your knees bracket satoru’s hips, your hands rest on his shoulders, and you're face to face again, close enough to count the individual lashes framing those ethereal blue eyes.

the chair is much more comfortable than the table, but that's not why you sigh. you sigh because satoru's hands are running up and down your sides, warm and grounding, and because satoru is once again looking at you like you're the only thing in the room that exists.

"there," he says softly. "that's better, isn't it?"

you nod, because words still feel heavy and clumsy. but satoru wants words — he's made that clear many times — so you clear your throat and try.

"yeah," you manage. "yeah, it's—it's better."

satoru's smile is slow and satisfied, and his hips shift beneath you, his cock twitching against your stomach.

he's getting hard again, you realize, or maybe he never really went soft. maybe he's just been waiting, patient and wanting, for you to catch your breath.

"remember what i said?" satoru asks, and his voice has dropped back into that low, honeyed register, the one he uses when he's about to get exactly what he wants. "i said i was going to fuck you on this chair. but i think—" he pauses, his hands sliding from your sides to your hips, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh there. "i think i want you to do all the work this time, sweetheart."

your heart stutters.

"what do you mean?"

satoru's grin is sharp and bright and just a little bit wicked.

"i mean you're going to ride me, sweetheart. you're going to sink down on my cock and fuck yourself on it until you can't move anymore. and then—" satoru leans in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, his breath hot and damp. "and then i'm going to take over and finish us both."

a shiver runs down your spine, settling low in your belly, and your cock, which had only just started to soften a little , gives an interested twitch.

"i—i don't know if i can," you admit, and your voice comes out smaller than you intended. "you're so—satoru, you're so big, and i'm already—"

"you can," satoru interrupts, and his voice is gentle but firm, leaving no room for argument. "you already took all of me once, sweetheart. you can do it again. and i'll help you. i'm not going to let you fall."

satoru’s hands guide your hips, shifting you forward until his cock — fully hard now, thick and flushed and curving up toward his stomach — presses against your entrance. the head nudges teasingly against you, still slick from before, and you softly gasp at the contact.

"there you go," satoru murmurs, his eyes fixed on where your bodies are about to meet once again. "just like that. take your time. i've waited years for this, remember? i can wait a few more minutes."

you want to tell him that you're not sure you can wait, that the ache inside you is already building again, that the pressure of him against your hole is driving you slowly insane, but instead of speaking, you just bite your lip and sink down.

just the tip at first, because even after everything, even after satoru’s fingers and satoru’s cock stretching you open on the makeup table, the initial breach still steals your breath. his hands are steady on your hips, not pushing, just holding, and his eyes are soft with encouragement.

"that's it," he breathes. "that's it, sweetheart. you're doing so good. just a little more."

you take another inch, then another, the stretch burning in a way that's already starting to blur into pleasure. your thighs are shaking with the effort of lowering yourself slowly, and your hands grip satoru's shoulders like he's the only thing keeping you tethered to the earth.

"fuck," you whisper, and the word comes out strangled. "fuck, satoru, you're so—you're so deep—"

"not yet," he says, and there's a smile in his voice. "not all the way. but you're getting there, baby. you're taking me so well."

you sink down another inch, and another, until finally your ass meets satoru’s thighs and you're seated fully on his lap, his cock buried to the hilt inside you.

the sensation is overwhelming, just like before, but different too. on the table, you'd been lying down, passive, letting him take control. here, straddling him, you feel every inch of him in a new way, the angle different, the weight of your own body pressing down and driving him even deeper.

satoru's head falls back against the chair, his eyes fluttering closed, and a pathetic sound escapes his lips — low and guttural, almost pained.

"oh my god," he says, and his voice cracks. "oh my god, you feel—you're so tight, baby, i can't—"

satoru can't finish the sentence, and somehow that's the hottest thing you've ever heard. gojo satoru, pathetically reduced to fragments, because of you.

you start to move.

it's tentative at first, just a small rise and fall of your hips, an experimental lift that pulls satoru almost all the way out before you sink back down. the drag of him against your sensitive walls makes you moan, loud and obscene, and satoru's hands fly to your waist, gripping tight.

"yes," satoru hisses. "yes, just like that. fuck yourself on me, sweetheart. show me how much you want it."

so you do.

you find a rhythm, slow and deep, rising until just the head of satoru’s cock remains inside before dropping back down, taking all of him in one smooth movement. it's not graceful; your thighs are already burning, and your movements are a little unsteady, but satoru doesn't seem to care.

his eyes are open now, watching you with an intensity that makes your skin prickle, and his mouth is parted, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

"look at you," satoru murmurs, and his voice is thick with wonder. "look at you riding me like you were made for it. you're so beautiful, baby. so fucking beautiful."

his praise wraps around you like a second skin, warm and encouraging, and you find yourself moving faster, chasing the pleasure that's building low in your belly.

each time you sink down, satoru’s cock hits that spot inside you — that perfect, devastating spot — and you cry out, your nails digging into his shoulders.

"there," satoru says, and his voice is darker now, edged with something far more hungry. "there it is. keep going, sweetheart. don't fucking stop."

you don't stop. you can't stop. your body is moving on its own now, rising and falling, rising and falling, again and again, and the sound of it — the wet, slick sound of you taking him over and over — fills the small dressing room.

satoru's hands are all over you, sliding up your chest, pinching your nipples, gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. his mouth finds your neck, your collarbone, your shoulder, biting and sucking marks into your skin that you'll have to hide later.

"you're mine," satoru says against your throat, the words vibrating through you. "everyone's going to see these marks and know you're mine."

you want to tell him that you don't care who sees, that you'd walk out of this room right now with his bruises painted across your skin and dare anyone to say a word. but you can't form sentences anymore, can't do anything but feel the heat of him inside you, the drag of his cock, the press of his mouth, the way his hands are shaking even as they hold you steady.

but then your thighs start to burn in earnest, the muscles screaming with fatigue, and your rhythm falters.

you try to keep going, you try to push through, but your body simply won't cooperate; your movements become more jerky, uneven, and you whine in frustration, your forehead dropping to satoru's shoulder.

"c-can't," you gasp. "satoru, i can't—i can't move anymore, it's too much—"

satoru's hands tighten on your hips, stilling you.

"shh," he says softly, and his lips press against your temple. "i've got you, baby. i told you, didn't i? i said i'd let you ride me until you couldn't move anymore, and then i'd take over."

you nod against satoru’s shoulder, way too tired to speak, way too overwhelmed to do anything but cling to him.

"look at me," satoru says, and you lift your head, meeting satoru’s blue eyes.

they're dark again, the blue almost swallowed by black, and there's something in them that makes your stomach flip — not hunger, exactly, or not just hunger. but something deeper, something that looks like reverence.

"hold on," he says, and then he moves.

satoru plants his feet on the floor, braces his hands on the armrests of the chair, and thrusts up into you.

the force of it punches the air from your lungs, your body bouncing on his lap, and you would have fallen backwards if satoru’s hands weren't already there, one on your lower back, one cupping the back of your head. satoru holds you close, your chest pressed against his, as he fucks up into you with deep, punishing strokes.

"yes," you hear yourself sob, the word torn from somewhere raw and primal. "yes, yes, yes—"

satoru doesn't answer with words. he answers with his body, with the relentless rhythm of his hips, with the way he drives into you again and again and again. the chair creaks beneath them, the leather squeaking in protest, and somewhere in the back of your mind you're vaguely aware that someone might hear, that someone might come knocking, but right now, you can't bring yourself to give a fuck.

all that matters is him. all that matters is the way he fills you, the way his cock stretches you open, the way his breath is hot and uneven against your cheek.

"you feel so good," satoru grunts, and his voice is wrecked, shattered. "so fucking good, baby. i'm never going to get enough of you. never."

you're crying, you realize distantly. tears are streaming down your cheeks, not from sadness but from sheer overwhelming sensation — the pleasure so intense it's crossed over into something almost painful, something that makes your whole body shake and your vision blur.

satoru notices immediately.

