#RUNNING BACK TO YOU

“I-C-P,” she says, pouring you your third drink. “I’m Violent J, my girlfriend’s Shaggy… i’ll just show you later.”

you think you say something like, “cool,” but you can’t pay attention to anything after you spot him. he’s huge. long black robe that’s tattered around the edges, dirtied ghostface mask that completely covers his face, serrated knife with dried blood that you note looks more realistic than what you’re comfortable with, and an aura that makes you uneasy. he’s standing in front of you, but it’s almost like he’s standing over you by the shear build of him. you watch the girl, what’s her name again? whatever it is, she begins to walk away, grumbling about how the costume will be more recognizable once you see her girlfriend. the whole time you keep glancing back to the man in the ghostface costume, and despite his face being covered, it’s obvious that he’s staring at you. a icy gust fans over you, still feeling his gaze hot on you as you follow the girl.

that first encounter left you unsettled, but then it multiplies and you find him at every corner you turn. in front of the door to the bathrooms. standing in the shadows of the dance floor as you grind on some park random in a spiderman costume. on the patio of the backyard. and then the doorframe of your friend’s house as you leave. you can’t shake the scorching burn of paranoia as you walk down the dark and foggy street that makes you weary of every sound and twitch that echoes your feet quickly padding against the damp pavement. your vision feels delayed as houses seemingly speed by you, and you’re struggling to walk in a straight line, repeatedly veering off the sidewalk and onto someone’s grass. goosebumps riddle your bare legs as you break out more into a run, finally seeing your apartment complex come into view.

it’s all just wind in your ears, you tell yourself. no one is following you, you aren’t in danger. but still you can’t will yourself to keep your eyes forwards and glance behind you just to make sure you have nothing to worry about. and maybe it’s the alcohol—god you hope it’s the alcohol. because just as you’re about to enter the complex, in the corner of your eye, lingering in the shadows, you think you see that same figure, staring dead at you.

your room is on the third floor. adrenaline is pumping through your veins as you mash into the “three” elevator button

you’re in your room at last. shake hands secure you’re locks, and only after everything do you slump your head against your door in exaughstion.

“too slow.”

snapping your head up, you notice the same shadow, once again standing over you, and your heart drops. you make one last effort to escape, rapidly unlocking your door, but when you crack it open his hand slams against it so fast and strong, that your hand isn’t even around the handle anymore. there’s a moment that you think of screaming. a moment that is cut short by the sensation of cold metal meeting your throat. his knife is real—you get the message fast. tears stream down your face as your legs give out, and you’re falling to the floor. suddenly, his arm leaves the door and wraps you tightly, and you lose all hope. because by the strenght of his thick arms, and how easily just one can wrap all around you, you know there is no overpowering him.

“you put up a good fight.” the muffled voice is deep and taunting on the shell of your ear.

“a-are you gonna… kill me?”

he only laughs at that. it’s loud, obnoxious, and leaves you more scared that before.

he’s completely unhinged.

he doesn’t give you the closure of an explicit answer. you’re lifted off the ground, anchored between his arm and chest—both of which are firm and un— and throws you on your couch. you regret not spending that extra 250$ on the more plush one, cause the impact sends your back straight into the wooden support pillar, barely cushioned by your pillows. you wince.

“if that hurt you, i’m worried ill destroy you, sweetheart.”

and you’re convinced you’ll die here, on your couch, by some masked man on the night before halloween day. he approaches you slowly, and instinctively you kick roughly at his knee. he curses something crude, and for a split moment you’re running to your door, but a second later there’s and hand in your hair and you’re ripped back to him. you thrash, and cry, and kick, but his grip doesn’t falter. and there it is, that laugh again. he tips your head back, and his other arm traps you to him, and in your lower back you feel it.

the bastard is fucking hard.

“you’re gonna be more fun than i thought. pretty thing like you deserves to learn not to walk alone at night in such a,” he’s speaking into your neck, knife dipping between your skirt, cutting it until the fabric falls to the ground, completely ruined. “short thing.”

you’re entire body is shaking, and you have to pant to breathe because your nose is so full of snot. mascara is running down your face but he just moves his knife through every thread on you, until you’re completely bare below him.

“pretty little thing, ain’t ya?” he says to no one in particular.

you’re still wailing, and something about it seems to push him over the edge.

first it’s a hard slap to your cheek, then a firm hold.

a yell of “oh, shut the fuck up, it’s getting real old.”

he doesn’t let go until you compose yourself. chest still falling fast and rising faster, but your weeping is diminished to sobs and hiccups.

“why?”

“why what, doll?”

“why are you doing this?”

you didn’t say anything funny, and yet here he is laughing. again.

“what a fickle question. it’s quite simple, doll. it’s cause you’re pretty.”

you can feel your brows nearly touch. the blood rushes from your face for what feels like the umpteenth and your sobs get a bit louder. “then, why hurt me?”

"yeah? been missing me hunny?" he pouts, eyes closed, making mwah noises to you.

you scoff, but mush his face between your hands and plant a big kiss on his lips and he can taste fruit on your lips.

"so so sososososososo much, haji." and you kiss him again on the cheek, then the other, then one last peck on his lips, and he can't help the smile that spreads across his face.

you two walk for a little longer this time with his thump under the waistband of your pants until you reach the benches by the climbing frame.

"wanna rest up?"

you nod to him and plop down together, sighing. you tie the leash to the bench arm, and iwa digs through the bag for the dog bowl and water.

you two cuddle up together. your hands play with the fabric of his shorts, and his arm is stroking your side as you watch children play, people work out with their dogs, and birds fly from tree to tree.

it's peaceful. and it's natural. and he's nervous.

a couple of laughs break him out of his trance, and when he's focused again he sees two kids, a boy and a girl, nervously asking you to play with them.

"we wanna play hide and go seek, but we both wanna hide. and- and- and- my grandma said that we should ask someone to seek for us s-so we don't argue," the girl says, twisting her foot into the dirt as her brother silently plays with your dog.

"yeah?" you look to iwaizumi, and he nods, not in any objection. "where should i count?

