#sage.fics

You had wandered back to the makeshift dinner table and were now clearing up the plate, spoon and cup that had been left behind in the wake of the meal. There wasn't a lot of mess, so you let your mind wander as your hands got to work wiping and cleaning and washing. You spare only a second thought to the mandalorian, you know he's up in the cockpit at the moment, he so rarely shows himself during the child's dinner time—he proves to be a distraction more than anything else, to both you and the child—but it's clear to you that he wishes to be more present during meal times. Sometimes you think about how heavy the weight of his creed must be, and how it must hurt that he can't sit and eat with his family—the child... and you hope yourself—at mealtimes.

A deep thudding stirs you from your thoughts, your eyes feel heavy and the whip of wind is rattling against the outside of the crest—you must have landed somewhere, too preoccupied to notice. You turn your head towards the sound and you see the mandalorian disappearing down the hallway. He pokes his head through one doorway, as silently as he can, checking on the little one. You can hear the lightest of snores if you listen closely, and a smile graces your features at the thought of the mandalorian watching over the child as he sleeps.

The door to the child's sleeping quarters shuts softly, and the mandalorian spares a quick glance over to you—although you don't believe he will actually be able to see you properly, you still smile—before turning the other way and disappearing down the hallway. You lose sight of him quickly, and although you hear the far away sound of a door opening and closing you don't give it much thought.

You've just about finished clearing up when the sound of footsteps comes back into focus again. You don't turn to look this time, you've just got one last glass to put back in its place and then you'll be free to put yourself to bed for the night. You hear the mandalorian scuffling around behind you, then a soft pat, and then the sound of footsteps continues and he's leaving again, disappearing back down the hallway as fast as he had arrived. You're puzzled, but don't pay it too much mind. He's tired, and you all have a busy week ahead, you need all the rest you can.

You sigh, a good sigh, one that says ah, finally, I have finished my little tasks and I'm free to rest. The wind whips against the side of the crest again and it sends another shiver over you.

God, when did it get so cold?

You stretch your arms out in front of you, trying to get your muscles to relax a little and–my god, my hands! they're freezing!

You turn, intent on getting yourself into bed as fast as you can, when a flash of blue invades your periphery. You look around, as if trying to find the owner of this mysterious blue square or perhaps looking to make sure they wouldn't catch you as you wander slowly towards it. (Of course, you know who the owner is, if it's not yours—and it isn't—then there aren't really many other options for whose it can be). It’s possible, you suppose, that it could just be an old rag used for cleaning, or maybe discarded material from one of the mandalorian's old capes, although it's more likely to b—

Oh.

Oh.

It's a blanket. Soft, navy, and a little tatty on the edges, but it's definitely a blanket.

You shiver again.

But... Did I forget that I brought that out with me? Surely I would've–

Oh.

A second realisation hits you.

Your cheeks warm and suddenly all of the Mandalorians shuffling and disappearing into doorways makes sense.

He was looking for this blanket.

Looking for this blanket, for you.

two, the breakfast —

Your eyes flutter open, and the gentle, warm light from the corridor floods your vision as you slowly sit up in your bed. You blink at the clock on the shelf next to your head, and it blinks back at you:

0822

You yawn. It's not late by any meaning of the word, but it's enough of a lie-in that your heart thumps a little faster than normal at the thought of the child patiently waiting for you to get him his breakfast. Mando would be busy by now; flying and plotting a course in the cockpit, talking with people about possible jobs on the spare comm-link in the far left side of the crest, cleaning his weaponry, or one of the other hundreds of things he busies himself with on the days he finds himself without a bounty to chase. You know he'd love to spend his mornings with the little fellow, talking with him and feeding him and cleaning up after him. But Mando's never been one for slow mornings, always preferring to get up and immediately start trying to provide.

You burrow to the bottom of the small cabinet by your bed, rooting around for a fresh set of clothes. You suppose it's possible that the child won't have even woken up yet, last night wasn't the easiest night for him. It was the first night in a while that bedtime had fallen while the crest was still mid-flight, which meant that Mando was tied up in the cockpit and you were on bedtime duty solo. And, to be fair to the little man, he had done well to begin with, you barely even noticed a change from his normal bedtime behaviour until the crest went through what you can only think to describe as a heavy patch of turbulence and then it all went a bit lopsided from there.

His blanket slipped out from his grasp, just as he was drifting off. The chill must have woken him up and even though the blanket was only separated from him for a few seconds it had snapped him back to being wide awake and you had had to calm him down once the ship began to shake again. The metal walls had been creaking, it had been loud enough to freak you out as well, so you tucked yourself up next to the child and ran your hand soothingly up and down his side while reciting to him his favourite type of story—a story about the brave, strong Mandalorian who fights bad guys and keeps his family safe on his big, fun spaceship.

You think you managed to get yourself to bed at just after 3 o'clock this morning. Mando was still flying the ship when you tucked yourself into your own bed and you had wondered briefly about when he planned to sleep before your tiredness had overtaken you and you had drifted off.

The smell of food is the first thing you notice as you slip out of your room. It's not strong, nor is it a burning smell, but it's there, and it's food, and it makes you uneasy.

Your emotions hit you in waves, first, the panic (that the child has somehow gotten his way into the kitchen and is making food on his own), then the anxiety (that he will end up hurting himself and all because you had slept in), next the guilt (that you had allowed yourself to be selfish and now the child was potentially in danger) and then, finally, the relief.

You sigh heavily when the kitchen comes into view. There is the child, happily playing with his homemade spaceship toy, there is a three quarters empty plate lying an arms length away from him on the table and there's a glass of juice placed next to it.

He is fine.

"Morning." Mando says. His voice is deep and it sends heat across your face.

"Good morning." You reply, smiling at them both.

Your eyes meet Mando's visor and he nods at you before turning away, busying himself once again. You walk gently towards the child and he coos as you sit in the seat next to him. You now realise that the scattered bits of food left on his plate are bits of pancake, blueberry pancakes by the look of it, and you feel your stomach pang with jealousy.

"And how was your breakfast this morning little one?" You run a finger behind his ear, which earns you a delighted giggle. "It looks delicious."

You turn your head back towards Mando, about to ask him if he has had anything to eat yet, and if he managed to sleep last night at all, but when you look over to where he was a moment ago you are surprised to find that he has disappeared. Your eyebrows furrow, a question ghosts your lips, and you're about to stand when your eyes glance upon something perched on the table.

A full plate of food is sat merely an inch from the tip of your fingers.

You glance around the room again, but you know Mando has already slipped away to some remote corner of the ship. Your stomach growls, and you suddenly realise just how hungry you truly are.

The food is for you, there's no question. The plate is coupled with your favourite caffeinated beverage and the pancakes are garnished with a singular piece of fruit—the one you had ogled at during your last market visit.

You didn't know Mando had gone back for that...

You had wondered that afternoon why he had left you and the child at the baked goods stall, he so rarely leaves the two of you unattended while you are out. You had thought maybe he was getting word on a bounty and didn't want the child to overhear. But as you stare now at the mouth watering piece of orange fruit in front of you, you can't help the warm feeling that blossoms in your chest.

I never even told him this was my favourite fruit. How did he know?

three, supply run —

There's something wrong.

You can't quite put your finger on it, but in the last few weeks you have felt… off. The bed you sleep on that usually has you drifting off within minutes now feels lumpy and hard. The blanket that never fails to give you comfort now makes you agitated and irritated. Your favourite part of the day, meal time during the evening, now leaves a sour taste in your mouth (and it's not the food).

Something is wrong. You just feel wrong.

And you know Mando has noticed. You catch him staring at you when he thinks you're not looking, when he thinks you're too preoccupied to notice him. He's always watched over you and the child, he's your protector, and he knows that if you’re safe then the child is safe too. But it's different now, not bad, just... different. His gaze isn't fleeting anymore, you think it watches you as you move about the crest, just trying to go about your day—help the child, prep the crest, sort through the mess of Mando's inventory—and it makes your chest ache.

You feel something tickle your cheeks as you move silently towards the cockpit. Tears sweep across your skin, as warming as they are confusing. The child is resting peacefully in his cot and it gives you some extra time to mull over your supposed wrongness. And, unsurprisingly, that makes you feel worse.

You can tell by how the crest is moving that you're about to land somewhere, you should probably pause and take hold of something for balance, but something deep inside you is spurring you forwards, telling you to keep moving towards the cockpit. And so you do.