"hey," he says softly, and his thrusts slow, but don't stop. "hey, sweetheart, look at me. are you okay?"

you nod, because you are, you're more than okay, you're flying apart and he's the only thing holding you together.

"it's just—" you try to explain, but the words won't come. "it's so much, satoru. it's so good, i can't—"

"awh, i know," satoru says, and he kisses the tears from your cheeks, his lips warm and gentle despite the way his hips are still moving, still driving into you. "i know, sweetheart. you're doing so well. you're taking me so well. just a little more, okay? can you give me a little more?"

you nod again, because you'd give him anything. you'd give him anything at all.

satoru's hand slides between your bodies, wrapping around your cock, and you sob at the contact. you're already so close, the pressure building and building, and his hand on you is going to push you over the edge.

"cum with me," satoru says, and his voice is desperate now, pleading. "please, baby, cum with me. i want to feel you—i want to feel you around me when i—"

he doesn't finish the sentence, but he doesn't need to.

you can feel satoru getting close, his thrusts becoming erratic, his cock swelling deep inside you. your own orgasm is right there, hovering just out of reach, and satoru's hand strokes you once, twice, three times—

and then you're falling.

your orgasm crashes over you, violent and consuming, and you cry out again — a broken, ragged sound that echoes off the concrete walls. you spill over satoru's hand, over his stomach, over your own chest, and your body clenches around him, gripping him tight.

that's all it takes.

satoru groans, low and guttural, and you feel him pulse inside you, you feel the hot rush of his seed filling you up. his hips stutter against yours, grinding deep, and he holds you there, buried to the hilt, as he empties himself into you.

it seems to go on forever, wave after wave, and by the time he finally stills, you're both trembling, both gasping for air, both completely undone.

satoru's forehead is pressed to yours, his breath warm and uneven against your lips. his hands are still on you — one on your hip, one cupping the back of your neck — and his thumbs are stroking small, absent circles against your skin. you can feel satoru’s heart pounding against yours, a frantic rhythm that matches your own, and you can feel the evidence of what you've just done leaking out of you, so warm and wet, dripping down onto his thighs.

"woah," satoru whispers, and his voice is soft, almost shy.

satoru smiles — not the sharp, camera-ready smile, but something smaller and way more vulnerable, something that crinkles the corners of his beautiful eyes and makes him look so freaking prepossessing.

for a long moment, neither of you moves.

satoru is still inside you, softening now but not gone, and the weight of him is warm and grounding in a way you didn't expect. his forehead is pressed against yours, and every time he exhales, his breath fans across your lips, smelling faintly of mint and something sweeter underneath.

your legs are still shakily wrapped around satoru’s waist, your arms still looped around his neck, and you're acutely aware of every single place where your bodies touch — his chest against yours, his hands splayed across your lower back, his thighs warm beneath your own.

the dressing room is quiet now, save for the sound of both of you breathing, slowly returning to something that resembles normal. somewhere behind you, the shattered glass from the setting spray bottle crunches softly as satoru shifts in the chair, and you make a mental note to apologize to whoever has to clean that up later.

but later feels impossibly far away right now.

right now, there's only this; satoru's heartbeat against your chest, the stickiness cooling on your stomach, the way his thumb is tracing small, absent patterns on your hip.

"hey," satoru says after a while, and his voice is still soft, still a little wonderstruck. "you're crying."

you slowly blink, and sure enough, your cheeks are damp. you hadn't even noticed.

"i'm not crying," you say, but it comes out thick, and satoru's smile widens, fond and a little teasing.

"okay," satoru says, easily, like the man is humoring you right now. "you're not crying. you're just... leaking from your eyes. very different thing."

you laugh despite yourself, a wet, shaky sound, and satoru's hands tighten on your hips, pulling you closer even though there's no space left to close.

satoru’s swollen lips find the corner of your mouth, then your cheek, then the spot just below your eye where a tear has escaped. he kisses it away, soft and deliberate, and the tenderness of the gesture makes your chest ache in a completely different way than before.

"you're so stupid," you whisper, but there's no heat in it; just exhaustion and something that feels terrifyingly close to love.

"mmh," satoru agrees, kissing your other cheek, then the tip of your nose, then your forehead. "your stupid, though. that's the very important part."

he keeps kissing you — little pecks, soft and unhurried, scattered across your face like he's trying to memorize the topography of you; the corner of your mouth, your jaw, the spot behind your ear that makes you shiver. none of these kisses are demanding or hungry. they're just so... gentle. reverent, almost. like satoru is trying to tell you something he doesn't have the words for yet.

you let him.

you sit there in his lap, still connected in the most intimate way possible, and you let satoru cover your face with soft, sweet kisses until your tears have dried and your breathing has evened out and the trembling in your limbs has finally completely stopped.

"we're a complete mess," you observe eventually, looking down at both of you.

and it's true — satoru's chest is streaked with your release, and there's a smudge of ruined highlighter on his collarbone, and his white hair looks like someone stuck a finger in an electrical socket. you're not much better; your sweater is bunched around your armpits, your jeans are somewhere on the floor, and you can feel satoru's release leaking out of you, warm and slick against your thighs.

satoru follows your gaze and snorts.

"yeah. a hot mess, though. important distinction."

he shifts beneath you, and you both wince slightly as his softening cock slips out of you. the sudden emptiness makes you feel strangely hollow, and you can't quite suppress the small, unhappy sound that escapes your throat.

satoru notices, and his hands immediately start rubbing slow circles on your lower back.

"i know," he murmurs. "i know, baby. hold on. let me take care of you, okay? just stay there. don't move."

as if you could move.

your legs feel like jelly, and your entire body is humming with a bone-deep exhaustion that makes the idea of standing up feel genuinely impossible. so you stay put, draped across satoru's lap like a very content, very ruined cat, while he looks around the dressing room with an expression of mild consternation.

"okay," satoru says slowly, cataloging his surroundings. "okay. towels. there should be towels somewhere. or wipes. or—no, wait, i have a thing."

he shifts you carefully, one arm wrapped securely around your waist to keep you from toppling off his lap, and leans over to rummage through the drawer of the makeup table. you cling to satoru instinctively, your face buried in the crook of his neck, and you feel him press a quick kiss to your hair before returning his attention to the drawer.

"haha!" satoru says triumphantly, and pulls out a package of makeup remover wipes.

they're not exactly designed for... this. but they're wet and they're clean, and right now, that's all that matters.

satoru pulls one out and immediately starts cleaning his own chest, wiping away the streaks of your release with efficient, practiced movements. but after a few seconds, he pauses, looks down at you, and seems to reconsider his priorities.

"actually," he says, balling up the used wipe and tossing it vaguely in the direction of the trash can (he misses). "you first. you're more important."

satoru pulls out a fresh wipe and gently, so gently, starts cleaning your stomach.

the wipe is cold against your overheated skin, and you flinch slightly at the contact. satoru notices immediately, his hand stilling, his eyes flicking up to your face.

"cold?" he asks.

"a little," you admit.

satoru makes a sympathetic noise and presses a kiss to your shoulder before continuing, but this time he's more careful, dabbing rather than wiping, letting the fabric warm against your skin before he moves it. he cleans the mess from your stomach first — your own release, tacky and cooling — and then works his way down, shifting you slightly so he can reach the mess between your thighs.

this part is more intimate than the sex was, somehow.

satoru is so careful, so focused, his brow furrowed in concentration as he cleans the evidence of their joining from your skin. his touch is gentle and clinical, but also tender, and every few seconds he pauses to press a kiss to your knee or your hip or the inside of your thigh.

"you're being so good," satoru murmurs, more to himself than to you. "so still. so patient."

you want to tell him that you're not being patient, you're just too tired to move, but the words won't come.

instead, you just watch him — you watch the way satoru’s long fingers move, you watch the way his lips twitch into a small smile every time you shiver, you watch the way his eyes soften every time they meet yours.

when he's finished cleaning you, satoru carefully sets the wipe aside and reaches for another one.

this time, satoru cleans himself — his thighs, his stomach, the softening curve of his cock — with quick efficient movements. but even then, satoru keeps one hand on you, a steady warmth against your hip, like he's afraid you'll disappear if he lets go completely.