ㅤ ㅤ҉ 🌳

you play with the kids for about fifteen minutes. running around — tag, hide and go seek, fetch with your dog, and racing with them. he watches you from the bench, laughing with the kids, and something of a flame ignites within him. his heart squeezes and his face warms more and more just at the sight of you. you're so carefree and happy. the kids are giggling and smiling ear to ear as you pretend to run as fast as you can, only to get tagged back and go back to chasing them. your dog is sitting between his legs as he adds ice cubes to his bowl for him to chew on, and he thinks he's never been happier.

it feels as natural as breathing, seeing you with the kids, and he doesn't even try to stop himself or the drumming of butterflies in his chest, daydreaming of you two at the park with kids of your own. you running around with them and playing. him setting the table for you all. him reading them bedtime stories as you kiss their foreheads and tuck them in, leading him back to your guy's room, hand in hand, with a pretty rock on your ring finger.

he watches as the kids light up at the sight of the older woman walking toward you and smiling brightly. it's no trouble, i had fun, he hears you say. she thanks you again and the kids wave bye to you and him before you walk back to the bench. your face is a little flushed and your baby hairs are sticking to your forehead messily.

"tired?"

"not..really..." you huff with your hands on your hips and head facing the sky.

"i can see why their grandma needed a break. It took you 15 minutes to get sweaty," he laughs, a large hand rubbing your hip.

"good thing when that happens with ours, i'll have you with me," you laugh, plopping down on the bench next to him. he's silent for a little while, can tell that you've noticed it when you turn your head to him.

"baby, you're all flushed." you touch his face to examine it, and he grabs it, bringing your palm to his lip.

"it is a good thing that we'll have each other, isn't it," he mumbles, and there's a boyish smile glued to his face.

you give him a funny look and kiss him softly, and he remembers to check that hole-in-the-wall spot tomorrow

"2 kids max though."

"there are only two of us," he agrees.

player 2 — akaashi

he likes how you look when it's cold. likes how you look bundled up and cozy, how you always rub up against his side. you're always so warm, it feels too good, you always say. how could he ever complain though? he may not say much, but he loves it when you're holding him, touching him somewhere innocuous, like you have to have some sort of physical connection with him at all times. call him clingy, but he'll just tell you he's in love.

your dog seems just as calm as you are, walking close between you and Akaashi.

"how was it with your client today?" you ask, playing with the hem of his cuff.

"unremarkable, feels as if it never even happened," he says and mentally slaps himself for being so literal. you're none the wiser to his lie. or the fact he's been looking for engagement rings all day. how many flower shops he's passed looking for your favorites. how many venues he's bookmarked. so instead, he's asking you how it went with your patient.

"pretty good," you say, smiling into your scarf. it belongs to him, but he the way it looks on you more. "making some real breakthroughs. she'll be running in no time."

"that's good, 'm proud of you both. this means you'll be spending more time at home?"

"just a little. she asks if we do more intensive workouts now—push her to her limits. feels like the home stretch, though."

"can't wait till the discharge, we should celebrate over dinner."

"my favorite?"

he laughs at the way your puppy dog eyes peer up at him. "of course."

and you do a little happy dance, bend down to tell your dog the great, and he's happy. his heart is hung heavy in his chest for you, but it feels as light as a cloud. and despite the sting in his cheeks, he can't stop smiling.

you guys reach a bench by a pond and sit together. you let your dog play in the grass in front of you two as he pulls a book from his satchel and wipes his glasses before putting them back on his face.

"will you read to me?"

and of course, he says yes, because it makes him so happy to entertain you. you compliment his voice, tell him it makes you calm whenever he speaks, tell him it makes reading feel more intimate, hypnotizing almost. god, if only you knew half the things you do to him.

"excuse me," he stops for a second, and you both turn to see a little boy and girl standing in front of you.

he tells them hello, and the boy asks him to read to them too.

"our- we like books a lot. and we can be very quiet," he whispers that last part. "my grandma says it's okay, she's right- right there." he follows the kid's finger to an older woman, quietly sitting by another bench close by, glancing between the kids and the two of you.

he points to himself, and the two kids with a tilt of his head and she nods, hands settling into her lap.

"can i pet your dog?" the girl asks, and you gush.

"of course, sweetheart!"

"can i sit next to you?" the boy asks him, and he nods, holding the book out away from his body, picking the boy with his free hand and letting him settle against the side of his body and reads.

ㅤ ㅤ҉ 🌳

he gets about a chapter deep before the kids fall asleep. the little girl had been settled in your arms just a moment after the boy had asked, as he read.

"your voice is like a lullaby," you muse, nudging his foot with your own.

"or maybe this book is just that boring."

"note even," you whisper through a smile. "you're just a natural."

the kids stir awake moments later, now with their grandma by their sides. she thanks the two of you, tells you how time is catching up with her and she can't do as much for them as she used to.

"it's no problem, ma'am. i can tell that you do so much already."

she thanks you again, cupping your hands as the two kids position themselves next to her, grabbing onto her skirt.

"and might i add, it is so nice seeing a couple so good with kids. tell me, do you have some of your own?"

"no," you laugh, placing your head on his shoulder. "not yet."

and when you wink at the woman, she laughs, putting her fingers up to her lips. "not for long either, i can tell."

and you both giggle at one another as he sits there flushed. not yet. it repeats in his head even as he trails you back to your car. his face is burning. he's not so immature as to be flustered by the thought have having a child with you. but he can't stop the feeling he gets when you say things like that.

not yet.

"earth to keji?"

he jumps slightly, hand sweeping up to cover his mouth.

you look worried. your lips are in a pretty pout and your hand is on his chest. "what's wrong?"

he says nothing, doesn't dare to use his words, and so he kisses you. and it's somewhat feverish and terribly lovesick. his hands are warm on your face, and his glasses are fogging up, but he doesn't care. he is fighting for air in between your moans and he'd be perfectly content with passing out as long as your lips are on his. as long as you are his.

eventually, you guys have to pull back. your lips are plumper and he's sure his area deep shade of pink.

and keji doesn't care about the venue, or date, or anything else, because as long as he can tell you "i do," he knows he'll be the luckiest man on earth.

"i have a different idea as a celebration for when your time with your patient has concluded," he says.

you pout. "so no dinner?" so damn cute.

he kisses your lips one last time before starting the car.