The light is harsh as you enter through the doorway, it takes your eyes a second to adjust to the change. Mando huffs out a small greeting and you do the same. You take a step forward, about to ask where the pilot has landed the crest today, and what his business will be here, when your eyes finally pay attention to the view in front of you.

"Mando... are we in my hometown?" Your voice is thick with emotion, you swallow hard in an attempt to regain control over your voice, but your waterline is already lined with tears and they're threatening to fall fast.

He doesn't look at you, still fiddling with the controls as he docks the ship and sets her to park. "I–" He coughs, something burns within his chest. His focus is still on the console and so his words tumble out in a rather clunky way. "I... I–it was just an–uh, yeah–I thought that it'd be a good stop for supplies." He finishes. His cheeks feel hot and he's worried that he just made a complete fool of himself, but when he turns to face you—the crest now completely still and parked—he finds your eyes are still trained on the view from the window.

He notices the tear stains on your cheeks, and the way you are trying too hard to steady your breathing, but he says nothing. He brushes past you on his way out of the cockpit and his breath hitches, his fists tighten and you apologise in a dazed way as he steps around you.

The opening beeps of the cockpit door snap you out of your trance and your eyes flick around the room wildly. You brush your tears away, hoping that Mando didn't see them—but deep down, knowing that it would've been impossible for him not to—and your eyes meet his visor again. You're shocked to find him already looking at you, or more accurately, you're shocked that he didn't turn his head away when he saw your head moving around to face him.

"Supplies, you say?"

Your voice already sounds brighter to Mando's ears, and he smiles to himself—thankful just this once that you can't see past his metal headgear. You are able to read him better than anyone else he knows, and a little voice in the back of his head is telling him that the look on his face right now would be impossible to read as anything other than what it is—adoration.

Mando nods before turning away, leaving you alone in the cockpit while he preps the few things needed for a market visit. And you sigh, mind reeling over the possibilities of showing Mando your home again, already feeling lighter than you had a mere 5 minutes ago, and your wrongness is now being drowned out as you follow the mandalorian's footsteps and exit the cockpit.

four, the chores —

You finish wiping the blade and place it down gently onto the fabric you had laid over the table. The pile of assorted guns and daggers, along with the three spears and singular pulse rifle, is rather large now. The two small, circular shields (that you've never once seen be used by anyone) are also polished, although you were unable to pop out the large gashed dent that covers almost the entire left side of one of them.

You feel a slight twinge in your foot, the beginning of a cramp, and you jump up quickly, shaking your leg wildly and trying to stop the string of curses that are desperate to leave your lips. The room is oddly silent, apart from your grunts of pain, the music box sits an arms length away, you must not have noticed when the record stopped... You hesitate, torn between hitting replay and leaving it silent, but the decision is made for you when you look at the clock and see just how late it is.

I've been working for... how long?!

Your heart suddenly thumps wildly, your foot cramp long forgotten, and you move quickly from the table to the weaponry, your arms full with as much as you can manage to carry.

God, how could that have taken so long? I've still got to change the sheets on all of our beds, give the child a bath, wipe up the cooking area and oil up a few of the door hinges!

Your movements are hurried, and you manage to get everything back into its rightful place within 5 minutes (although you do almost lose a finger once or twice). You rush towards the basket that holds your bedding... but you don't see any.

Huh?

You bury your hands between the odd capes and spare blankets, searching for those familiar sets of bedding, and your hands come back empty. You huff, confused and a little ashamed that you've somehow misplaced the bedding, and you decide to just go to the kitchen and start wiping up instead, to take your mind off of it.

But when you get to the kitchen, the whole place is spotless! The cooker is polished and the plates and bowls from breakfast and lunch are all clean and placed back in their spots in the cupboard (and you definitely know this, because you checked each and every cupboard and counted the number of dishes... twice!). Even the sink is empty!

You spin around on your heel, deciding to go find the child, who should be in his playroom this time of the day, and take him to the washroom for his bath. Safe in the knowledge that at least this will be one thing you are actually able to do, and still confused as to why you haven't been able to complete anything else on your checkless since lunchtime...

But the child is not in his playroom. And now you're really worried. You race around the ship, sticking your head into every room you can think of, only to find the child is not in any of them. Your feet refuse to stand still and they carry you (almost subconsciously) towards the washroom, and as you get closer and closer you begin to hear the familiar sounds of an excitable child and the splashing that comes along with said child in a bath.

The door opens with a whack! and you grimace at how loudly the sound echoes through the room. Mando turns towards you, he is kneeling next to the tub, his armour is nowhere to found and he instead dawns a loose undershirt, a pair of dark trousers and his beskar helmet.

"Sorry." You whisper, as if trying not to wake a sleeping baby. Your eyes flit from Mando to the child, and back again. "You're bathing him."

Mando nods.

"You didn't ha—"

Oh.

And that's when it dawns on you.

"And you also changed the bed sheets?" You question, although you think—hope (dreading the potential embarrassment that will come if you’re wrong)—you already know the answer.

"Yes." He replies. He's not looking at you but it feels like his eyes are looking straight through you.

"And the kitchen..."

"Yes, that was me."

"Oh. Okay, thank you." Your voice is small, but it's hard to fight the smile growing on your face.

Mando turns to look at you briefly, "you don't need to thank me," and then he's gone again, back to giving his full attention to the little guy hiding amongst the bubbles.

"I-" You start, but you don't know what to say. Thank you anyway? I owe you one? You didn't need to do that for me?

Your thoughts swirl. There is so much you could say to Mando right now, and lord knows there are plenty of other things you could busy yourself with, but the look on the child's face when he saw you enter had your heart glowing and the opportunity to sit and enjoy a nice—if slightly wet—moment with Mando in relaxed mode was something you couldn't turn down.

five, babysitting —

Breathe... Just breathe. You tell yourself over and over again.

She's not even technically late yet, you and Mando—Din, to you now—had agreed on a midday pick up and here you were at... a quarter to the hour freaking out over nothing. He trusts her, he's known her for years at this point and hell, even you've met her– what... 2? 3 times now?

Everything is fine.

So why do you feel so on edge?

You hear the familiar clanging of the ship door as it opens, followed by echoing footsteps and the beeps of the door closing. Din comes to rest next to where you stand, his shoulder almost touches yours and you know, even without looking, that his eyes are trained on you right now with that familiar tilt of the head that he does so often.

Din can sense your nerves, even before he saw you he could tell something was different this time. He usually comes down to the bottom of the ship and finds you tinkering with something during the last few minutes of the child's miscellaneous playdates. He usually walks out of the ship door with you and wanders down the ramp while you perch on the edge with your legs dangling down beneath you. Sometimes he strikes up a conversation, other times you ramble about the child, and occasionally the two of you wait in a comfortable silence.

But not this time.

He felt uneasy when he came towards the ship door and he didn't spot you, even more so when he came outside to wait with you at the bottom of the ramp and you didn't say as much as a word to him.

He sees the anxiety you feel, it's written on your face as plain as day. You keep readjusting how you stand—left foot crossed in front of the right, then both feet facing straight with your knees in line and then back to left foot in front of the right—and whenever you do pause your movements Din can see your ankle bouncing up and down. You've had your arms crossed in front of your chest since he came to join you and your finger keeps tapping your elbow in a rather rhythmic pattern.

Tap. Taptaptap. Tap tap.

You know you shouldn't be as worried as you are, after all, you have no legitimate reason to feel so scared. Peli is a perfectly safe person for the child to be with, she invited him over for a playdate with her two young nieces—and you've actually met them, and they are quite sweet, if not a little excitable (but what kid isn't?)—and she's even babysitted him before as well, when you and Din have had to go away for a bounty together.

The thumping in your chest begins to get louder and it feels as though your heart is about to leap out from your throat. You can barely breathe. Your chest starts to heave and your knuckles turn white from how hard you are gripping onto your shirt sleeves. You don't know what—

Something touches your arm and you almost yelp in surprise. You glance to your right, ready to jump or flee or fight. But all you see is Din's helmet, head tilted, looking at you. You can only imagine the expression on his face—pity? Confusion? Sympathy?

You straighten your head. His hand doesn't leave your arm.

You take a deep breath.

Just beyond the nearest hill the faintest outline of a person begins to appear. They walk slowly, but undoubtedly in your direction, and they seem to be holding two things. One is a bag, you think. And the other is...

"They're back," you sigh, your voice is small but excited, and full of relief.

The tension is already beginning to lift from your shoulders. Din's hand is still resting on your arm, and if you hadn't been so distracted by the figure in front of you, and if you hadn't been wearing such a thick jacket, you would have felt his thumb rubbing small circles delicately across your arm. He only does it for a few short seconds, but he does it nonetheless.