"okay," satoru says when he's done, surveying his work. "not my best cleanup, but it'll do until we can get you home and into an actual shower."

home. satoru said home. like it's a given that you're going home together. like there's no question of you leaving, of this being a one-time thing.

your heart does something complicated in your chest.

satoru must see something shift in your expression, because his teasing smile fades into something softer, more uncertain. his hands come up to cup your face, his thumbs stroking along your cheekbones, and he tilts your head up so he can look you directly in the eyes.

"hey," satoru says quietly. "talk to me. what's going on in that pretty head of yours?"

you swallow hard.

"you said home."

satoru blinks. "yeah. my place. i mean, unless you want to go to yours? but my bed is bigger, and i have that fancy shower with the multiple heads, and—"

"no, i mean—" you pause, trying to find the words. "you said home like it was obvious. like i'm coming with you."

satoru stares at you for a long moment, and then, slowly, incredulously, he laughs.

"baby," he says, and the word is so fond it almost hurts. "baby, i just spent the better part of an hour making love to you on my makeup table and then on my chair. i've been in love with you for years. where else would you be going?"

you open your mouth, close it, and open it again.

"wait," you say. "in love with me? for years?"

satoru's expression shifts into something almost shy, which is a look you've never seen on him since he was a teenagers. his ears go pink, and he ducks his head slightly, his thumbs still stroking your cheeks.

"yeah," he admits, his voice smaller than you've ever heard it. "i know. it's pathetic. i'm pathetic. i've had photo shoots in paris and milan and new york, and all i could think about was coming back to tokyo so i could sit in your chair and have you touch my face. i've turned down other makeup artists — good ones — because no one else's hands feel like yours. no one else looks at me like i'm just a person instead of... instead of whatever the world thinks i am."

your throat feels tight. "satoru—"

"please, let me finish," he says softly, and there's something vulnerable in his voice, something raw and unguarded. "i'm in love with you. i have been for so long i don't remember what it felt like before. and i know this is fast, and i know we just—i mean, we literally just—but i couldn't let you leave this room without knowing. i couldn't go back to pretending that you're just my makeup artist, that i don't spend every second you're near me trying not to stare at your mouth."

you're crying again. you didn't realize it, but you're crying, and satoru is wiping your tears away with his thumbs, his expression a mix of concern and tenderness.

"hey," he says, his voice gentle. "hey, it's okay. you don't have to say it back. i just needed you to know."

"you're an idiot," you manage, your voice cracking. "you're such an idiot, satoru."

his smile wavers slightly.

"that's... not the reaction i was hoping for, but okay."

"no, i mean—" you grab his wrists, holding his hands against your face. "i thought you were straight. i thought you were straight this whole time. i've been doing your makeup for years and i never—i didn't let myself think about you that way because i assumed you weren't—"

satoru's expression shifts from vulnerable to bewildered to absolutely incredulous in the span of about two seconds.

"you thought i was straight?" he repeats, his voice climbing an octave. "you thought i was straight?"

"you've never said otherwise!" you protest. "you've had girlfriends before! there were magazine covers with models hanging off you!"

"those were for publicity!" satoru's hands drop from your face to gesture wildly, narrowly missing your head. "those were contracts! do you know how many times i've tried to ask you out? how many hints i've dropped? i sent you a meme of two guys holding hands with the caption 'us' and you sent back a thumbs up! a thumbs up!"

"i thought you were joking!"

"i literally bought you flowers once! roses! red roses!"

"you said they were from a brand deal!"

"they were not from a brand deal!" satoru looks genuinely aggrieved now, his mouth hanging open. "i went to a florist and everything. i stood there for twenty minutes trying to pick out the perfect bouquet. the florist asked if they were for my girlfriend and i said no, for a boy i've been in love with for years, and she literally gave me a discount because she felt bad for me!"

you stare at him. satoru stares back, chest heaving slightly, his hair a complete disaster and his face still flushed from everything that just happened.

"you're serious," you say slowly.

"i have never been more serious about anything in my entire life," satoru says, and his voice cracks on the last word. "i am so serious it's embarrassing. i am so serious that ijichi knows. my manager knows i'm in love with you, and he's never even met you properly. he just knows because i won't shut up about you. because i literally cannot shut up about you."

you don't know what to say.

your brain feels like it's short-circuited, trying to reconcile the satoru in front of you — rumpled and wrecked and so painfully earnest — with the satoru you've known for long years, the one who always seemed untouchable, unattainable, fundamentally out of your league.

"i thought you were just being nice," you finally say, and your voice is small. "i thought you were just... friendly. models are friendly. it's part of the job."

satoru makes a sound that's somewhere between a laugh and a groan, and he pulls you forward, wrapping his arms around you and burying his face in your neck.

"i am not that good of an actor," satoru says, muffled against your skin. "i am literally the worst actor. have you seen my commercials? i'm terrible. the only reason i book jobs is because of my face. my face and my absolute inability to pretend i don't want to climb you like a tree every time you walk into the room."

you laugh despite yourself, your hands coming up to card through his messy white hair.

"you're so dramatic."

"i'm in love," he corrects, pulling back just enough to look at you. his eyes are so blue, even now. "there's a difference."

something warm blooms in your chest, something that feels like hope and terror and joy all tangled together.

"i'm in love with you too," you admit, and the words come out shaky but true. "i didn't know i was. or maybe i did and i just wouldn't let myself think about it. but i am. i'm in love with you, you ridiculous, beautiful, emotionally constipated man."

satoru's smile is blinding. he kisses you again, soft and sweet, and when he pulls back, his eyes are suspiciously bright.

"say it again," he whispers.

"i'm in love with you."

"again."

"you're going to get insufferable, aren't you?"

"absolutely," satoru says, grinning. "i'm going to be the most insufferable person you've ever met. i'm going to tell everyone. i'm going to post about it on instagram. i'm going to—"

whatever else satoru was going to say is interrupted by a sharp knock on the door.

both of you freeze.

"gojo-san?" ijichi's voice comes through the door, muffled but unmistakable. "you need to be on set in five minutes. the photographer is asking for you."

your eyes meet satoru's. his eyes meet yours.

and then, simultaneously, the both of you look down at yourselves — at satoru's ruined makeup and disastrous hair and the love bites blooming on his neck, at your own disheveled state and the fact that you're still half-naked in his lap, at the shattered glass on the floor and the makeup wipes scattered across the table.

"oh no," you whisper.

"oh no," satoru agrees, and then, because he's gojo satoru, he starts laughing.

and it's not a quiet laugh — it's loud and slightly hysterical, the kind of laugh that comes from sheer overwhelming absurdity, and despite the panic rapidly rising in your chest, you find yourself laughing too.

"five minutes?" you hiss, scrambling off his lap.

your legs nearly give out, and satoru has to catch you, one arm around your waist, still laughing.

"five minutes," he confirms, and there's absolutely no urgency in his voice whatsoever. "ijichi, tell them ten!"

"gojo-san, i really don't think—"

"fifteen!" satoru calls, already reaching for your jeans and tossing them at you. "you can simply tell them there was a wardrobe malfunction!"

"there was no wardrobe—" ijichi starts, but satoru has already turned back to you, his expression torn between pure panic and giddy joy.

"okay," satoru says, grabbing a makeup wipe and scrubbing at his own face with absolutely no technique. "okay, okay, okay. we can fix this. we can totally fix this. i've looked worse. probably. maybe."

you pull your jeans on with shaking hands, wincing at the tenderness between your legs.

"your hair looks like you've been electrocuted."

"charming," satoru shoots back, trying to flatten it with his palms. it immediately springs back up. "your neck looks like i tried to eat you."

your hand flies to your throat, and sure enough, you can feel the raised marks of satoru's hungry mouth, the slight tackiness of dried saliva.

"oh my god."