"you'll still get that dinner, hun."

he'll excuse himself from the table just to eat you out inside the kitchen storage room, away from your father, his colleagues, and the cooks.

messily making out with your puffy pussy, moaning into your mound when your hand pulls on his hair. "m' baby needs 't don't she?" he slurs like a drunk man. his large hands wrap around, digging into the meat of your thighs only to pull himself in deeper. you're having trouble keeping your voice down, but thankfully the kitchen is a mess of noise and masks your low mewls and his groans completely.

he sneaks back to the table while you to your chambers, but you don't miss his cheeky "oh, im afraid i've already eaten dessert."

his favorite place, however, is the place he took you for the first time. he takes his time in those moments. working you up, till you almost break, then taking you apart only to put you back together over and over again.

slowly licks up your neck, with your legs fold in front of you, he pistons himself in and out of you. your antsy hands drop from your thighs to his back, up to his neck, and down into the sheets, crying out at how deep he fucks you—at how much you can see how he's been needing you. how he's been missing you.

it's in the way he kisses and worships your body, the way he whimpers whenever he's inside you, how he looks at you, even while around so many people at your father's party. how big they got when they saw you, how wrinkled the sides were when he smiled. in the way he holds you after he's fucked you—tight and warm. how he nuzzles into your neck, kissing your shoulder, completely flush to you.

but you're no better. calling out for him whenever you touch yourself, wearing his favorite color every time he comes around, with matching panties. how you wrap your hands over his arms, kissing the meat of them. how you hide little gifts, sonnets you've worked, sweets you've baked, intimates you've worn. and the way when he writes you back, "thanking you," you feel like you could die.

it's easy to secretly write about him. gush to yourself about your scandalous love with "mr. frown," you write for hours. tuck them safely into the hole inside your closet that you made when you were younger. you write all the days you don't see him, and when you do you always have to mention something from them.

"i wish time would stop when we are together, so we can see what forever feels like."

"i need you more and more every time we part. you take a piece of me with you i desperately need back. that spins and leaps inside of you when you see him again.

"if only you'd stay tonight, then my room wouldn't feel so empty."

when you tell him this, with that sparkly look in your eyes, he pauses. looking you over.

"it won't be good for us, princess."

"why is that?"

"i won't—i won't be able to control myself, just not safe for us."

"you don't know that," you all but plead. "you have to at least be curious, of what can happen if we try?"

he understands what you're referring to because those same thoughts bounce around his mind whenever he's alone, missing you. those pestering "what if's," that keep him up, keep him wondering. the ones that eat at his resolve.

so even though it's risky, and is no good for him at all, he sinks back into your bed. kisses the back of your neck, nosing your baby hairs, and whispers a weak, "i can never say no to you"

"gonna let me have ya? 'm dyin fer it, can't ya feel it?" he'll coo, and lead your hand to the hard bulge in him pants. he smiles when you say yes with that cute look in your eyes. it drives him crazy just to look at you, especially when you're as lightheaded with lust as he is.

quickly undressing, his lips find yours again. tongue running over your lips and tangling with your tongue until you're both moaning into each other's mouth. he pants as he pulls away, leaving a string of spit between you two to split, and kisses down your body until he's in between your thighs. you shake with anticipation, tangling your hand into his hair when his tongue dips between your folds, licking and sucking you feverishly. arching into the pressure, you moan praises of his name. he's so good at hitting all the spots you couldn't find with anyone else. and so when you come, just as messy, you ask for more, more, and more. and he'll give it to you. fucking you and filling you up as many times as he can, because it feels so good he refuses to stop until his body forces him to.

Every time he drops by unannounced, talks to your father, and leaves. Every time he has his salt and pepper sprinkled brown hair combed back away from his face, showing the wrinkles on his forehead. Every time his eyes have focused on you, running over you like the pretty oil portrait that hangs above the study's mantle as his jaw flexes brows furrow, something in you ignites and the yearning becomes almost palpable.

Never does he say more to you than a few words, only acknowledging you after with how his body tenses when you're around. He runs as cold as the marble under your feet as you move to your vanity to reapply your perfume and shift your dress to expose enough of your collarbone without looking intentional. You're buzzing at the thought of seeing him, taking the rollers out of your hair with bubbling anticipation. This is the first time he's come amidst nightfall and the first time you two will be alone. With your hands resting to your front, you walk to the study well aware of how low your neckline is dipping while high pillared walls with paintings of cherubs and past battles trail you illuminated by ivory candles.

When you push past tall burgundy doors, you're greeted by the sight of Grand Duke of 2099, Miguel O'hara, who's stretching his back with two large hands on his hips. The deep groan he lets out makes your skin flush, and when his cold gaze meets yours you almost shiver. His eyes drift from your face to just right where your dress exposes a bit of the fat on your breast, and you smile when you hear him suck in a breath.

"What do I owe the pleasure, Your Grace?" His eyes tear from your chest as he focuses on the crackling fireplace.

"Just here to see your father, is he near?" He asks, brown eyes fixing back onto yours. Your smile only widens.

"I'm afraid the King is away, but he should be returning soon, you are more than welcome to stay 'till his return."

"I shouldn't-"

"Humor me, Your Grace. After all, I am a bit lonely without my father to talk to." you say, batting your eyelashes at him bashfully.

Apprehension is so clear on his face, but still he nods, straightening his white button up and waiting for you to go on.

"Follow me," you say, walking back down the hall until you reach your room.

"Princessa, I will not go further, this is inappropriate. A young lady shouldn-"

"'M not as young as I was before. Surely you can agree, no?"

"Even so," He coughs. "That is not the point-"

"You should have no trouble entering. I have already given my permission."

He doesn't look convinced.

"Do you not trust me? Have I done wrong by you?"

"That is not it, Princessa-"

"Then please, my duke, time is slipping right past us." you whisper, slipping through the doors, intentionally brushing your hand across his thigh. You grin when you hear his shaky breath, and hear your door not only close, but lock.

"What is it that you have here that we couldn't be anywhere else for?"

"Are you putting on an act," you ask him, turning around to face him still at a distance. "Or are you truly this aloof, Your Grace?'

"I’m sorry?-"

"I have a confession," you say. walking closer and closer until his breath is caught in his throat, and your lips are just a nudge away from his.

"My father won't be returning anytime soon." And suddenly, it seems it has clicked in his head, as his eyes darken.

"This can not happen."

"You're right," your hand is pressed up against his chest.

"Someone could hear us," He whispers, making no effort to push you away.

"I've already dismissed everyone to their chambers."

"If your father ever found out there could be a war," he tries to argue, but his head is still dipping down, ghosting over your lips.