Once Peli comes into better view you give her a wave and a smile, she waves back and then the child's hand peaks out of his sleeve and he waves back as well. It's enough to cause the smile on your face to widen, and you even let out an almost silent chuckle. Din slips his hand from your arm wordlessly, thinking that you probably wouldn't want his touch any longer and he takes a step away from you just as Peli arrives. He gives her a quick nod and then leaves the two of you to exchange pleasantries, quietly sneaking off to the crest's ramp and not so sneakily opening the crest door—the clanging is an issue; he wonders briefly if he should ask Peli to fix it soon.

six (one b), the bad job —

Din knew something wasn't right with this mission from the get go. There was something shifty about how the guy had spoken, demanding repeatedly about how both Din and you were necessary for what was needed. The man—Din has forgotten his name now, like it even mattered to begin with—had approached him just after he'd been turned down by another barman when he'd asked about possible jobs. The man was fast. Too fast. But Din had brushed it off at the time, too keen to get the job, too keen to earn some money again, too keen to get you and the child off this godforsaken planet.

Too keen to notice when the barman had signaled to the guy sitting at the table by the door, a small wink and a thumb pointed unsubtly in the Mandalorians direction.

“Din–Din, please. Are you there?” You curse, smacking the comm link against the wall and hoping the whack isn't hard enough to break the stupid little device.

“Ar–there–I–ca–hea–” Din’s voice hisses through the comm, followed by a high pitched whining noise that makes you jump back in surprise.

A strangled laugh escapes your throat, it’s thick with fear, and a half conscious thought flits across your mind—that if someone was listening and trying to find your location that the sound of your laughter would be a dead give away, and you’d be… well–dead.

You smack the comm against the wall twice more, for good measure.

“I’m here, Din, please–Maker–please hear me.” You beg, your voice is hoarse.

Multiple nearby blaster shots cause your head to snap upwards, sure that if you could just see the end of the alleyway, hear the sound of people milling around the market, smell the fresh baked goods at the stalls, your heart wouldn't be beating as fast as it is right now.

But the thing that would reduce your anxiety the most, allowing you to take a breath or a moment to recompose yourself, would be if you were able to see Din.

"I hear you, I'm here." Din's voice breaks through the blaster noise.

Another shot lands to your right and you retreat further into the corner between the wall and the crate that you're crouched behind. Your dominant hand holds your blaster tightly, your knuckles are pale. The cool metal against your palm keeps you focused, as you rise onto your knees to get a better aim another shot races past your ear. You waste no time in firing a returning shot and the stupid bastard goes down within 2 seconds.

Serves him right for not ducking down after firing at me, amateur.

“Cyar'ika?"

You're about to respond when you hear a loud crash. The loose pebbles on the street floor start to vibrate, sending a shiver down your spine. The noise is almost loud enough to drown out your own thoughts. Your resolve cracks when you realise the reason for the sudden lack of shots fired.

They've got a heavy repeating blaster cannon. And they're somehow pushing it down the alley you're trapped in.

"Din, I-" You cough, a lousy attempt to get your voice under control. "I don't want to die."

Your voice cracks on the last word, your mouth is suddenly as dry as a rock in the desert.

It feels like eternity before you hear Din's voice again, your only company the static sound from the comms and the low rumbling as the cannon makes it way closer to you. There's nowhere for you to run, you can't press yourself any further backwards, you have no jet pack, no grenades, no fire blaster and you never even said goodbye to the kid. God.

Tears fill your eyes, you bring a shaky hand towards your face, about to confess through the comm link something that you wish you'd had the guts to confess when you weren't 2 inches from death, when the familiar static is interrupted.

"You're not going to die, cyar'ika, I won't let that happen. I'm going to get you out of this, even if it kills me."

"Din, please-" You start, about to beg him to stay away, to tell him to think of Grogu. He can't lose his mother and father figure in one day, he just can't.

"Don't tell me to stay away." He interrupts, his voice hoarse, "this is my fault, if I'd been more careful, done my duty, then you would never have been put in this position-" He cuts himself off, you hear him take a deep breath.

"But-" You try.

"No," his voice is firm, "I'm coming for you and I'll be leaving this planet with you. The child still needs you and... I still need you."

If you had the capacity to think about anything other than the group of mercenaries currently moving towards you, then you might have questioned the last part of Din's sentence. You might have blushed and wondered at what he could mean, you may have even considered the possibility of him returning your feelings... But the sudden silence around you had your thoughts billowing towards one conclusion, and it wasn't good.

"Din... The cannon–god, help me–the cannon–they"ve stopped pushing it. I can hear them readying it."

You gulp and ready your blaster, not willing to go down without a fight.

"When I tell you to duck, you duck, okay?"

"What?" You question.

"I told you, I'm getting you out of here." Din curses and you hear the sound of blaster shots again, but this time they're coming though the comms link.

"Din, what are you doing? Maker! I told you to protect the child!" You try, pleading to the stubborn mandalorian.

"The child is safe. It's your turn now." He states, giving you almost no room to argue.

Almost.

The blaster shots continue over the comm link. You hear the mercenaries up the alleyway begin to ready their cannon, but before they have a chance to fire—

"Duck! Now." Din demands.

You obey immediately, falling backwards onto your ass and tucking your head between your knees. Your blaster still sits in your hand.

The muffled sound is hard to place but the vibrations through the floor and the dust movements between your legs are easy to follow. You lift your head and rise to your knees just as a dark figure emerges from the cloud of dust. You drop your gun immediately when your anxiety ridden brain finally allows you to recognise the familiar glint of beskar in front of you.

You jump to your feet and slam yourself against the mandalorian with no regard to your body. His armour is hard, it almost knocks the wind out of you, but no pain or threat of attack could have stopped you from seeking out your chosen solace once you locked eyes on him.

"I'm here, cyar'ika, I'm here." He pauses and hesitates for only a moment before wrapping his arms around you.

From what he can see of you you seem to be mostly unharmed, just a few small scrapes across your arms and a large bruise across your cheek. He knows you'll need a cool press against your face soon or you'll run the risk of the bruise swelling badly, but the cuts are manageable and he'll be able to leave them a little longer before dealing with them.

"You're okay," he whispers.

You're unsure if he's reassuring you or reassuring himself, but you nod.

"Yeah, I'm okay. We're okay." You whisper against his chest.

Din swallows, his fear about your safety finally easing, his chest suddenly feeling not as tight as it had 5 minutes ago.

"Hold on, it's time I take you home."

You nod again, squeezing your arms tighter around Din's waist and looping them through the holsters and belts he wears at his sides. As the two of you begin to rise you manage to catch a glimpse of the alleyway. It's as you expected. The bodies of the four mercenaries lie surrounding their weapon, and the weapon itself has been blasted into several small pieces, one of which is lodged into the chest of the one that was closest to it.

You shudder, turning your head away from the mess as you continue to rise higher and higher.

The higher you fly the more the ache and anxiety in your chest eases. And when you land aboard the razor crest and lay your eyes on Grogu you find the only pain left is physical, and you're finally able to take a breath—unaffected by the anxiety and adrenaline of battle, safe and content with your family once again.

“Don't push me away before I'm finished. You taste so good, it's not fair.” His eyes narrow, watching and waiting to see if you'll pull your hands away and hold them behind your head, like he told you to do the last time you tried to push him off because you were too sensitive.

He smiles a wicked smile when your fingers release his hair. You almost manage to roll your eyes at his overt cockiness but then his mouth wraps around your swollen clit, and all you're able to do is screw your eyes shut as a broken moan escapes from between your drool covered lips.

“You taste so fucking good, baby, need you like this everyday.” He murmurs against your pussy.

His tongue rolls over your clit, already so spit covered and sensitive that just one lick has your legs spasming. Xavier's free hand clamps down over your lower stomach, trapping your hips in place. You wonder for a brief second why he didn't just use both hands to hold you by your thighs, and then he moans against your pussy, his breath hot, and you realise—the ringing in your ears from the overwhelming sensation of your last orgasm finally ceasing enough that you can hear clearly—that the hand you thought was free is actually wrapped around his cock. And it's pumping his length at a rather wicked pace.

The sight has your eyes rolling back in your skull. Xavier kneels at your feet, his face is hidden between your thighs, you can see a sheen of sweat glistening on his face. The vein at the side of his neck is pulsing wildly and the fingers that don't hold his cock flex before finding a hold in the flesh of your hip. They're definitely going to leave crescent shaped indents, but at this point, he couldn't care less.