"here." satoru tosses you a bottle of concealer — the expensive kind, the one that's supposed to cover anything. "do your magic. you're the professional."

you catch it easily, and for a little second, you just stand there, looking at him.

satoru in all his disaster glory; makeup smeared, hair wild, lipstick trace around his mouth, shirt still missing, chest still slightly damp from the wipes. he looks like he just got hit by a truck made of sex, and you're supposed to make him camera-ready in less than fifteen minutes.

"i hate you," you say, but you're smiling.

satoru grins back, bright and beautiful and so full of love it makes your chest ache.

"no you don't."

and he's right, you don't.

you cross the room to him, pull his head down, and kiss him one more time — quick, fierce, a promise — before you grab your brushes and get to work.

outside the door, ijichi sighs heavily and starts making calls to stall the photographer.

somewhere in the distance, a production assistant is probably having a panic attack.

but in the private dressing room, with satoru's hands on your hips and his eyes on your face and the remnants of your love still cooling on your skin, none of that matters.

you have fifteen minutes.

and then, after that, you have forever.

his whole body is trembling beneath your hand, which drags itself up and down his dick at an unbelievably sluggish pace. he’s muttering strings of incomprehensible swears: a little breathless, chest heaving with every rough breath.

and the teary eyes on top of all that—jesus christ. you could get off just by listening to his cries.

“i thought you said this was a piece of cake, leon?” your eyes search for his, looking past the sweaty blonde strands of hair sticking to his forehead.

he lets out an unconvincing scoff. “fh-fuck you,” he gasps, a sorry excuse for a smirk curling his lips. “‘s already humiliating enough…”

you tut. “if you keep talking like that, you won’t ever be able to come on my watch.”

when he doesn’t answer, you rub your thumb a little firmer against his tip—there’s pre all over your hand, and he’s so sensitive now, he nearly jumps.

“hah- sorry, fuck, i’m sorry,” he says, while neediness bleeds from him—it’s cute, really. the fact that he’s still trying to keep a smidge of his decency, even as teardrops pool in his eyes and his thighs tremble like he’s just had 10 consecutive leg days. actually, you don’t think even that could make him this big of a mess—only you.

you give a chuckle—cruel, at least to leon’s ears—and pump his cock faster by a hairsbreadth. “i could do this all day, you know. the question is whether you’d be able to handle it.”

he turns his head to the side, buried in the inside of his elbow, giving a whimper that sounds vaguely like a no.

“you can’t do it? you can’t even try for me?”

his breath quivers with each exhale. “wanna cum, please…“

it’s almost pitiful.

“you think you’ve tried hard enough?” oh, but teasing him is just too fun, especially when he squirms and you know that nobody else has seen him like this before.

“god, i— i’ve been so good,” he sobs, “pleasepleaseplease let me—“

you feel as if you’re in seventh heaven.

he’s begging, pleading without you even ordering him to. he’s offering himself up to you, throughly responsive—pathetically so. you can’t help but give him a little reward.

“oh-“ his jaw drops open a margin, as you pick up the pace. “more, please, shit—!”

his fists ball up tighter when you lean down, breath teasing at his tip. “just like that, use your words, baby.”

it’s the drag of your wet tongue on the slit that makes him stutter over your name; hips jolting despite himself. a fat tear rolls down his face, and then another, and another—

his voice is shaking in the most tempting way when he warns you: “gonna cum, f-fuck..”

you know the constellation of his moles on the skin of his thighs from memory, and the way they twitch with aching need is something you’ll work to remember too.

you take your mouth off of his dick, stroking him with full intent. “come for me, leon.”

he throws his head back, cuffed hands grabbing at the headboard—and you notice, he’s mouthing something. it’s barely a whisper.

“th-thank you, thank you—“

oh.

“thank you, fuck—“

oh.

he finishes with something between a groan and a sob, loud as much as obscene—spilling all over your fingers and his abs. the tears continue to fall, and his nose is slightly runny. an absolute mess—but the way he worshipped you under his breath was heavenly.

in the aftermath, he’s completely still long enough to worry you.

“leon? you there?” you ask, even as you want to bring your messy fingers to your mouth and lick them clean.

he takes a slow breath in, voice rough: “yeah.”

“was that fine?”

“fine?” it made him lose consciousness for a second, he was sure. but…

“it was great,” is what comes out.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

downright icky and disgusting... seems like the perfect way to punish an asshole like ogata, especially when he gets too fuckin mouthy. vigorously fingering the oh-so asshole-ish sniper who deserves anything but such niceties ; pinned against a tree and creaming against your palm ,,,

curling your digits, pumping in and out. "needy fuckin slut,,," - his fingers digging into your shoulders as he bucks into ur hand despite himself ,,,  "you're the one th-at dragged me out here..." he grinds, gearing up to sink his teeth in ur shoulder,, "pathetic." he snarked. mouthy. mouthy. mouthy. so combative!

i'm doing you a favor — this the way you repay me? scoffing at his nasty tone. what's new though,,,? you pull your digits free from his slick cunt that tighten as if to keep you from doing so. he huffs softly at the loss of contact,,, fidgeting restlessly -

"don't take that tone with me," wet skin against wet skin. smack ! ogata hisses harshly, sucking in a sharp breath - "fucking brat. you wanna say that again?" pulling ur hand away,,, wiping it off on his shirt, just to abuse his poor pulsing cunt some more...

he grunts softly, shifting against your pinning hold... gone all rigid with surprise,,, even more so with himself when his hips chase your hand - to buck you off or to hump your hand? - huffing as he struggles against you when you repeat the action,,, more entranced with the wet noise of your hand against his pussy. splattering his juices all over the place... gross, ogata

"ohh, you liked that huh?" vigorously gliding your palm along his folds - pulling back and smacking his cunt. overflowing from his cute,, puffy folds you've spread open,, squirting over your hand... leaking like a broken faucet... "i can tell." nothing gets passed you, he wants to bark,,, but he can't focus. fingering his cock, giving him whiplash the way your fingers gently circle his cunt ,,, pulsing in retaliation, grinding into your touch with a soft moan,,,

all cute and red in the face. panting harsh as he presses his forehead against your shoulder,,, "shh,,, hush, boy," fingers dipping and curling while the heel of your palm grinds against his engorged cock. yeah bet you wanna be nice now, huh!

"getting your uniform dirty, soldier... what's the matter with you?" you tease the sniper,,, ;; grappling onto you needily, with most pitiful little noises escaping his lips... didn't think he was capable of such pathetic whines - as he bucks into your hand, chasing the sting - fuck-mmfgh... no apologies though. notably quiets down though?

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

so overwhelming for him... being eaten out of his mind. buried between his muscular thighs and indulging in him as though he's your last meal... as he deserves, for being such a good boy. so compliant... not even talking back once. can you believe it? you just had to reward that good behavior ;;

– his thighs can really do some damage. they are. muscular,,, closing around your head and suffocating you in his cunt you're licking at so dutifully - "stay still, otonoshin,,," you warned carefully, blowing harsh on his little cock ,,, he whines, and slowly opens up. there we go.

needy boy,,, can't even hear you. going on pure instinct. he does it again ; you're gonna need to reprimand him... but it's so cute. he's so cute. lieutenant koito ,, too deep into the ecstasy of your tongue on his cock ,,, inside him...

just the thought and the feeling of your spit mixing with his fluids you're lapping at, keeping him spread open juat so you can suck and kiss, leaving no area unexplored - has him fidgeting in anticipation. trying so hard to keep himself from bucking and grinding his cunt in ur face ,,,

but,,, pretty boy can't help but shiver in pleasure with all that you're giving him,,, thighs tensing, fighting against your hands pinning them open,,, you sigh softly against his fold; deliberately on his overtly sensitive cock - "sorry...!" he cries out, panicked at you pulling away from his cunt,,, "m'sorryy, please..." don't leave me... you still have to make me cum for a fourth time...!!

greedy, greedy. tis your own fault for spoiling him, you suppose... pulling up, cupping his flushed cheek with one hand; he tilts into your palm needily - "shh, it's okay..." you coo,,, before connecting the flat of your palm with his sopping wet cunt with a resounding wet slap. he gasps, jerking underneath you - the sting nearly unbearable if not for the white hot pleasure that follows,,,

he latches onto you,, whimpering softly as his thighs tremble. legs spread,,, gasping for air as he writhes, squirming for more - "stay still, otonoshin..." he keeps trembling. you know he can't help it. maybe. but you're meeeean... smack !!

whiny... the start of a little sob escaping his lips ,,, in pleasure; no complaints. but... shrieky little squeaks of apologies - bleeding into satsuma as you've broken him beyond comprehension as you dive your fingers back into his cunt - pulling out just as quick and sucessfully making him squirt. a steady stream almost, as he jerks in your arms, panting hard,,, nearly spent. still has a few rounds left in him. resilient boy!