"We have all night to just the two of us."

And just a second after saying that, he kisses you. His lips are hot, hungry, and experienced in the way they move against yours, swallowing your every breath. His hands find your waist, but he hesitates and you can tell he hasn't given in completely. And something about that excites you.

You pull away from his lips, leaving him noticeably confused until your hand reaches down and palms his cock, happy at the way he's already hard.

"Do you know just how long I've been wanting this?" You ask shifting him around you.

He doesn't say anything, only shakes his head "No."

"Ever since the day you came back to visit, I haven't been able to think of anything else." When you push him down on the edge of your bed, he shivers when you drop to your knees and play with the button on his slacks.

"Every night, I touch myself on these sheets to the thought of you." You confess, finally free him from his pants, leaving him in the thin fabric of his underwear, painfully soaking up the front of them with his pre.

"Princessa," He finally says in almost a whine. "If you say things like that I'm afraid I won't be able to hold back."

And dipping your hand under his waistband to grip his cock, you savor how thick and heavy he feels and the groan he lets out with a kiss to his base. You can't deny the bit of worry that flushes through you when you see just how big he is. Thick beads of cum pulse out of him that you lick up hungrily, humming at how you can feel hus veins on your tongue.

"Then please, Your Grace. Give me everything."

That seems to shatter his self control, because suddenly he has a hand in your hair and a hand on his cock as he forces your lips over his angry brown head.

"You're such a damn tease, you know that?" He gritts out, bullying his cock all the way to the back of your throat and then some. You gag and choke around him, already feeling your throat burn and eyes well up.

"Always coming around me with your father with your body on display in those cute little gowns, batting those pretty little eyes at me when you talk. What would your father think if he knew all of that was because you were trying to get my attention?" He coos between groans while using your face like just a vessel to get off, and your cunt starts dripping. "Just so I could fuck your pretty mouth like this?"

You can't do anything but moan around him, croaking out gasp when he finally lets you catch your breath before immediately pulling you back down onto his dick rapidly as snot mixes in with tears, spit, and cum starts to drip down your jaw and onto your floor. He begins to unbutton his shirt, before tearing it off completely, leaving buttons to fly across your room. Looking up through teary eyes you take in the way his usually combed back hair sticks to his sweaty forehead messily, as his abs tense and relax with every rapid breath as his mouth lulls open with lidded eyes, moaning when he sees just how well you swallow him.

Swiftly, you run your tongue over the slit of his cock, hearing him whine, and feeling the grip on your hair tighten enough to burn your scalp. Your throat aches with every heavy thrust that only spurs on the throbbing between your thighs as your hands play with his balls and he stutters in your mouth, shooting his seed down your throat, midst mumbling praises.

Without word or warning, he flips you over, effectively pinning you down to your bed once he's come down from his high. His large calloused hand runs up and down your thigh before tossing your nightgown up, and he groans at the sigh.

"You needed me so bad you didn't wear anything under this frilly thing? What a filthy girl." He grins, slapping your dripping cunt and drinking up your moan in a kiss.

"Your Grace,"

"That's not what you should be calling me." He grits, crouching down to his knees to lick a stripe up your throbbing pussy.

"M-miguel,"

"Yes, Princessa?"

"Please."

"Please what, Princessa?" He says, licking another stripe, but slower.

"Please...don't tease me." You whimper, muffling your moans with the back of your hand.

"And what shall I do instead?"

"Kiss me harder, please. I need it, Mig-" and your sentence is cut off by the feeling of his nose kissing your clit as he buries his face into your sopping heat, groaning at the way you suck his tongue in. You're writhing at the feeling, but when you feel one of his calloused fingers push through you, you lose your vision for a second.

"Fuck- you're even tighter than I thought you were," he groans, and you feel your body ignite at his admission.

"You'd think of me?" You ask with such a worn out voice, Miguel's hips buck up in search of any friction at all.

"All the damn time. Would fuck my hand everyday over those pretty eyes and lips, imagine how pretty you'd look all happy and spent, with the image of my love spilling out of you." He confesses, speeding his assault on your hole, hitting spots with his fingers you could only dream of, before latching his mouth back on and fucking you with his tongue and fingers. The arousal in you was rushing through you like a wave and just after a strangled moan it blows out of you in pleasurable burst that leave you flushed. He hungrily drinks you up like a starved man until you're whining from the sensation.

When he rises from the floor he doesn't bother wiping your slick from his mouth, only laughs at your fucked out expression, and runs his lips over yours, amused by how you trail after him. Annoyed, you wrap your hands around his collar and pull his lips onto yours, gasping and licking into his mouth. Between the taste of you on his tongue, his rock-hard cock rubbing against your puffy folds as your hands run through his sweaty hair.

"Gonna give me one more?" He asks, voice low like gravel.

"I'll do anything for you, Miguel. Anything you want."

He kisses you again, a passionate thing as you both whine at the feeling of him bullying into you.

"'Ts too big, Mig- oh! S-slow down!" You cry, but his hand slaps the fat of your thigh and grips it, hitting you even deeper at a fast pace. The pain is still there, but feeling of pleasure is much more intense. And it only skyrockets when you hear his voice.

"Sshhh sweetheart. You're-fuck-already taking me so well. so damn tight around me. Be good and take what I give you. So I c-can tell your father what a nice cunt his perfect little girl has." He rasps, pounding you even deeper than before, and your nails dig up the fabric of your sheets, leaving fabric frayed in long scratches. One hand grips your thigh as the other moves up your dress to tweak and grope your breast, making you clench down around him. He drawls out a curse as his head falls into the crook of your neck, inhaling the smell of your sweat and perfume that makes him impossibly more needy to where he's plowing through you in quick hard strokes that move your bed to knock against your walls, shaking the shelf above you.

His teeth sink into your neck, almost as a mark of ownership, before sucking a bruise into your skin, continuing his markings lower and lower to focus them on your breast. Your back arches at the sting and you cry out at the imposing feeling building up inside you.

"Such a pretty girl," he says, leaning over to look you in your eyes, studying the gaping of your mouth and tugging on your brows as your orgasm builds up. His eyes are trained on you, as he throbs inside you, stimulating you further.

"I'm close-" you whimper, voice cracking as he licks a stripe up your neck.

"Yeah?" He asks, smirk practically audible as he hums in your ear. "Do it. Squeeze me, sweetheart."