The taste of you on his tongue is enough to drive him insane at the best of times. But he's been without it for almost a full week—not through either of your faults—and so this afternoon he's being a bit more… attentive.

“You can't let me go this long again. Ever. I can't,” he presses his tongue to your aching hole and licks three long, delicious stripes upwards, “I can't go without the taste of you, it's all–it’s the only thing that keeps me awake.”

“B-baby, plea–ah!” Your voice cracks.

Your attempt to plead with Xavier gets cut off when he abruptly forces your legs to clamp shut around his head by pressing a needy kiss to your overstimulated bundle of nerves.

It's as if he's annoyed at himself for being apart from your lips for so long, you can hear him growling and groaning as he wraps his lips back around your swollen clit. The suction has you seeing stars, it's as if a shot of pure fire runs through your veins and all you can do is hold on and wait for it to burn out. The heat is stifling. A bead of sweat travels down your chest, you can feel it tickling the skin.

That familiar coil of pleasure begins to tighten in your core, but there's no way for you to convey this to Xavier, who is far too distracted to notice the signs. All he can focus on is the way you feel under his tongue, and the fact that he wants you there forever.

He whines against your pussy, your smell too good, your taste too sweet. And as he begins to bob his head up and down, with your deliciously sensitive bud caught in his lips, he fails to notice his own orgasm threatening to wash over him. His hand continues pumping his aching cock without so much as a thought, all he can do is chase the high your pussy gives him. He doesn't notice when his cock begins to throb, he doesn't notice when his breath begins to hitch and so, of course, he doesn't notice when his orgasm finally crashes over him.

Thick ropes of cum paint the edge of the sofa. The hot, sticky liquid covers his hand and his wrists and drips onto his thighs. But he doesn't stop. Too preoccupied with sucking you off. Too in love with your sweet sounds of pleasure.

Just one more. He thinks. Just one more time and she'll be ready. Just one more and that'll be enough.

But it's never enough. No matter how many times he makes you cum.

The more desperate you seem, the more tired and sore and teary eyed you get, the more he wants to keep going.

Your fists gather in his hair again, but this time—your brain is too overwhelmed and tired to think of much—with little consideration to his pain. You gather the strands and hold on as tight to his skull as you can manage, attempting to anchor yourself to him. His tongue swirls and licks as he bobs up and down and the thought of him—Xavier, your colleague and partner and lover and overly jealous boyfriend—sucking you off is enough to get you hurtling towards your fifth orgasm of the day.

The stars behind your eyes erupt again, their light is bright and blinding. Your words come out in wheezing breaths, “Xav… I–I… Ah–cumming…”

He's aware enough to hear you speak, your last word sending a final jolt of energy through him—like a runner who gets a spur of energy when they catch a glimpse of the finishing line. His suction on your clit remains steady, but his head moves just that little bit faster.

And the change of pace is all you need.

The coil tightens.

You cum with a whisper-shout of his name and your hands in his hair. And Xavier never relents. He works you through it all, mouth never leaving you as you curse and whine and kick your feet wildly. He finds your overstimulated body so cute. Knowing you can't keep still, knowing your voice is hoarse and your chest is heaving and your eyes are wet, all for him—because of him—makes him follow your lead.

He cums for a second time.

But this time, he notices.

His moans sweep across the room, he shudders as the pleasure overtakes his body. There's no need for him to ignore his pleasure this time, so he doesn't. His hand keeps pumping his sticky cock, working himself to the brink at the same time he works you to the brink. He runs his thumb over his sensitive head and his body jolts at the sensation.

He doesn't stop until your body goes limp. He waits until you're too tired to keep holding on, too tired to fight him, before releasing your clit from between his lips. His cock—which is somehow still hard despite his two consecutive orgasms—stands to attention between his legs, dripping with pre and cum. Your legs droop over the edge of the sofa, your hands rest at your sides.

Xavier sits up onto his knees, his eyes lingering on your swollen clit and the mess you've left on the cushions.

“My starlight,” he whispers, running his clean hand over your face, “you are so beautiful.”

You whimper, the compliment causing butterflies to erupt in your stomach.

“I'm sorry I made such a mess…” He says, a bashful, sincere look on his face.

“Xav…” you smile, heat creeping up your neck.

He coughs, a rose tint covering his face. “But… I told you.”

You narrow your eyes, confused.

“I told you…” He continues, “that you had at least one more for me.”

He smiles that wicked smile again, as you roll your eyes at him, still too tired to do much more than lightly shove at his shoulder.

He almost loses his balance and as he rocks back onto his feet his hand disappears from your face. The loss of contact makes him pout, his lips are glossy and the spit makes them look deliciously pink.

“Come back here,” he says, before plunging towards you and nuzzling his head against your chest.

You're tempted to giggle. The sound is right on the edge of your lips, but when he presses a delicate kiss to your skin you find the sound is stolen from you.

“I'm right here,” you whisper against his head.

"I think I do actually." You reply.

You feel him smile against your cheek, "Oh yeah?"

You nod, and try to hum in response, but the tip of Jean's cock seems to kiss a sweet, sensitive spot inside you at exactly the same time, and so your hum turns into a surprised moan instead. Something that Jean will not let go unnoticed.

"Aw, my angel, does something feel good?" He teases.

He maneuvers his arms so that they cage your head and you can feel the hardened muscles in his biceps squeeze your cheeks ever so slightly. You furrow your eyebrows. But all the fight is taken out of you when he picks up the pace and begins thrusting in and out of you with such unexpected speed that your hands fly about the air looking for something to grab onto, like you're riding a rollercoaster that just took a surprise dip after climbing upwards for so long.

"Oh, my sweet girl, that's it." He purrs when he feels your hands groping weakly for his back. "You just hold on to me, okay? Just let me feel you, let me feel what's mine–fuck you're tight–that's it, my baby."

You squeeze your eyes shut and force yourself to take a deep breath.

Jean has always been able to make your head spin, he's always been able to make you see stars, and make your knees weak. Every metaphor, comparison or simile under the sun—he's all of them. He's a good fuck, basically. The best you've ever had, in fact. That's why the two of you have been doing this for so long, this just two friends who hang out and do friend stuff but also have mind blowing sex together thing. And it's been working well, too well. All your friends think the two of you are dating, it's impossible to hide anything from them, you're not even sure why you tried to lie about it to begin with, especially since Jean has such an obvious tell that if anyone were to ask him about it there would be no way they wouldn't walk away from that conversation without knowing the truth. But it's fine. You can't really complain when he's pulled three orgasms from you already this evening with no sign of slowing down.

"You okay, gorgeous?" He asks, whispering the words out through gritted teeth. His pleasure snuck up on him, he's been running a marathon for the last... he doesnt even know how many hours and all of a sudden his body wants him to sprint sprint sprint.

And he wants to listen.

"I'm almost at the finish line baby, tell me what to do." He whines.

You squeeze around his length, tilting your head back in pleasure as a breathy moan escapes your lips. Jean attaches his lips to your now exposed neck without a thought, sucking on your most sensitive spot while still managing to keep up the pace he had set for himself—although his thrusts were beginning to get sloppy and desperate as he got closer and closer to his climax.

"I–ah, fuck–Jean, please, please, p-please." You reply. Your head spins. You have no idea what you're even begging for, but fuck, you just need... something. Anything!

"Use your words, angel. C'mon now, I need you to–hnng–tell me–aa–tell me where to cum. Need to cum for my pretty girl."

Your broken moans fill the room. You know what you want but you can't seem to find your voice, when you try to speak all that comes out are high pitched whines and whispered repeats of his name over and over again.

"God, you feel so good around me. You take me so well, this pussy was made for me, made to be mine." Jean continues to praise you, his sultry voice coupled with his delicious words have you hurtling towards your own orgasm at such a rate that you finally manage to get out the words you've been so desperate to say—the imminent release of pleasure sends energy shooting through you, enough to take you out of your cock drunk state, even if it's only for a second.

"Inside! Please–ah, fuck fuck fuck–inside Jean! God I love you." You whimper.

You don't even realise what you've said, too overwhelmed with the feeling of Jean's cock pumping into you to realise much of anything—someone could burst through the door carrying a monkey on their back and you would have no idea they were there, too caught up in your own pleasure.

"Oh, fuck. My gorgeous girl, yeah–tssk–yeah I'll cum inside baby. All for you." He whimpers. "My girl, you are too good. Fuck, fuck fu–fuck."