Being his assistant for five years, it was almost impossible not to notice him. You noticed everything.

The way he walks into a room the confidence in his voice during meetings.

The way he leans back in his chair his long legs stretched out as if the entire company exists just to orbit around him. And his eyes.

Those bright eyes that somehow always catch yours from across the room.

You hate how easily he does it.

Because every single time he looks at you like that, you remember one very important thing.

You're attracted to your boss.

Unfortunately.

You adjust the files in your hands as you walk into his office.

Gojo is already there, leaning back in his chair with his tie loosened, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His white hair is slightly messy like he’s been running his fingers through it all afternoon.

He glances up the moment you step inside.

“Ah, my favorite employee"

You place the documents on his desk. 

“You only have one assistant.”

“Still counts.”

You let out a sigh. 

“You called me here for something important, right?”

Gojo hums as he flips through the papers, but you can tell he isn’t really reading them. His attention drifts back to you, that familiar amused smile tugging at his lips.

“You look tired"

“I stayed late finishing the reports you asked for.”

“And yet" 

Gojo tilts his head slightly, carefully studying you.

“You’re still handsome..”

You choke on your own breath.

“Sir–”

“Satoru”

Gojo corrects immediately with a pout.

You pinch the bridge of your nose, groaning.

“We’re at work.”

Hearing your firm voice Gojo just shrugged.

“So? You’ve known me for five years.”

Yes.

Five years of this.

Yet 2 years of pretending your heart doesn’t jump whenever he casually throws an arm around your shoulders after work.

Inside the company building, both of you are strictly professional.

You manage his schedule, attend meetings with him, and help maintain the company’s reputation. 

But the moment the clock hits six,

everything changes, outside the office, Gojo becomes an entirely different person.

The same man who dominates meetings now drapes himself over you like an oversized cat.

The same boss who terrifies other executives casually drags you to late night oden shops.

He even attended your wedding 3 years ago, you remember that day clearly.

Your fingers unconsciously twist the ring on your hand now.

The small band feels heavier than it should.

Then Gojo notices.

Of course he does.

The worst part is that he probably already knows.

You’ve spent two years holding yourself back.

Because if that ring wasn’t on your finger…god.

You would have already dragged him into the nearest empty room and–

You quickly stop that train of thought.

Gojo suddenly stands from his chair.

You stiffen when he walks around the desk and stops directly in front of you.

'So tall...'

You have to tilt your head slightly to meet his gaze.

Gojo smirked down his eyes turning crescent.

“Still staring at me like that" 

“Like what?”

“Like you want something.”

Your heartbeat stutters.

“You’re imagining things.”

Gojo let out a deep chuckle.

“Maybe"

He finished but Gojo didn't move away.

Instead, his eyes flick down to the ring on your finger again before returning to your face.

For a moment, something dark passes through his expression.

“Hey.”

You raised your brow at him.

“Yeah?”

There’s a small smile on his face when you glance back.

“Oden after work?”

You stare at him, lips pressed tightly.

“You ask me that every week.”

“And you still come every time.”

Then you sigh.

“…Fine.”

Gojo’s grin widens.

“See? Five years and you still can’t resist me.”

You roll your eyes and walk out of the office before he can see the faint heat rising to your face.

Behind you, Gojo leans against his desk, quietly watching the door you just walked through.

His gaze drifted down once more.

“Five years" 

--------------------

The restaurant was nearly empty by the time the two of you arrived.

A small oden shop tucked between narrow streets, the kind that stayed open late for office workers who missed dinner hours. 

Gojo slipped into the booth first, stretching his long legs under the table with a relieved sigh.

“Finally, I thought the old man was going to close before we got here.”

You loosened your tie as you sat across from him. 

“You were the one who kept talking to that client for an extra thirty minutes.”

“That’s called networking.”

“That’s called you showing off.”

A moment later two mugs of cold beer were placed on the table along with small plates of grilled meat and side dishes.

The condensation rolled down the glass as you picked it up.

Gojo raised his mug.

“To survive another day with incompetent executives.”

You clinked your mug against his. 

“I’ll drink that.”

The cold beer went down smoothly, easing the tension sitting on your shoulders.

For a while the two of you simply ate and drank, the comfortable silence of long familiarity settling between you.

Then Gojo suddenly looked at his watch, his brows lifted slightly.

“You know, it’s already pretty late.”

You hummed, chewing another bite of grilled chicken.

Gojo rested his chin in his palm, watching you.

“Your wife won’t be worried?”

You shrugged without much thought.

“We should just eat.”

Gojo blinked.

“…That’s it?”

You lifted your beer again. 

“What, you want me to run home?”

He chuckled under his breath.

“Cold.”

The conversation drifted again as another round of drinks arrived.

By the second mug, the warmth of alcohol started settling in your chest.

Gojo swirled the beer in his glass before speaking again.

“So, how’s married life?"

You immediately groaned.

Hearing that Gojo burst out laughing.

“That bad?”

“It’s...yeah"

“Mhm."

You leaned back, rubbing your face tiredly.

Gojo's aware of how your marriage has been doing, and it's not doing well. 

Falling out of love, and your wife being infertile. It will ruin the whole mood, even during sex.

You two had been trying for a baby even forcing the two of you to have sex just a week ago.

Divorce isn’t really an option either, In Japan, being divorced ruins your reputation. Your wife's family would be embarrassed. And yours too.

Gojo lifted his mug and took a slow drink.

The cold glass pressed against his lips, his eyes half-lidded as he swallowed.

But he wasn’t looking at the beer.

He was looking at you.

Something inside him had changed the moment you said the words.

He set the mug down slowly.

For three years, Gojo had watched you from across desks, across meeting rooms, across crowded company halls.

Always just a little out of reach.

Because of that ring.

Because of that invisible wall.

But now…

You sat across from him with your collar loosened, your tie slightly crooked, shoulders relaxed in a way he rarely saw at the office.

Gojo had never liked your wife.

Not even from the beginning.

The two of you sat there for a while longer, finishing the food and beer.

By the time the two of you stepped out of the izakaya, the streets were mostly quiet.

Both of you had walked to where Gojo parked his car. 

You were very drunk, that much was obvious.

Your steps weren’t exactly straight, and your mind felt heavy and hazy, like everything around you was slightly delayed.

Gojo walked beside you, hands in his pockets. His face was lightly flushed from the alcohol, but he was walking fine.

He had a higher tolerance than you, which meant he was very aware of how drunk you were.

“You good?” 

He asked, glancing sideways towards your form.

“Mm"

You suddenly stopped walking. Gojo halted beside you.

“What?”

You pointed lazily across the street.

“Convenience store.”

“And?”

“Cigarettes.”

Gojo sighed through a small laugh. 

“Of course.”

A moment later the two of you stepped inside the brightly lit store. 

Gojo leaned casually against a shelf while you moved toward the counter area.

You grabbed a pack of cigarettes, then you paused.

Gojo watched from behind as you stared at the small display near the register.

Your drunk brain seemed to process something then your hand reached out.

Gojo eyes squinted, but he froze on his spot

Wait.

You picked up a box of condoms.

Gojo’s brain took a second to catch up, he walked over to you immediately.

“Hey.”

You turned slightly, still looking dazed.

Gojo pointed at the box in your hand.

“Those for your wife?”

You stared at him blankly, blinking as if processing his words.

Gojo frowned slightly.