It only takes a few heavy strokes to hit your sweet spot before you are gushing around him, making his thrust sporadic and moans louder.

"Yes-shit- let me fill you up. I'll give you an heir, and then I'll-hah- fuck you again, and again, and again."

"Yesyesyes, please." You think you exclaim, but can't tell if you said it out loud or just in your head because of how overestimated you are. His hand rubs circles on your clit, and your toes curl as your heels dig into the muscle of his back.

"Fuck- I'm gonna-" He spits out, just before spilling his seed into your cunt, carefully riding out his orgasm inside you while pushing his cum deeper into your womb. His palm stretches over the expanse of your chest as he leans down to kiss just above your belly button. The room is quiet now that he is still inside you, and you watch Miguel lean down to kiss you once more, in the form of a soft peck to your swollen lips. Once he pulls back, he leaves you briefly before returning with a warm damp cloth that he wipes you down with. Once he is done, he discards it into a bucket and lies himself down next to you.

"If we continue to do this," he says, carefully pulling out of you. "We will eventually have to tell your father."

"You're right," you whisper scared, but when you feel his strong arm pull you flush against his chest, hope surges through you and you bury your face into his warm body.

"We'll need to get up early, the maids would appreciate finding us like this."

"We'll be fine. After all, a pregnancy will shock them far more than this."

"I'm sure it will," he laughs, kissing your forehead.

Since envelops the two of you, as you notice his breathing deepen.

"Your, Grace-"

"Miguel," he corrects, eyes dancing across your face with a small smile.

"Miguel, my father will be gone on the next full moon."

"The next full moon, huh?" He asks no one at all, pushing your hair behind your ear.

It’s bittersweet asking him to sneak around with you again. And yet, all he says is a simple "Okay," placing a kiss to the palm of your hand, and you understand what the gesture is:

guitarist fb miguel who, after finally perfecting a song, practices on you. Thick, calloused fingers rub along your folds through your arousal, before plunging them into you, making your back arch and cry out.

"Shh, you take them so good. Gonna let me fuck you with my fingers?" and when his fingers brush up against that spongy spot that has your hips humping his hand, you nod vigorously, mewing praises.

"That's my girl," he says with a smile that bares his canines as the coil in your gut tightens.

"M-m gonna" you whine, feeling an odd feeling form along your impending orgasm.

"Go on, mami. Fuckin' soak me." And when you can't hold back any longer, and your vision goes white as you feel yourself empty onto his hand in gushes, your moan is guttural. When your eyes clear up, and you finally look at miguel, his eyes are so blown out they look black and cock so hard he flinches at even the slightest bit of pressure.

"Another one. Give me another," he says in a groan, plunging his fingers back into you, as overstimulation rips through your body in a cry.

you should’ve gone home.

Actually, that’s a lie. If you did you would miss the lecture on what you need to focus on for your next midterm. But as you gaze at the familiar blue in front of your eyes, you think about how if you were maybe a second faster to leave you wouldn’t be frozen like how you are now. You’re sweating out your cardigan for sure.

“Remember me?"

He knows the answer to that question.

...

"Your uber is almost here! Make sure you call me once you get there, and text me quarterly!"

"I will, don't worry!" you know why she's so nervous to let you go to a party alone and as much as you would prefer her there with you, she has to study. You've spent the past 3 weeks crying, eating, and crying some more. Getting cheated on is horrible. But getting cheated on by your high school sweetheart, who you've been with for 3 years, with his friend's sister? It's all you've been thinking about despite all of yo ur efforts to make it stop. Today is about you. Today has to be about you, because you’re losing yourself. You're gonna go to this party, let loose, have fun, and forget about him. Even if you have your qualms about going to parties alone. 

You pull out your shortest dress, wear your hair how you like, and put on your favorite perfume. When Max sees you, she smiles.

"What a bad girl!"

"Yeah?"

"Yeah!"

It's enough of a reassurance that you smile and turn to look for shoes to wear. You're just about to pull out heels when she stops you.

"Short platforms, Hermana. You'll get sores on your feet with anything higher."

you let her pull down heels for you and, with one last tight hug, she goes over everything in your purse.

"Phone?"

"Yup."

"Portable charger?"

"Yup."

"Cash?"

"Always."

"Pepper spray?"

"mhm."

"Keys." instead of speaking, you curl your finger around the jump ring and twirl them around your fingers.

"Okay. okay, yeah, you're set," she says, mostly to herself.

"Max?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm nervous." 

"Don't be," she hums, smoothing your hair and then the neckline of your dress. "You‘ll knock ‘em dead. Just be safe."

"Thank you, I dunno what I'd do without you," you coo, kissing her cheek.

"I know! Have fun!"

...

The party sucks. Not because of food, music, or drinks. Not because of the conversation you’ve been making with familiar faces, or the occasional eyes that fall from your eyes to your chest and legs, and shy question of if you’re open to a date after ‘what happened with that guy.’” And then you’re reminded why you came here before saying “you’re not interested in anything serious at the moment.” Then as you’re on your way to the bathroom, you see him. And when you see him, you see her. And suddenly the fruity drinks turned to shots, and slight swaying turned into tipsy grinding, and then you’re dragging somebody to the couch in tears.

"That piece of shit had the nerve to show his face around here after what he did! I never deserved that! I was there for him it his lowest, then that- that son of a bitch threw it all in my face!"

"Aww baby, what a dick."

"And- and he even," you're sniffling when a hand cups your cheek, wiping away stray tears as you talk the exact thing you were supposed to forget about. "He even gave her the sweater I bought for him! It has our initials on it, not theirs!"

"that's horrible!" it comes out in a gasp, and suddenly you're being pulled against someone's chest. You forget how you got here, nor do you know who’s crystal blue eyes you're looking into, but they sure are pretty. You're just about rolling off his chest to fill your cup again before he reaches into his jean pocket and dangles something in your face.

"Do ya smoke, sweetheart?" he says with a wicked smile and you just nod. Part of you recognizes the man in front of you, so you rationalize that as a good enough excuse. You've seen his white hair somewhere; you just can't place your finger on it.

You don't dwell on it much longer when you see his pink tongue peek from his lips and lick the backwood shut. It's not inherently dirty, but it is enough to make your thighs clench. His hand disappears back into his pocket as he fishes out a lighter, and you're so enamored that your hands find his chest and you gasp. He's ripped. But all he does is smile, take a long drag from his blunt, and then your senses are clouded with smoke.