Jean stumbles over his words, too overwhelmed by the power of you to say much more than a string of curse words as he unloads his pleasure inside you. He can feel you squeezing around his length, his eyes screw so tightly shut that he's seeing stars (although one can't blame that wholly on how tightly his eyes are closed...) and your moans fill his ears. Breathy moans. And whispers of his name, over and over again. And then there's that thing. That small thing. Sprinkled in-between the curses and the whispers and the whines.

You love him.

And you've said so at least... 5 times now...? And although Jean would never say, maybe hearing those 3 words was the finishing push that tipped his pleasure over the edge tonight. Maybe those whispered confessions of love were what caused that coil to be released. And if there were a few tears sneaking their way down his cheeks as he painted the insides of your walls with his pleasure, who would know? Certainly not you. Your eyes wouldn't open until Jean started nuzzling into your neck, giving open mouth kisses all the way from your collarbone to your jaw.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about!” Reiner says loudly, frustration evident in his voice. “Y/N is not a distraction, or a hindrance, why are you acting like this is going to ruin all the work we've done so far?”

“Because it is going to ruin all the work we've done so far, you idiot!” Annie replies, almost as loudly.

“Guys you need to keep it dow—” You hear Bertholdt whisper.

“No! Don't you dare think about taking his side right now, you know I’m right. We were not sent here to consort with the enemy! It’s bad enough that the two of you seem so buddy-buddy with all the people here, but this—what he's doing—is something else entirely!” Annie sounds tense, and something about her voice makes you shrink into yourself.

You're almost certain that if you were to look at the three of them right now that Annie would be standing obnoxiously close to Reiner, trying to get in his face, with her hands folded in front of her chest, while Bert stands somewhere between the two of them, slightly off to the side, but still in the middle, as if his presence would be enough to de-escalate whatever situation is arising between the two blondes.

“You have no idea what you're talking about.” Reiner repeats, although his voice sounds significantly smaller than it did just a few seconds ago.

Annie scoffs, and you hear her feet shuffling, presumably moving away from where she stands in front of Reiner. You can picture her leaning cooly against the wall. “Right.” Her tone is icy.

Bertholdt sighs, and it's easy for you to imagine how he’s stood—his hands stuffed deep in his pockets, as if trying to make himself smaller. “Reiner,” he pauses, “you know how this is going to end.” It wasn't a question. “Annie’s right—let's say that we’re both too close to the other cadets, our reasons could be acceptable to those back at home, we’re gathering intel, getting information only the locals would know, but you and y/n… you know it’s different between the two of you…” Bertholdt trails off, and you can hear him shifting uncomfortably.

“Wha—no—you—” Reiner splutters, and Annie scoffs at him again.

“Don't bother trying to think of excuses, we all know what you have to do.”

“C’mon Annie, do you really think that's necessary? We’ll be gone before you know it, and he’ll never see y/n again.” Betholdt says, his attention seemingly focused fully on Annie now. He tries his best to play both sides, clearly uncomfortable with the idea of upsetting either one of them. The switch in his argument is jarring, even to you—who hadn’t been listening to the entirety of the conversation.

“He ends this thing he has going on, sooner rather than later, or else we run the risk of exposure. This is not just about him, and it's not up for debate.” Annie directs her words towards Bertholdt.

Bertholdt hums, seemingly agreeing with Annie, but far too anxious to say so in front of Reiner.

“You hear that, blondie?” Annie’s voice echos differently than just now—she must have turned back towards Reiner. “You’re ending this so-called relationship, or you might just find that your beloved undergoes some kind of unexplainable, tragic accident. Because if you don't deal with this, we will.” You assume she indicates to herself and Bertholdt.

You hear Reiner take an uneven breath. “Are you threatening what I think you're threatening?” Reiner’s voice is loud, and the sound of shuffling footsteps floats toward your ears. “If you even think about laying a hand on—”

“Reiner! Quiet your voice!” Bertholdt speaks urgently.

Annie laughs, “Don’t bother Bertholdt, he doesn't scare me.” She clears her throat, and you can just about hear the words she says as she begins to walk away from where the trio were arguing. “This discussion is over, you know I’m right. If Warchief Zeke knew about this…if anyone back home knew about this…you know how dangerous it would be for all of us.”

“Annie…” Bertholdt whispers.

“Don’t.” She snaps. “I have to get back.”

You didn’t know what to make of the conversation. The part of you that wasn’t occupied with questions managed to keep you alert enough to flee the corner you were hiding by, it would not have been good if Bertholdt, or Reiner, had rounded the corner after their conversation had ended and found you there. And you didn’t want to come face to face with either of them.

What was it Annie had said…? Some kind of unexplainable, tragic accident. You shudder, goosebumps covering your skin. The venom in Annie’s voice was lethal, it had turned your blood cold. You couldn't imagine why she would possibly feel the need to threaten your life. What was it that the three of them were up to? Consorting with the enemy? Did Annie mean you? Your friends? And who was Zeke? Your mind was spinning with questions.

You thought briefly about how you were supposed to be with Mikasa and Eren right now, practising your sparring and hand to hand combat techniques. How would you even be able to keep a straight face when you apologised for not turning up? What excuse would you use? There's no way you could tell them the truth, not before you've spoken to Reiner.

Reiner…

The thought of him made your heart ache. All those nights together, all the things you've shared with him, and the things he shared with you… Was any of it real? You raked a hand across your face, unkindly wiping the tears from your cheeks. Your stomach was in knots, and your breath became ragged as you started to find yourself feeling more and more angry. The numbness from earlier disappeared as the anger washed over you. The people you had thought were your friends, who were they? What intel could they possibly be trying to gather? They were talking as if they were here to spy on the Scouts, but why? Where could they have come from? Your hands were balled into fists at your side, and you slowly stretched your legs outwards, letting out a low groan as you did so.

You had to find Reiner. To see him, to speak to him before your heart could catch up with your brain. You knew where he would be now, where he always went when he felt low—an irritated feeling overcame you, and you rolled your eyes. As if he has any right to be feeling low right now. His betrayal had lodged itself deep within you, and you knew that whoever it was you were about to confront, it was not the man you loved.

You round corner after corner, the hallways eventually changing from the grimy, dirty ones you had sought refuge in, to the cleaner, busier ones that you were much more familiar with. You scurry past the door that would lead towards the training area—knowing Eren and Mikasa were still there had you feeling racked with guilt—and you quickly speed past the crates that you had hidden behind only an hour or so ago.

You try not to think too much about the trio as you walk through the area they had been arguing in—instead choosing to focus on relaxing your body, as much as it allows you to. Your face feels flushed, and you take note of how warm your body feels, there's not much time until you reach Reiner, but by taking multiple deep breaths you manage to slow your rapid heartbeat. The focused breathing relaxes your taut jaw muscles as well, but an ache has already started forming from how clenched you were, and you try to ignore the pain that is growing both in your jaw, and at your palms—your fingernails have left dark half circle indents in your palms, and you think to yourself that it's lucky you hadn’t drawn any blood from how hard you were pressing into them.

You stop without thinking, suddenly finding yourself face to face with the door you know Reiner is behind. You wipe your palms against your shirt—wincing slightly at the pain—and take a final deep breath before you press your hand to the door knob and twist it gently. You try your best to be as silent as possible, not wanting to startle him. You jerk, suddenly questioning to yourself whether Reiner will be suspicious at how quickly you found him after his argument with Bertholdt and Annie. Would he find it odd how you had known he was upset, when you hadn't even seen him?

“Hello?” Reiner’s voice calls out from further into the room, stirring you out of your thoughts.

“I—” You manage to squeak out.

“Who's there? I can hear you, you know. What the hell are you doing here?”

You hear Reiner shuffling, and you know he’s about to stand up. Your heart begins to race again at the thought of coming face to face with him. You clear your throat, and speak as clearly as you can. “It’s just me, sorry, I didn't mean to startle you.”

You put on a fake smile, although you know he can't see you yet.

Reiner sighs, and as you round the set of shelves in the abandoned storage room, you hear him whisper out your name, so quietly that you wonder if you were even meant to hear it at all.

Upon first glance it becomes immediately obvious to you that even if you hadn't overheard their conversation, the first question you would have asked the man in front of you was whether he had had an argument with Bertholdt. He so rarely looked this downtrodden, that for a second you forget the reason that you came looking for him, and you find yourself drawn to comfort him—wanting to cradle his face in your hands, be the person he confides his thoughts to, hold his hand when he can no longer speak. You shake those thoughts out of your head.