“…Or a girlfriend?”

The question slipped out before he could stop himself.

You blinked again.

Your eyes looked unfocused the alcohol dulling you.

Then suddenly you tilted your head.

Your gaze slowly drifted up and down Gojo’s tall figure.

Gojo felt something excitement crawl up his spine.

You stepped a little closer, squinting at him like you were studying something complicated. 

Then you spoke.

“Hey.”

Your voice was slow and slurred.

You lifted the condom box close to your cheek, face flushed and your eyes were unfocused.

“…What’s your size, Satoru?”

“...”

For a moment Gojo’s brain completely stopped working.

Silence filled the convenience store.

Before Gojo broke it with a seductive smirk.

"Want to find out?"

--------------------

“Ahn–! Ngh… so big!”

A raw, thick cock plunged deep inside you, pressing insistently against your prostate.

“Hngh!”

Your eyes rolled back almost instantly as the tip brushed that sensitive spot again, sending sharp waves of electricity through your entire body. 

Your limbs trembled, your hips stuttering as pleasure wracked through you.

Fowp fwop!

Your hips didn’t stop, they kept moving, greedily taking him in, swallowing his cock over and over again.

The condoms you had bought earlier had already torn from his size and now discarded somewhere on the floor, completely useless.

Below you, the man you were riding, Gojo Satoru, had his face flushed, the corners of his eyes damp with forming tears. Yet he was smirking, utterly pleased.

Finally, he had you like this bouncing helplessly on his cock.

Flap! Flap!

The love hotel room reeked of sex, filled with the wet sounds of skin slapping against skin, your sweaty bodies grinding together without restraint.

Gojo’s hands squeezed your thighs tightly, fingers digging into your skin as your hole clenched around him. 

A soft whimper escaped his lips at your tightness before he leaned closer, voice low and breathless.

“Hnn Y/N you feel so good…”

You nodded dumbly, completely lost, your mind hazy from the overwhelming sensation.

“Toru! Mhm! Good ahhn! More!”

Flop! Flop!

You lowered yourself further, your chest pressing against his, your tongue lolling out slightly as you chased his lips, desperate.

“P-please… kiss me Toru♡”

Your hot breath fanned across his face, your needy expression so close, and something inside Gojo snapped.

In one swift motion, he flipped you onto your back. Now he hovered above you, a dark smirk curling on his lips. 

He pushed his hair back, revealing blown out eyes and a flushed face filled with something far more intense.

“I hope your wife doesn’t mind me breaking you.”

You let out a needy whine when his hips stilled, the sudden lack of movement making you ache.

“I don’t care I wan you m-move!”

Gojo lowered his head and started to move his hips.

Fwop fwop!

The same electrifying feeling returned, making you arch your back. The pleasure overwhelmed your body, pushing you closer and closer to your orgasm.

“Shit–nhhn! Good more, Toru!”

FWOP FWOP!

Hearing your moans and whines, Gojo’s hips rutted harder against you.

Every time the leaking tip brushed your abused prostate, your toes curled in satisfaction.

“Y/N I love it so good…”

Just a little more… he's so close.

Just one more kiss to your lips.

One more squeeze from your hips.

And one more bite to your sensitive neck–

and then Gojo would finally–

“Cumming!”

Gojo’s tip thrust harshly into the deepest part inside you.

“Too deep–! Toru!!”

As you arched your back, you felt his cock bulge, warmth spreading as he released inside you.

The way it hit the deepest part of you made your body jolt, pleasure spilling over as you came, your stomach messily coated with your semen.

Your body twitched from the overwhelming sensation, both inside you and along your cock.

“Huff huff…”

Both of you tried to catch your breath.

As your senses slowly returned, you lifted yourself up on your elbows.

Gojo leaned in to look at you.

Gulp.

You swallowed hard when you saw the hearts in his pupils and drool trailing down his mouth.

You opened your mouth to speak.

“Wanna suck you off”

The way you whimpered, looking at him with pleading, needy eyes.

How could he possibly say no to that?

Gojo nodded just as dumbly before he lay down on the bed, excitement rushing through his veins, making him hard again.

But you did something unexpected.

“Huh? hmff!”

You buried your ass in his face.

A chuckle escaped you before you spoke,

“Better clean it for me, sir.”

Gojo wasn’t complaining he was in heaven.

He had always fantasized about this, about eating you out, about having you like this.

and now it was finally happening.

He could die right here, between your thighs, and he wouldn’t mind at all.

As he started, teasing your rim with slow, deliberate movements with his tounge, you glanced back at his dick.

And oh.

It was big. Thick. Leaking pre, twitching just from the taste of you.

You drooled at the sight, breathing heavily like a starving man who had finally found food after days of hunger.

It was so big… maybe taking him like this could satisfy your craving for a week.

Without another thought, you pushed forward and took him into your mouth.

You tried to deepthroat him.

It was a struggle at first his size was overwhelming, forcing soft, muffled moans from your throat as your lips stretched around him.

“Mhmm…”

The sensation shot straight to Gojo’s brain, making his hips buck instinctively into your mouth.

Tears formed in your eyes as he hit the back of your throat again and again.

‘So thick…’

Gojo’s tongue continued working against you, licking, tasting, but his focus was slipping.

Because your mouth was working on him just as relentlessly.

‘Unfair, so unfair’

How could he concentrate when your tongue kept lapping at him like that?

When your throat tightened around his dick.

When you gagged on his thickness, your body trembling every time the tip pressed deep into your throat.

If he could only see your face right now.

It was a good thing he had started recording everything on his phone.

The camera lens glinted, capturing every bit of debauchery happening in the love hotel.

And just the thought of it, Gojo couldn’t hold back anymore.

His hips stuttered as he let out another load.

“Ngh~ mmm!! ♡♡”

Gojo whimpered, his eyes rolling back from the overwhelming pleasure.

Thick cum spurted from his tip, forcing you to swallow everything.

You finished by cleaning him thoroughly, your tongue tracing along his length until he was spotless.

Your hazy eyes then focused on the phone camera in front of you.

A smirk tugged at your lips as you grabbed Gojo’s softened cock only for it to harden again at your touch.

The head of his cock brushed against your cheek as you spoke breathlessly,

“Mine, this big dick is mine♡”

--------------------

When you returned home the next day, something just as surprising from fucking your boss happened 

“I’m pregnant.”

Everything around you stops.

Your breath catches and your mind going blank for a split second before everything crashes back all at once.

“…What?”

“I’m pregnant” 

Your wife repeats, laughing softly with her eyes glistening. 

“You’re going to be a dad.”

Immediately, you pull her into an embrace, tighter this time, like if you hold on hard enough, everything else will disappear.

“I’ll do better” 

You don’t say at what.

You don’t need to.

Because in your mind, it’s already decided.

You’ll be a good husband.

A good father.

It was like the word activated something in his brain, a wide smile on his face as he rolled onto his back. “Yay…” he trailed off, content. “I wish though…” he pressed his face back up against the bars. “I wish I could cuddle with you. You’re all soft.”

“Just wait until after naptime, then we can do whatever.”

Silence lingered, and you attempted to sleep once more, curling up under your blankets. You felt yourself start to doze off, until-

“Psssssssst.”

You whipped your head around. “What?”

“What do you like to do when you’re not reading?”

“…I don’t know, sleep?”

“Oh. Okay.” He kept staring at you, as if expecting you to say something else. “Like, now?”

“No, I’m laying here with my eyes closed for fun.”

“…really?”

“No, I’m trying to sleep. You should probably do the same.”

“But I’m not tired.”

“Well…” you rolled over, your back facing him as your tail danced from side to side. “Find someone else to bother then for a bit. I’m sleeping.”

Somehow, he managed to leave you alone. When you woke up, he was still in his cage, scanning the room diligently.

“What are you doing?” You mumbled as you sat up.

“I’m protecting you,” he smiled, attendants slowly coming around to unlock the cages.