"Hey!" you're telling him off, but when the smoke clears, he's smirking. You swat his chest in response, but then you're only reminded of how firm he feels under his white tee. And now he’s poking at your sides.

"What's wrong?"

"Quit it!"

"Quit what?" His fingers only speed up, and you're pouting at him to hold back the laugh threatening to escape from you. Heat blooms everywhere he touches, and he keeps it up until your hands trap around his wrist. Seeming bored, he sets his hand on your thigh and brings the blunt to your lips. The next immeasurable amount of minutes is spent rotating it without a word, and the more you smoke, the lighter you feel, and the more your thighs seem to rub together. The heat pooling between your legs only gets worse when his hand squeezes your thigh, and the whine you let out is hard to decider if it was in your head or not.

"Are you apart of this?"

He hums a question, but when you gesture to the surrounding party, he 'ahs' in understanding.

"You don't know? I'm a part of this fraternity."

"I don't even know your name."

Now he genuinely looks surprised, "It's Satoru."

Satoru...? The name sends a pang of recognition through your head, but you can't place it completely. No doubt that he's popular, though. When you tell him your name, he grins.

"That's a pretty name, sweetheart. Fits a pretty girl like you."

And despite your better judgment, you bask in the compliment. The heat between your thighs has turned into slick and there’s no doubt that this party is proving to be beneficial.

“So, you're a jock?" you try to ask it in a steady voice, but with how hazy you're feeling from the weed you doubt it comes out stable.

"Something like that." he laughs, but it's all too vague.

"Is that why you joined?" he takes another long drag and passes the blunt to you, this time blowing the smoke out of your face.

"I joined for a friend," and when that answer doesn't please you, he goes on. "I have a friend, I'm really close to him so I joined the same fraternity as him when he asked. I don't mind it, being in a fraternity has its props, i.e; this party."

His voice is so nice. "You seem like the party type."

He just shrugs and puts the blunt out on a random coaster. "I just like fun, sweetheart. Plus, the desserts are always the best part."

That catches your attention. "Right!" you gush, practically jumping up. You think you hear him groan, but you are faded.

"I never would've thought a frat party would carry the best desserts I've ever had.

"Glad you like it. Especially since I put the word in for it."

"Shut up!"

"I'm serious!”

you open your mouth to speak, but something buzzes in the purse next to you and you suddenly remember you haven't texted Max in almost an hour.

"Hey girl u good?"

"???"

"If you're dead I'll kill u,"

"Imsosorryimokaydontworry! 1,"

"K stay safe"

"Did you hear me?"

You snap your head up and see eyes that were icy blue, now a clouded cerulean. "What?"

"I said, it's getting crowded. Do you wanna go upstairs?"

You look around. It looks about the same to you. When you look back at him and his pretty face, you can't find it in you to say no, so you just nod and slide off his lap. Standing up, you get a bit dizzy off your high and grip Satoru's hand to keep from falling flat on your face. And that’s when you realize he's much, much taller than you.

He doesn't seem to mind how tightly you’re holding onto him, even smiling down at you before leading you somewhere up a flight of stairs. Your heart feels like it may beat out of your chest when he pushes past a door that you can just tell isn't his. The room is small, just a bed, closet, and dresser, and none of the trophies on it have his name on them.

“You know, your ex is an idiot.”

You can feel his hands run over your arms when he says it and you’re sighing into him, with your head falling weakly over his shoulder. You know what he wants, and you can't bring yourself to push off him when you feel how his breath fans over your ear and his rock-hard erection brushes against your back.

“You want me to show you better? Give you what you deserve?”

all you do is whine and then he’s kissing down your shoulders and sliding the straps of your dress off.

“Give me an answer, baby. Let me hear you say it.”

And you do. In a breathy gasp, you ask, “Please,” and feel him smile into the crook of your neck before pulling back. You know what he wants, and you can’t bring yourself to push his off, because you want it too.

“Then how about you show me just how pretty you are under that dress, hmm?”

And again, as if on a spell, you do. In slow and shaky hands, you remove your dress, mentally cursing yourself for not choosing a cuter set to have worn under. You sit on the bed to take off your shoes. Your heart doubles when you look up at him through heavy eyes from where you sit to see him mirroring your expression. 

“Knew you’d be so pretty. You’re a real sight, sweetheart,” he groans, rolling his palm over his erection with a shiver.

You’re dripping from the praise. Blame it on your destroyed self-esteem, but you haven’t felt this desire in a while. You want to shy away from it, but his fingers run down your clothed slit and you lose yourself. He doesn’t waste time once he feels how wet you are already, just huffs out a laugh and peels your underwear and bra from your sweaty body and groans. 

Your eyes are glued to the way he strips his shirt off, showing his defined stature, but when he kicks off his pants, your mouth practically waters at the sight of his cock on full display. He's much bigger than your ex.

“I’ll fuck him out of your head, baby. Don’t bother thinkin’ about anything but my dick.”

…

You couldn’t think of anything else if you tried. He’s bullied himself so deep inside you, you can barely cover your cries with your palm. Satoru rams into you with so much fervor that the bed is squeaking. And when he hits the spot that has you seeing stars, all you can get out is ‘Thank you,’ repeatedly, gripping onto anything you can for a sense of stability.

One hand closes around your throat while the other draws circles on your clit and tears stream down your face as your back arches into him in the bliss of your orgasm washing over you.

“Fuck- so pretty like that. Tell me who fucks you this good. Who makes your pretty pussy cum the hardest?"

"You do! Jus' you Satoru!" that seems to do it, because his bottom lip is sucked between his teeth and his hips are stuttering.

‘m close- fuck tell me where you want it. Want me to come over those pretty tits, babe? Or maybe all over that face, hmm?” on a whim, your thighs close around him.

“Inside. I want you inside. 'm- ahh- ahn the pill, promise,”

And he doesn’t even get another thrust in before you feel him fill you up in airy groans. He rides out his orgasm inside you in frenzied thrust, so when he pulls out you both shudder at the loss of contact. He gathers your clothes up and helps you shimmy back into them, not bothering to hide how pleased he is when you pull your underwear up, trapping the seed that’s dripped out of you. You watch him dress while you run your hand through his hair, laying down the tufts that have fluffed up. You look up at him, to see him already looking at you. And this time it’s not at your lips or tits, but you, and you feel so embarrassed you back away.

buzz!