“How did you know I was here?” Reiner voices the question you feared he would ask.

You decide to test the waters, lightly. “I heard you arguing with Bertholdt.” You purposely omit Annie’s name, but you see Reiner visibly gulp.

“You did?” It’s his turn to squeak.

Despite knowing the conversation only happened this afternoon, you are still surprised at how much of a reaction Reiner gave at such a small hint. You expected better acting from the man that had apparently only been pretending to be friends with the cadets for so long.

Although a deeper, quieter part of you hoped that the reason he was so nervous was because it was you asking.

You nod, “Yeah, I saw you guys on my way to training, it looked pretty intense.” You hope he doesn’t question you too much about your training. You told him yesterday you were planning to meet Eren and Mikasa, but you didn’t want to give him the reminder right now—you didn't want to put them at risk.

He makes an ‘O’ shape with his mouth, but he doesn’t say anything else.

You watch as he fidgets with his hands, and you notice that his fingernails are bit down to the quik—something that you know he must have done since he’s been sitting here. They weren’t like that yesterday. His eyes dart around the room, but they never fully land on you, as if he’s trying desperately to stop himself from looking at you, lest he come completely undone.

“I can go, if you want me t—”

“No.” He cuts you off, and a look of surprise graces your features. “You should stay.” He sighs, “I need to talk to you actually, it’s important.”

You feign curiosity as best you can—nodding your head, and stepping a little closer to him. But your palms begin to feel sweaty and you hope you don’t look as flushed as you feel.

“Okay.” You whisper.

You can tell he wants you to sit on the crate opposite him, but something tells you that staying standing up is the wiser option—you just hope it doesn’t look too suspicious.

Reiner looks from you to the crate, and sighs again. He rubs the back of his neck, his eyes almost glazed over, as he tries his best to figure out what to say to you. He stands up, and you can’t help but take a small step back—although a jump of surprise is probably a more accurate description. You try to play it off by walking towards the small window just behind you, but Reiner has a perplexed look on his face. You grimace internally.

You don’t speak first, hoping that your prolonged silence will unsettle Reiner further than your nervous energy already has.

There’s a small bug in the window—you watch as it wriggles and squirms, somehow not realising that it’s already caught in the spider's web. Your eyes scan the window pane, and for all the webs you can see, you only spot one spider, moving slowly, web to web, as if it has an endless amount of time to return to the place in which its prey is captured.

You turn, and let out a small gasp. Reiner is standing right behind you, he must have moved whilst you were distracted, somehow not making a sound, and his hands are resting uncomfortably close to your sides—as if he was just about to grab your waist, but changed his mind at the last second.

“Listen,” he pauses, and you watch like a deer in headlights as he brings his hands up to cradle your face. You take a shaky breath. “About the argument with Bertholdt…did you hear any of the specifics that we were talking about?”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes, the lack of subtlety from Reiner would make you laugh if it wasn’t so painful.

You feel Reiner’s thumb run across one of your cheeks and you're reminded that the pressure on your face is from his hands there, and you suddenly feel claustrophobic in a way that has your heart quickening. You try to bring your hands up to Reiner’s, wanting to pull them down and away from your face, but when your fingers touch his you freeze.

Hundreds of memories hit you all the once—the times Reiner helped you practice your hand-to-hand combat, the birthday walk he had taken you on and the surprise picnic he had planned at the edge of the forest, how his hands fit perfectly against your waist when the two of you hugged, the way his breathing softens when you watch him fall asleep—and it's all too much.

You rip yourself out of Reiner's arms and spin on your heels, rushing away from him as quickly as you can manage. You had hoped you'd be able to reach the door before your emotions took over, but the tears in your eyes begin to spill as soon as you hear his voice again.

“Y/N? Please…” His voice is barely louder than a whisper, but you hear it as though he was standing right beside you.

Your fingers flex around the doorknob, every fibre in your body is screaming at you to leave—to run. You know you should head to the commander's offices, to see if you can find Erwin, Levi, Hange, Miche—god, you'd even be happy to run into Eren and unload all of this weight onto him. But you can't. You don't want to, and that's what stings you most of all. That after everything you'd overheard, the betrayal you'd felt, the hurt and pain that was thrumming through you like electricity, you still want to hear Reiner out.

Against your better judgement you let your hand drop from the doorknob, and you slowly turn around, this time you are unsurprised to find Reiner standing right behind you.

“What? What is it, Reiner?” Your voice is soft, but you can't miss the way Reiner's face falls at your words—disappointment, sadness, guilt, written all across his features.

“I—”

“You have some nerve,” you cut him off, and jab your finger into his chest.

As you finally look at him, properly, you find words spilling out of your mouth before you can even stop them.

“You were the person I trusted the most,” you jab your finger into his chest again, “I've never shared that much of myself with anyone else before, and what? Now I come to find out that it meant nothing? Or worse, that you were using me for information?” Reiner opens his mouth to speak but you don't give him the chance. “Gathering intel, as Bertholdt put it. God—how could I be so stupid? All those times the three of you disappeared during training, you were just swapping fun facts about us, weren't you?” You take a step forward, forcing Reiner to step back. “Oh hey, Eren told me this today!–No way, I heard this from Armin–Y/N said this after I'd told them how much I liked them.” You mimic a conversation between the three of them, and watch as Reiner flinches at your last comment. Something inside you is telling you to stop, that he's had enough, that you need to let him speak before you say something that hurts you both, but the floodgates have opened and there's no turning back now. “God—do you even realise how gross this makes me feel? That our entire relationship you've been going back to Annie and Bertholdt and relaying things I've told you about my hometown, my childhood, my family! Things I told you in confidence! Y–you…it makes me sick!” Reiner winces, and you can feel the tension in the air rising. You sigh. The look on Reiner's face almost makes you feel bad. “I don't know whether I want to smack you across the face, scream at you until my voice is hoarse or run and find the commander and tell him everything I've overheard. You just… you're ruining everything—you have ruined everything—I don't know what to do. Or if I even want to do anything.” It's obvious that your rage is fizzling out, and is instead starting to leave a gaping hole where something—someone—used to be.

“I—” hate you… despise you… wish I'd never met you.

You want to say any one of those things. To tell him you can't stand him, to make him regret lying to you. But you can't. You know that it's not true, no matter how much you wish it was.

“I—” You try again.

Reiner crashes his lips against yours before you get the chance to finish your thought. Your eyes widen, hands flying to his chest, pushing against him in a feeble, halfhearted attempt to move him away, to stop him from kissing you.

You shouldn't want this.

But he's kissing you so hungrily. His mouth moving fast and hard against yours like he can't get enough of you, like he knows this could be his last chance.

This is a terrible idea.

Reiner feels a sting behind his eyes at the thought of this being the last time he would ever feel your lips against his, and he hurriedly shakes the thought from his head. He presses his mouth to yours over and over, never pausing for a breath, and never ceasing his assault even as his teeth clash against yours. His arms snake around your waist—not tentatively like earlier, there's no hesitation in his movements now—and he pulls your body flush against his. Instinctively you find yourself readjusting so that your legs slot together. It's impossible to miss the hardness that presses against your leg, and your heart jumps at the thought.

All your conviction begins to melt as you relax into the kisses. Reiner runs his tongue across your lower lip and before you know it your hands have knotted themselves at the base of his neck—no longer are they tense and rigid, instead you find your fingers are almost feather-like in the way they trace circles across Reiner's exposed skin. You feel goosebumps erupt in your wake, and a glowing feeling begins to blossom in your core—completely outside of what your rational brain is screaming for.

Reiner deepens the kiss again, and you feel a fluttering in your tummy when his hands slide down your sides and begin kneading your waist. Your mind swirls with so much want that it makes you feel dizzy. You feel as though you are drowning in his kisses. His mouth hasn't left yours since the very first kiss and yet somehow you're not out of breath.

“I—I never told them anything.” Reiner murmurs, so quietly you almost miss it.

He begins planting kisses down your neck, all his initial speed is gone—no longer worried that you're going to push him away—instead he's choosing to savour each kiss, and he refuses to move onto the next until he elicits a moan from your lips. His hands roam your figure wildly, and it all feels so good that you almost blank completely the words that he just spoke.

Your eyes snap open, and your attempt to move your head to look at Reiner is met with resistance in the form of a hand on your shoulder. You roll your eyes, the fog is almost fully lifted now, and you can feel yourself drifting back down to reality.

What am I doing? You chastise yourself.

“This was a mistake. We shouldn't hav—”

“I never told them anything.” Reiner repeats. His voice stern.