Once you both were free, he moved back over to you, nuzzling his face in your neck. “Can we cuddle together now?” He asked, tail wagging. “Please”

You sighed; it was only fair to give him some attention after all… that. “Sure. But I don’t wanna get in trouble for staying in here, let’s find our spot.”

The window was once again, unclaimed. Honestly? You were worried someone sooner or later would find out about the charm of its location, and steal it from you. However, it seemed most of the other hybrids had gathered by a different window, one towards the front of the room.

Your ears twitched as you tried to listen in on what they were discussing.

“It’s not even raining anymore.”

“We don’t have to go in the mud.”

“It’s not cold, either.”

“Yeah, but there’s always someone who goes in the mud anyways, and ruins it for everyone else. That’s why they make everyone stay inside when it rains.”

The schedule answered your next question; now was supposed to be outdoor playtime, but it appeared the weather didn’t permit it, everyone relegated to more indoor playtime. Frankly, you were overjoyed at this revelation.

“Aww…” the puppy sighed, wistfully staring out the window as you got comfortable. “I wanna go roll around in the mud…” he lamented.

“I’ll tell you right now, you do that and cuddling is off the table.” You couldn’t fathom how someone could find such an activity to be pleasant.

“Okay…” he groaned, flopping down into your chest, his voice muffled by your breasts. “Do you ever play outside?”

You shook your head. “Nope.”

It was as if you had dropped a bomb on him. “What? Why?!”

“I’m an indoor cat, bud,” you responded nonchalantly, not even looking up from your reading. You had given up on trying to read to him, going back to the book you had started with.

“Why?”

“Because I’m allergic to the sun.”

He peered over your book, “really?”

“No, that was a joke.”

“Oh…well, what do you do by yourself then?”

You shrugged. “Read. TV. Play a game, plenty of things.” And scratch the couch, and the carpet, and the rug…you thought, keeping those hobbies to yourself.

“Huh…” he looked up at the ceiling, moving lower to sit between your legs. “I wanna go home.”

You set your book down, letting out a sigh as you started to play with his hair; the last thing you wanted was for him to start crying again. “Why?”

“I’m bored. And I miss my owners…but I need to get better at missing them. That’s why they put me here.”

“Wait, wait, wait. You have two owners?”

He nodded, “mmhmm. I have a daddy owner and a mommy owner. Sometimes, I get to sleep in their bed, and they hug me and kiss me,” he smiled, leaning into your touch. “And then they play with me, like how we played earlier.” He let out a dreamy sigh, clearly fantasizing the idea.

You resumed reading your book. “Lucky you.” Admittedly, you were a bit jealous. Your master played with you, that was for sure, but…he was kind of a dick.

“Yeah, they’re both so pretty, it’s so much nicer there than the shelter…” he trailed off. “But I’m bad at missing them. I got in trouble, and that’s why I’m here.”

“What’d you do?”

“Uh…” he sat up, sitting on your lap. “Do you know how the phone works?”

You shrugged, “sorta.” You had never used one, but you got the idea.

“Well, they both have jobs, and they told me to call them if I needed to, but…I called them too much…I just got nervous…their house is really big, and when I’m there by myself, it’s kinda scary!”

You cracked a small smile, visualizing him sitting next to the phone, calling one of his owners at the slightest sound.

“So that’s why I’m here. I’m uh…what was the word…” he snapped his fingers as he tried to remember it. “Code…co…”

“Codependent?”

“Yeah! That one. What about you? Whats your owner like?”

“Hmm…” you thought about how to describe your relationship with your owner. Well, no reason to sugarcoat anything.

“He’s an asshole,” you shrugged.

He looked as if you had just confessed to a murder, eyes wide in disbelief. “…what? Why?”

“He’s just kind of a dick.”

“Why? Does he hit you?”

“Oh, no, no, God, no.” You said with a nervous laugh.

“Cause they’re not supposed to do that, you know!”

“No, no, he just…” you trailed off. “He…well, let’s just say he has a weird way of showing affection. He can say mean things, but he’s usually just joking. But he lets me sleep in his bed, and he pets me for hours while we watch movies, and…”

Maybe you did miss your owner.

The puppy nodded his head as he listened. “Do you love him?”

“Eh…that’s a bit of a loaded question,” you said as you pet his hair.

“Why? I love everyone,” he sang, nuzzling against you. “Everyone is my friend, they just don’t know it yet!”

Spoken like a true puppy.

Even if his question was innocent, you found yourself pondering it for longer than you’d like to admit.

Soon enough, the day came to a close. Everyone gathered their things, waiting for their owners to arrive. The puppy’s tail wagged back and forth as he stared at the doorway, laser-focused.

You weren’t as obvious as he was, but…you were ready to go home. The day could’ve gone worse, sure, but nothing could top being in your own bed with a fuzzy blanket.

You watched as the puppy ran over to his owner; a bearded man with dark hair and clearly defined bags under his eyes, wearing hospital scrubs under a sweatshirt.

He looked exhausted.

Yet even so, his expression softened as his puppy excitedly ran towards him. The puppy was a few inches taller than his owner, but knelt down in front of him without question. His owner pet his head, eyes filled with prideful admiration towards his pup.

You couldn’t stare for long, interrupted by your owner calling your name.

“Over here, silly.”

You looked towards your left, and there he was.

You walked over to him, passing by the puppy and his owner along the way. His owner held his face, looking him over. “What happened to your nose, buddy?”

Oh shit. Oh no.

You walked just a little faster over to your owner.

He gave you a slight smile, patting you on the head; unlike your friend, your master seemed to tower over you. “Hey, you survived. Make any enemies?”

“We need to go. We need to go now.” You weren’t in the mood for jokes.

“Alright, alright, calm down. The thing said I had to like, sign you out or whatever, I don’t know where the hell I’m supposed to do that,” said your owner, looking around the room.

You watched from afar as the puppy explained something to his owner, whose happy expression had faded, an annoyed one taking its place. You couldn’t make out what they were saying, but eventually the puppy looked in your direction.

Then he pointed directly at you.

You tugged on your owner’s sleeve once more. “We need to go. Right now. Come on, we need to go!”

Your owner looked back at you, annoyed. “I already told you, I-”he paused, letting out a disappointed sigh; the look on your face made it easy to put the pieces together. “…what did you do?”

“Nothing, nothing,” you panicked. “It’s just, there might’ve been a misunderstanding…” you trailed off, trying to follow the puppy and his owner with your eyes as you peered over the crowd.

The puppy’s owner grabbed him by the hand, having what looked to be a heated conversation with two daycare attendants as he gestured towards the puppy’s face. The room began to thin out as your owner finally found the sign-out sheet, and you found yourself able to hear more and more of their conversation.

“Why didn’t anyone say something, or call me?” His owner protested. “How do you not know what happened?”

The puppy tried to get his attention by tugging on his sleeve, resting his head on his shoulder. “No no no, I do know what happened! It was just a … a for fun scratch!”

His owner looked exasperated, letting out a sigh as he faced the puppy. “No buddy, it’s right on your face. This is what I meant when I said you need to stand up for yourself.”

You walked ahead of your owner, hoping he’d get the hint. Yet as soon as you made it to the doorway, you quickly learned your owner was not on your side. He grabbed you by the collar, a disapproving look on his face as the puppy and his owner looked in your direction.

“Alright kitty, let’s get this over with.”

—————-

Embarrassment was an understatement.

You sat on the floor next to Callon. He seemed to be in much brighter spirits, wrapping his arms around you and relaxing on your shoulder. He might’ve even been asleep.

“Look man, I’m sorry.” Said your owner. “She uh…she can be a mean motherfucker sometimes,” he laughed. “If he pissed her off, then I don’t know what to tell you.”

I can’t tell if he’s defending me or not.

The puppy’s owner clearly wasn’t having it, his brow furrowed. “Then train her to not scratch people, maybe? You ever consider that? What the hell is wrong with you?”

“I don’t know, maybe you should teach your dog a thing or two about personal space? I mean, Jesus Christ,” he gestured over to both of you. “He’s practically humping her right now!”

He kinda was. You didn’t mind.

The comment was enough to make his owner hesitate. “Alright, maybe they just…don’t get along. Maybe we just keep them separated.”