A chill runs down your spine at the ringing “Oh shit!”

“what’s wrong?”

“M-my roommate!” You say, hands frantically rummaging through the sheets before hearing your bag drop into the floor and pulling your phone out. “Shit! I should’ve been there 30 minutes ago!”

“Hey, it’s alright. I can take you home.”

“No, no, it’s okay, I’ll just get an Uber.” but he’s already picking your bag up and walking out of the room through a group of boys who recognize what happened by the way their eyes widen when they see you stumble after Satoru but say nothing.

When you plop into the passenger seat of his car, you don't know what to think. Should you have done that? At a party at that? He didn't even take you to his room. It's not long until you're simultaneously fighting the urge to puke and fall asleep, but you can’t tell if it’s regret or alcohol. The drive to your dorm is short, and when he reaches the building he rounds the car, opening the door and holding his hand out to you with a boyish expression, you smile to yourself

"What’s got you smilin’ like that?" he mused, easily lifting you from where you sat and steading you with another hand on your lower back.

"Nothing in particular . Just happy," he doesn’t respond to that, just squeezes your hand a bit.

...

"Is that who you were talking to? Oh, my- did you guys fuck?"

"Max, let me sleep." You know she heard that through the pillow you have over your face, but she doesn't pay it any mind.

"The QB, huh? He's a total upgrade from ese cabrón."

QB?

"QB! That's how I knew him! He's the fucking quarterback!"

"Did you seriously not remember... he's has an article written every other day."

"It blanked on me, I guess. I just kept thinking he looked so familiar."

"That's like when girls used to read at concerts to seem mysterious." She's giggling at first, but when your pillow hits her square in her face, she's practically rolling on the floor.

"So, what now? Gonna be a cheerleader to live out that cliche?"

You roll your eyes at her, but a part of you feels disappointed when you think about how things will be now.

"Doesn't matter. Not like it meant anything."

...

“Remember me?"

Of course, you do.

"No."

He knows you're lying. You can tell by the way his smile deepens despite your words. His head dips to yours, just a nudge away from your lips.

"Oh~ Satoru! Thank you! Thank y-" You slap your hands over his mouth and frantically look around the halls to see if anyone noticed. Thankfully, most people are more focused on Satoru as they walk by and not on your flustered expression.

"Why are you here, Gojo?" it's not that the sight of him doesn't make you nervous, much less his proximity. But you genuinely do not know why he's talking to you.

"Oh, so we're on a last names basis now? ‘ts not fair, though. I don't even know your last name, sweetheart. Should I just use mine?" he hums, obviously not worried about your apprehension.

"Wait? No? Wh-"

"No?" He pouts, batting his eyelashes. You know it's a joke, but your heart still drops.

"I don't mean 'no' like 'no,' I just- I don't know why you're talking to me. Or how you knew how to find me."

He just shrugs, grinning. “I would love to answer all of those questions… preferably over a nice meal.” his hand falls to his stomach and his head falls to his shoulder. “‘m just so hungry, sweetheart.”

You know what he’s getting at. And maybe if he wasn’t so damn cute, you’d say no. but you can’t ignore that airy feeling floating around you as he smiles at your meek nod. As shallow as it may be, you can’t help the validation you feel at just the idea of someone like Gojo would even give you the time of day. You find that he at least acts like a gentleman. Opening the car door for you. Walking on the side closest to the street. Opening the door to the diner for you.

It’s a homey thing. black-and-white checkered tiles, red walls with tons of polaroids and framed pictures of food and happy families, and a shiny red jukebox that steals your attention.

“Hello, how may I- why are you here?”

“I missed u too, Hime,” he cooed, batting his eyelashes toward a very unamused girl. “Don’t be shy~ I know you missed your favorite customer.”

“Missed you like the plague.” She sneers with a creased brow. Her hand taps on the screen in front of her before flipping her navy-blue pigtails over her shoulders, revealing a name tag that reads “Utahime.”

“Let me show you to your table,” she says, and you don’t miss the way she shoves Gojo out of the way with her shoulder when she walks past him. She guides you two to a booth in the diner's corner with seats the same shade as the walls and tells you that someone ‘will be with you shortly’ after walking away, not without throwing another nasty look at Gojo, and a simple nod to you.

“I’m her best friend , she just has a hard time showing it,” he says, readjusting himself on the leather seats.

“You woulda had me fooled…” you mumble, a little startled when he laughs in response. It’s oh-so warm and you let yourself bask in it quietly, forgetting what you came here for.

but after a bit of conversation over the menu and your orders, you build up enough courage to ask.

“So, what did you need?”

“Hmm?” and the way he tilts his head at the question makes your face warm.

“You took the effort to find my class, must need something important from me.” you say, listening to the buzz from the large overhead fan above you, and the smooth jazz coming from somewhere behind you.

“you’re right,” he says, turning at the same time to thank the server for your food s. “there actually is something important that I need.”

oh?

“You know,” he says, picking around his food with his head resting on his palm. “Ever since we slept together, I can't stop thinking about you.”

oh?

“It’s only been a night!” you squeak, quieting down when you see a server walk by.

“I know. I can’t get you off my mind.”

“So?”

“Don't you wanna get over your stupid ex-boyfriend? he's a real sight for sore eyes, and by that, I mean painful to look at. Especially compared to my looks.”

“I'm not interested!” you whine through your teeth, crushing your straw.

“But then, how else should I calm my heart?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Don't you get it, doll?” he asks, waving his fork in a circle toward you. “I'm mad for you.”

You almost choke on your drink. Gojo Satoru, mad for you. It’s either a fairytale come true or a sick joke. “But then, what is it you want from me?”

Fratboy!Gojo, who has always been relatively mean, but the pout that spreads on your pretty lips as you softly swat at his chest makes him want to up his antics. but hey, you've seen to forget all about your ex.

Fratboy!Gojo, who gets surprised when you ask him about himself after sitting in comfortable silence, only interrupted when one of you guys passed back the now much smaller blunt or whines from you when he squeezed a sensitive part of your thigh.

Fratboy!Gojo, who tells you everything you want to know. never too much detail, but more than he usually would because you’ll probably forget everything in the morning. so he lets himself be a little more transparent than he would with others, but not to the level of his best friend.