Your eyes meet his, and you take an involuntary step back—or rather, you try to take a step back, but you're met with the realisation that your back is now against the wall, right beside the door, in fact. Reiner must have walked you backwards, and you'd been so overcome with the feeling of him kissing you that you hadn't noticed.

How ridiculous.

Reiner clears his throat and it snaps you back into the conversation.

“What are you talking about?” You ask.

“Everything you told me, about your family, your home, your childhood. I never passed it on. Bertholdt and Annie know nothing about your life, I swear.” Nothing in his voice gives you any indication that he's lying—you know exactly what inflections he uses when he's not being truthful—and yet the little voice in the back of your mind is riddled with doubts.

“I don't believe you, there's no way you could've gotten away with lying to them for all these years. They're your best friends—your oldest friends—they would've noticed that something was wrong.”

Reiner's hands are still sitting on your waist, his thumbs are still tracing circles on your flesh and you feel a slight chill on your exposed skin.

He shakes his head. “I promise I am not lying to you y/n.”

You feel your cheeks warm, and your heart beats wildly at the seriousness of his words.

“I never repeated anything you told me. I may have changed it, edited it, warped it so that it had no connections to you, but I promise I never told either of them anything about your life. You have to believe me.” His voice cracks, and you see his lip begin to wobble.

“I think… I think that I… do believe you…” You whisper.

Reiner lets out a shaky, uneven breath at your admission and you can see the anxiety on his face beginning to dissipate. His hands are still set on your waist, still running his thumb gently against your skin, but for the first time today you find yourself wanting his hands to touch you elsewhere. Reiner looks perplexed as he watches your fingers lace with his, he lets you guide his hand where you want it and you take a visible breath of comfort when his hand comes to rest on your cheek. He wipes a tear from under your eye that you didn't even know you had shed.

“We could run away together, you know.”

You narrow your eyes at Reiner, searching for a trace of something on his features to indicate that he's not serious. Fear, anxiety, stress… something. But you find nothing. His sincerity is almost nauseating. You swallow thickly. Your throat is dry.

You find it hard to speak, you're not even sure what you could say to something like that. You both know that what he's saying so casually is anything but. Where would you even go? If you somehow forget about the titans for a minute, there's no way any soldier would let you just wander past the outer wall… And what about your family? Your friends? Do you leave them all behind just because you're in love with a traitor?

Bile rises up inside your throat. You blink back an ocean of unshed tears. Reiner pulls you against him in a tight, crushing, overpowering hug, and it feels as though his arms are the only thing holding you together at this moment. You slip your arms easily around his waist and breathe in his scent, letting the familiarity wash over you.

“Are you seriously cleaning your brush again?” You huff. “How many colours are you using? Promise me you haven't painted an entire landscape on the side of my leg…”

Rafayel laughs, a soft sound that flows between the two of you and settles somewhere deep in your chest. The fingers of his free hand dance delicately across the bare flesh of your thigh—he had insisted that you needed to be clothes free below the waist for this particular activity, but you'd persuaded him against that choice with a flutter of your eyelashes and the reminder that there are other people (namely Thomas) that may appear in his home without any notice. The short lilac skirt you were wearing also helped your case a little…

“I promise.”

“...Yes?” You urge him to continue.

He suspends his hand palm down in the air, as if making an oath. “I promise I have not painted an entire landscape on the side of your leg.” He repeats, in a solemn voice.

You nod your head, satisfied.

“Will you just tell me what you're doing already! I'm getting anxious.” You whine.

The brush tickles your skin and a small giggle escapes your lips. You try not to shift too much in your seat, lest Rafayel scold you again.

“It's like you don't trust me at all.” He pouts, he exaggerates his point by sticking his bottom lip out, somehow forgetting that you can't see him. “If you missed seeing my face that much then you could just say so out right, there's no need to beat around the bush this much.”

The urge to roll your eyes resurfaces and you're about to speak out in your defense when the brush comes into contact with your skin again. You yelp in surprise, the water droplets from the bristles are cold, and Rafayel chastises you absentmindedly.

“And if you missed kissing me that much then maybe you should hurry up and finish painting me already.” You tease in return, the double meaning of your words not even crossing your mind.

Rafayel says nothing, but you hear him scoff quietly as if he disagrees with your words. His brush strokes tell a different story though, they seem to gain momentum rather suddenly and he begins to work much quicker than he was only a few moments ago.

You feel his breath fan against your leg and your cheeks heat up when he presses a gentle kiss upon your skin. Even knowing that he isn't looking at your face doesn't help to quell the thoughts that churn through your mind. Knowing that he's been working on you for the best part of an hour now, the thrill of being unable to see when or where he's going to be touching you next with the paintbrush… It makes you giddy. He's so meticulous with how he works on his art, you never get bored of the sight, but this secretiveness is far more exciting than you had expected when he suggested it.

He kisses your thigh again, slightly higher than before, and you have to swallow a whine that threatens to escape you. His lips are feather-light on your skin, almost tickling you with how delicate they are. Your brain is foggy with want and you feel your leg bounce minutely, like it's itching to move closer to him.

The noise of your thumping heart is all you can hear, you're so distracted that you fail to notice the shifting of Rafayel’s movements until he's pressed against your side on the sofa.

“Are you ready?” He whispers, his breath is warm on the shell of your ear. It makes your stomach flip.

You gulp, nodding slowly as shivers run down your spine. You think he might not have seen your reply and you're about to speak when you feel his hands fiddling with the knot at the back of your head. One end of the material flutters down over your chest, the other is held securely in Rafayel's hand.

You waste no time trying to adjust to the light that now floods your vision, instead your eyes flit wildly around the scene in front of you, trying to find the lips that you long to feel against your own. You get impatient with yourself before even 2 seconds have passed. The sunlight almost blinds you as you turn your head to the left. Rafayel's hands perched on his lap pass by you in a blur as you spin towards him. You screw your eyes shut and blindly make a move towards where you think his head is, too desperate, too eager, too hungry to bother looking properly. No thoughts cross your mind apart from the need to have his lips on yours. You're so caught up in your actions that you somehow completely forget about–

“Hey! Careful of my work! You almost smudged it off without even looking at it first!” Rafayel cries.

You freeze in your tracks and slowly open your eyes. You're halfway between sitting and straddling Rafayel's lap, your hands are balled into fists and they hold tightly onto his shirt material. The fabric is soft between your fingers.

“I–uh… Well–” You hesitate, before slowly moving away from Rafayel's sturdy thighs and planting yourself back on the sofa. Heat floods your cheeks, pressing a hand towards your face to hide your embarrassment you quickly turn your head away from his prying eyes and look down at the painting that has been keeping you still for so long.

“It's–”

“Beautiful, I know.”

You roll your eyes, but don't disagree. It is beautiful.

On your thigh, no bigger than a finger's length, sits an elegantly painted letter ‘R’. Its ends are curved and, as if following lazy brush strokes, they flick upwards ever so slightly. The circular part of the letter is so precise in how it curves along your skin, the movements of the letter outline seem to line perfectly with the freckles and small scars from hunting that adorn your skin. It's golden in colour, but the longer you look at it the more your eyes are able to pick up all of the hints of the other hues. There's small traces of orange hidden beneath the gold, with blue highlights along the curve and specks of lavender dotted around the edges like stars in the night sky.

You swallow your emotions, tears threaten to fall from your eyes and as you spin in your seat you feel the droplets pooling along your lashes. Before you have a chance to think about what to say Rafayel is pressing his lips against yours. He hums against you and you feel his hands slide around your waist before they sneak under your shirt and settle on the hem of your skirt. There's something different about the way he's kissing you, it's hungry and fast and he's deepening the kiss hurriedly in an effort to keep you close to him. Your hands knot in his hair, the soft strands tickle your skin. Something digs into your upper thigh, and you're about to open your eyes to check what it is when you feel Rafayel’s hands gripping the flesh of your ass. Your eyes fly open as he flips you onto your back and your hands search the air looking for purchase on his shirt. As you hum against his lips once more there is a faint ‘click’ noise in the background and before you have the chance to register the sound the front door is flung open.

“Hello?” Thomas whisper-shouts in the entryway.

Rafayel groans as your hands push against his chest haphazardly.

“C’mon—Rafayel—we have to—seriously—we have to move, quickly! C'mon, baby!” You mumble against his lips.

He sighs, but relents to your pushing. You manage to sit up and straighten your clothes just as Thomas enters the living room. You hope you don't look as thrown about as you feel.