The puppy’s ears perked up. “What? No! She’s my friend.”

“She scratched you-”

“I told you, it was an accident! But she was nice to me. No one else wanted to play with me, but she played with me!”

“Oh, how sweet,” said your owner. “Then that’s that, accidents happen, I’ll trim her claws-”

The puppy kept going. “She let me lay on her, and she read me a book, and we napped together, and then I had this dream that she was gonna be my mate.”

His owner looked petrified.

The puppy continued. “Then during nap-time, I got really hard, and I tried to hump my stuffie instead-”

Your face flushed red at the idea of him recounting the ordeal to your owner.

Someone. Anything. Please kill me so I don’t die of embarrassment. “Shut-up,” you hissed through gritted teeth.

Your owner looked as if he was about to burst out laughing, a hand covering his mouth. “No buddy, you keep going. What happened during nap-time?”

You shot him a dirty look; one that made it clear you’d take your frustrations out on the couch.

“I couldn’t help myself…” the puppy trailed off, a sheepish look on his face for only a second before he lost his sense of shame. “So I started to touch myself, but then I realized,” he started to slide down his pants, his cock hard against the fabric as he recounted the memory, “that it would actually fit through the cage, so I-”

“Okay buddy, let’s…” his owner quickly grabbed him by his waist, pulling his shorts back up. “Let’s not…let’s not do that. We don’t show strangers our puppy parts.”

“But then I fit it through the cage, and then we played, and it was really fun! And we got to cuddle afterwards, and she really soft…”

His owner let out another disappointed sigh, this one longer than the others as he held his face in his hands. “Well…”

Your owner shrugged, “I feel like the scratch is the least of our worries.”

“Yeah, just…alright, you know what, we’ll just…let bygones be bygones.” The puppy’s owner seemed to be smart enough to know keeping you separated would only make it worse; he had mated you once, it was inevitable he’d want to do it again. “Just…” he looked back to your owner. “Could you trim her claws, please?”

Uuuuuuuuuuuuugh.

“Yep. Well uh…sorry about that.” Despite his words, it was clear your owner still found the situation humorous. “I guess we’ll uh…see you tomorrow?”

—————-

The drive home was awkward. Well, for you at least.

“I mean, why’d he look kinda hung?” Your owner laughed as he drove you back home. “Like damn, I didn’t even know puppyboys could be that big.”

You stared out the window. You were already over this conversation.

“Oh come on,” he playfully nudged your shoulder. “Don’t be like that.”

You soon arrived back at home, never before so happy to see your owner’s apartment; it still felt strange to call the space your own, at times. You curled up onto one of the chairs, tired and ready for the day to be over.

“You know,” your owner approached, petting your head. “I do gotta ask.”

“What?”

“You like it? Did it feel good?” His voice was lower, no longer joking around. “I knew you were a whore, but getting a cute little puppyboy to fuck you? On the first day? That’s something else.”

God damn it. The tone of his voice, the way he scratched behind your ears, his hand moving lower across your back. You knew what he was playing at, and your body responded accordingly.

“I’m not sure I trust a puppyboy like that to fuck you properly.” His hand moved towards your legs, fingers running across your skin. “Why don’t you spread your legs for me, just to make sure he didn’t hurt you?”

You leaned back in the chair before hesitantly obeying his command. He slipped your panties off, your pussy getting wet from his words alone.

“Oh, kitty, what’s got you so worked up?” He asked, fake concern in his tone. “Thinking about earlier today? Your little rendezvous?”

“No…” truthfully, there were multiple ideas on your mind; although that was one of them.

“Maybe you’re thinking about what’s going to happen to that puppy. What his owner’s going to do to him,” said your owner as he sat down in front of you. “I think you’re like me,” he said as he brushed his thumb over your clit.

You bit your lip, sensitive to the touch. “…what do you mean?”

He dragged his tongue from the bottom to the top of your cunt, licking your clit. “I think you like being in control. Being in charge.” He continued, pressing his tongue inside.

You couldn’t help but grab his hair as he ate you out. The feeling of his tongue, the picture of the puppy getting punished; maybe he’d be spanked. Maybe he’d be fucked in the ass. Maybe he’d be tied up. There was no shortage of ideas rushing through your mind.

“I’d love to watch you take control of someone. Make him your bitch,” said your owner. He pushed a finger inside with ease, moving it back and forth. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

You nodded your head, breaths growing quicker as you failed to reply.

He let out a quiet laugh. “I figured you would. But I still own you, remember?” He slipped another finger inside, your eager cunt ready for more. “No matter who fucks you, cums in you, anything. This pussy belongs to me. Got it?”

You nodded once more. “Yes sir, I-”

He moved his fingers faster, the sounds of your wet cunt filling the room. “Say it. Who does this pussy belong to?”

“‘My-my pussy belongs to you, sir!” You felt him curl his fingers, pushing against your g-spot. He hadn’t even taken his cock out, and you were already about to cum.

“That’s right, good girl,” he cooed, dragging out each word. He continued to finger you, using his other hand to rub your clit. You felt yourself getting tighter, your hand squeezing his fingers as you got closer and closer to cumming.

Your head jolted back as you climaxed, your body shaking as he pulled his fingers out of you. You breathed heavily, looking up at him with weary eyes.

You were ready, that much was clear. Ready to be fucked, ready to be bred, your pussy still wanting more. It didn’t matter if you had one load inside you already, you wanted your owner, no, your master’s cock.

You spread your legs a little wider, wet cunt on display to tease him. You watched him eagerly, waiting to watch him pull out his cock.

Instead, he walked away. “I think you’ve gotten your fill for the day,” he smirked.

…asshole.

——————

The next day, the sun had come out. The grass was dry and the sky was clear: maybe you’d play outside today.

You walked inside, skimming the room for your friend, unable to find him. You set up in the same corner as yesterday; when he showed up, he found you quickly.

Unlike yesterday however, his movements today were slow, almost methodical, as if he was thinking out every step. He sat down beside you, holding his legs close to his chest and resting his head on his knees.

He looks so…sad.

He was quiet, looking down as his fluffy tail slowly swayed from side to side, dragging across the floor.

You weren’t sure what to say.

“…hey,” you mumbled, only trying to get his attention.

He looked up at you without lifting his head. His eyes were wide and wet, as if he’d been crying. “Hi…”

“You okay?”

He nodded. “It’s fine…I just…I got in trouble for yesterday. And I think I got you in trouble too.”

I mean, not really. Unless ruined orgasms count as getting in trouble.

“What happened?” You asked.

He looked from side to side, confirming no one was looking at the two of you, both mostly obscured by a cabinet in front of you. He pulled down his shorts, revealing a sky-blue colored chastity cage, keeping his soft cock in place.

It looked almost like one of your toys, shiny plastic reflecting against fluorescent lights. Your curiosity got the better of you, and you immediately touched it. It was a little cold, his balls heavy underneath.

He let out a quiet whimper before biting his lip. “I…I’m not supposed to touch it. They said I shouldn’t be playing with people I don’t know.” He looked up at you, unbothered by your poking and prodding. “But I told them I do know you. You’re my friend.”

On one hand, the puppy seemed incredibly easy to manipulate. On the other…you did feel kinda bad. “Well-”

“They took away my rabbit toy too.”

“Why?” You asked, still absentmindedly running your thumb over his balls.

“Because I kept humping it,” he sighed, resting his head on your shoulder. “But…it feels nice when you touch…” he trailed off. “Soft…”

You continued to lightly tap your fingers along his balls. It was kinda fun, honestly. Like swatting around one of your toys at home. You gave them a gentle squeeze, and he instantly covered his mouth, stifling a moan.

“Wait…can you…can you do that again? Please?”

Maybe your reading could wait.

Part 3

Heheheheheehheehehehe

Sorry all my writing is taking 72009999 bajillion years, I’m kinda burnt out creatively with all the stuff I’ve had to do for work, so we just. Yep. We doin puppyplay now. That’s all I got. Brain no work for bigger stories rn…