Fratboy!Gojo, who gets hard after you excitedly scoot closer on his lap after finding something you two have in common. your cute expression as you colorfully talk to him makes him almost want to bend you over in front of all these people at the party, but he's okay with convincing you to follow him upstairs.

Fratboy!Gojo, who’s not in love with you. or in like. but is thoroughly interested and extremely aroused. so in the privacy of one of his pal's rooms, he sweet-talks you till you're dripping and shying away from his heated gaze. he feels you up over your clothes as you slowly grow more impatient, but when he saw your cute cotton bra, he just couldn't help but dote on you for a little.

Fratboy!Gojo, who has no trouble getting you out of your clothes and whining around his cock. you're another cute and tight little thing for him to get his nut off to then forget about. but your babbled-out thank you-s has him feel guilty for taking you like this. and the way you earnestly look up at him with those sweet doe-eyes as you cry through your orgasm makes him almost want to look away—but only, almost.

Fratboy!Gojo, who is about to pull out, but when you wrap your legs and tell him you're on the pill, he loses his mind and shoots his load so hot into you he doubts any pill will keep a baby from swelling your cute tummy. and maybe that's not the worst-case scenario.

Fratboy!Gojo, who drives you back to your dorm room where your roommate loses her mind over the fact 'gojo-fucking-satoru just drove you home!' and on the drive back to his frat house, he thinks back fondly to your cute smile. but only briefly before thinking about how pretty your tits were after.

Fratboy!Gojo, who sees you on campus the next day, a little tired yes, but in a cute get-up wide-eyed at something. it's only when he gets closer he can see your roommate glaring at the man in front of you. he's the ugly type, at least compared to gojo. average in every way. but whatever he's saying, you're hanging on each word, and a nasty bolt of something courses through gojo when he realizes he must be your aforementioned "ex."

Fratboy!Gojo, who watches your bottom lip quiver and then there's yelling between the ugly guy and your roommate before he storms off, and you're crashing into her arms.

Fratboy!Gojo, who can't help but feel happy at the sight. why even bother with whoever-he-is when he can kiss you better so easily? you think that's heartbreak? you wouldn't even know how to live if satoru had anything to do with it.

It wasn’t until the third day you left to work without a word or glance at him he felt his pride collapse. He was spiraling. It's bad enough that he hasn't apologized yet, but what if...? You're not thinking about... leaving, right? Shakey tan hands finding his phone and calling you after going the whole three days without hearing your voice unless it was to address someone other than him. He knows you get off in 2 hours, but he can’t help his worry.

It’s not only until his call gets declined does he nearly faints. It’s all too much. He starts desperately replaying the situation in his head. You really had only been looking out for him when you told him you didn't want him to practice until so late. But he just had to not listen and turn it back on you, huh? Just listen. That was it. The rift between you now was all because he was being too immature. If he had known this would have- no, that's not the point. He shouldn't have either way. You know that, don't you? 

Like a blessing, he hears the door click and watches you push past it. Your head is hung, and your purse and coat hit the floor in a phut before you kick your heels off away from the walkway. You're tired. When your eyes meet, they're cold as steel before widening in shock.

“Y/n...”

He wasn’t crying, but he could feel the blood rush to his face and his breathing deepen. Before he can spill his guts out to you, you pull him in for a hug.

Now he’s really crying.

You say nothing as you hold him, just rub his back softly and let him cry into your shoulder. Even in your exhaustion, knee-jerk is to take care of him. He really must be pathetic.

He leans into your touch as you wipe his tears away, letting him hold your wrist to his lips as he peppers kisses all along your palm.

“‘M so so sorry, love. Was so scared ya would neva talk t'me again.” His accent is much thicker than usual, and he feels so overwhelmed his head crashes down on your shoulder.

“I deserved it all. It’s all my fault.'m so sorry, y/n. Please don’t leave me. I’ll be so much better ‘nd I’ll never do that again. I was jus- it doesn't matter why, it was stupid. I should've never said that.”

“Hey," You don't sound demeaning, but your voice is firm and he can tell what you mean by it, so he brings his head from your shoulder to look you in your eyes. "I'm sorry for making you feel stupid. I should've talked to you after you got settled in, and not immediately after getting home. But never, should you ever, talk to me like that. I'd never leave you for this. I love you far too much. But I also love sleeping next to my boyfriend at a reasonable hour. I love you, Tsumu, okay? That hasn't changed. I promise.”

He nods in your hands before resting his forehead on yours.

“Can I kiss ya?”

Instead of answering, you kiss him first, and he's sighing into it. Short pecks turn more passionate and drawn out. Lashes flutter shut, and he savors the taste of coffee and vanilla chapstick he gets when his tongue slipped inside. As his hands maunder your body and find your hips, he needs you closer. He grabs under your thighs and you jump to wrap your legs around his waist as the kisses turn into a make-out session. You help him take off his tee shirt, letting out a shaky breath when he sucks on your neck, walking to your bedroom. 

“Fuck baby- lemme, make it up t'ya. Let me make ya feel good. Lemme show ya how much I’ve missed ya”

His chest is heavy and the bulge in his pants is more than apparent through his sweatpants. You look up at him doe-eyed and nod, and he has to bite his lip to keep the moan threatening to tumble out at bay. It’s not until you’re only in your underwear that he pauses. Letting his calloused finger rub up and down your slit, he swallows your strained moans with his tongue down your throat. You impatiently paw at his shoulders, and without asking, he moves your panties to the side and slips his finger inside. His mouth moves down to your thighs as his finger slowly moves in and out of you before adding a second, and you’re already whining for more. He kisses the fat of your thigh once more before pecking, then sucking and licking your clit while a third finger bullies your cunt.

Your hands move to his hair and you rock your hips against his face as you chase your release. The sensation stings his scalp, but he can’t bring himself to stop. Not when you taste so good. Not when he’s been missing and dreaming about your cunt ever since you’ve turned your back on him.

“F-fuck-Fuck ‘Tsumu, I’m gonna cum!”

Your cries run straight to his dick as he ruts his clothed cock into the bedsheets while eating you out. You cry out as your orgasm rushes over you, as your heels dig into his lower back. He greedily laps up everything you let out while bathing in all the praises that fall from your swollen lips. He lets you ride out your orgasm on his lips, then kisses you back up to your chin.

"Did ya like that?"

"Yes," and the breathless way that you say it makes him smile.