“I was just coming over because I was certain that you'd forget–Oh!” His cheeks flood with warmth, and he stops dead in his tracks once he notices your embarrassed state and the air of Rafayel's oh-so-nonchalant attitude (and if he sees the mismatched buttons of Rafayel's shirt, and the dishevelled mess of your hair, he's polite enough not to draw any attention to it).

“Oh, right. You wanted to–”

“You promised me the week off and I was just coming over to remind you that today is Friday.” Thomas interrupts, “That means for the next seven days I will be unreachable to you, okay?” He directs his next question to you. “Please, please, please can you watch over him this week? You know how his schedule is and the only way for me to get any peace of mind is if I know you won't let him ignore his responsibilities this week.”

You nod confidently, if there's one thing Thomas can rely on you for, it's keeping Rafayel in check.

You smile widely. “Have a lovely and restful time, Thomas. See you next week.”

He waves to the two of you, Rafayel just huffs and crosses his arms in his seat as you promise to make him behave this week.

The door clicks once again and you hear the sound of Thomas's car pulling out of the drive. You sigh, somehow getting interrupted by Thomas has you feeling like a school kid who got caught cheating on a test. Your cheeks are hot and your pulse is quickened—and it's not for the same reason as it was before…

“You're really going to make me go to all those events and meetings that Thomas promised I would attend this week?” Rafayel pouts.

You turn to look at him. “Of course I am! I gave him my word. And don't even think about trying to run away, I know where all your hiding spots are.”

Rafayel huffs, his eyebrows furrowed together as if deep in thought.

“You think you know where all my hiding spots are…” He whispers.

You fake a shocked gasp, and shove his side lightly while laughing.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever helps you sleep at night.” You tease.

Now it's his turn to gasp. He turns his head away from you dramatically and crosses his legs so his entire body is angled away from you, leaving just enough room for you to slide yourself behind him and wrap your legs around his waist.

“Your painting really is beautiful, you know.” You whisper against his ear and you feel him shudder against you.

“Pretty girl…” His voice is deep, almost husky.

“Yeah, Raf?” You speak with a smile, your fingers still tracing the contours of his exposed chest.

He tuts, turning his head up and away from your gaze, feigning irritation. A heavy breath escapes his lips when you run your hand over the waistband of his shorts, you watch as his eyes flutter, almost rolling back in his head. There's something so delicious about working him up like this, just barely touching his skin and eliciting such a severe reaction from him… It makes your heart skip a beat when you think about all the things you can wind him up with when he gets like this—when his chest rises and falls a little faster than usual, when his eyes have trouble meeting yours and when his hands get unusually fidgety, like he knows where he wants them to be but he just can't bring himself to move them there.

It entices you enough to continue your exploration. One of your hands winds delicately around his upper arm, his attempt to subtly flex does not go unnoticed by you.

The tips of his ears burn when you speak, “oh–my baby–are you hungry for something?”

His eyebrows furrow in protest, jutting his lip out while slowly turning his head back towards you—unwilling, and unable, to go without seeing your face for any longer, especially while your hands are touching him like they are.

“No,” Rafayel answers. Slowly he moves his hands towards your wrist, chasing the high that only your skin against his can give.

“No?” You fall back from your knees with a soft thud, your crossed legs slowly stretching out in front of you. Rafayel's fingertips just manage to graze you before you draw away from his touch and he feels a small lump form in his throat.

You plant your hands on the blanket behind you, arching your back and shifting your weight onto your palms. A deep groan reverberates within your chest, the kind that starts small and finishes with your eyes squeezing shut and your mouth hanging open. A light blush crawls across your cheeks when you lock eyes with Rafayel again, his gaze as penetrating as a knife.

He flashes a knowing smile at you before speaking, “although… I did collect all of this food especially for you, it would be a shame to waste it, no?”

You nod. Rafayel spies a twinkle in your eye that wasn’t there before—a tell tale sign of a plan forming in your head.

“Do you think–” You pause, “no… it’s silly…” You trail off, confident that your boyfriend will be unable to let go off the bait you’ve just left dangling in front of him.

“Hey!” He whines, with a lilt in his voice that tells you he knows you're trying to trick him somehow, but that he just can’t stand the thought of you keeping something from him. “Tell me what you're thinking about, pretty girl.”

He leans closer to you when he speaks, his face now close enough that you could poke your tongue out and hit his nose with it if you wanted to—he always screeches when you lick his face but he’s never been good at hiding the smile that always comes along with the protests and half hearted attempts to push you away.

“Close your eyes,” you whisper. There’s a challenge in your eye—enticing, daring, almost hypnotic—and Rafayel has never been one to back down from a challenge.

He raises an eyebrow at you but follows your request without so much as a word. You smile, a blossom of pride and something a little more… dangerous creeping over you.

You gently guide him away from you, pushing against his chest with little resistance. You manoeuvre him so that he sits between your legs, his back to your chest, and when you lean ever so slightly away from him to pull the platter of fruit closer to your thigh you hear a whine of protest leave his lips.

“It’s okay, baby, I’m still here,” you coo. “Are your eyes still shut?”

He nods.

“Good, do you trust me?”

He shivers as your breath fans his neck.

He nods again.

“Open your mouth…” You instruct.

You see a small flicker of hesitation in his movements, he turns his head towards your voice before pausing, a question sitting on the tip of his tongue. He takes a deep breath, his eyes still tightly screwed shut, and runs his tongue across his lower lip before doing as you request. You smile, deciding not to warn the artist about what you plan to do.

You pick up the first piece of fruit—a watermelon slice, no larger than your pinky finger—and carefully place it between his lips.

The warmth of his mouth paired with the still chilled piece of fruit has your eyes rolling back, you have to bite your tongue in order to keep yourself focused. Your free hand reaches around the other side of his head and holds his jaw gently in place, you pulse three times as if to say I'm here, I'm holding you, I got you. This surprise touch makes his tongue loll out of his mouth and you take the opportunity to push the watermelon further along his tongue until he finally takes the hint and accepts it wholly into his mouth.

“Tell me what it is.” You command, eyes raking over his body as he takes a shuddering breath.

He swallows. Sticking his tongue out as if to show you that it’s all gone.

“Easy. Watermelon,” Rafayel is evidently pleased with himself, as proven by the cocky, lopsided smile on his face.

“Well done, baby. Would you like another?”

Rafayel opens his mouth to answer, already craving that sweet watermelon again, but before he manages to get the words out he freezes, like a deer caught in headlights. He spins his mind around your words, about how you asked him, the way your voice inflected when you said ‘would’. It feels as though you're trying to trick him, he realises with a start, to make your invitation so alluring that he slips up and says the wrong thing… There's no way you’d say no if he said wanted more watermelon, so why does that feel like it’s the wrong choice? His breath catches in his throat for only a split second but you catch onto what he’s thinking and you smile a wicked smile.

“Oh, baby, you're very clever.” Your voice is as smooth as honey—but ten times sweeter. “Your eyes closed?”

He nods, a small smile of victory rests on his face as he feels you grasp hold of his jaw again. Your hold on him is solid, he couldn’t squirm away even if he wanted to.

“Good. Now open up.”

Rafayel does as instructed, already beginning to catch onto what you want him to do. His lips wrap around the fruit, greedily sucking the juice from your fingertips as you push the small piece of sweetness further into his mouth.

“Tell me what it is,” you say, watching as he swallows the fruit piece.

He wastes no time in answering, you barely get your sentence out before he says:

“Kiwi.”

Again, his cockiness is plain to see, you curve your head around to get a better look at his face and you are unsurprised to find that all too familiar smirk plastered on his pretty face. Time to take this up a notch, you think.

Your eyes flit to the platter laying by your thigh, the berries and apples and mango slices that are all neatly organised on the wooden board that Rafayel stole from your apartment. You press a gentle kiss to the side of his head and gently remove your arm from its place on his waist. You stand, Rafayel audibly whines at the loss of contact and it takes all your willpower not to jump him right then and there. He knows you won’t be going far, just as he knows how sensitive you are to his whines, but the pout that sits on his face when you crouch down in front of him sets off a wildfire inside of you. The heat blares inside your chest, your lips are dry and there’s this odd feeling inside of you akin to what you can only assume a hunter feels when they finally catch a glimpse of their prey.

“Cutie…” Rafayel whispers.

His voice cuts you away from the jungle of thoughts that you were lost in. His eyes are still closed but the pout on his face has deepened considerably.

“I’m sorry, angel, I wasn’t going anywhere, I promise.” Your words of comfort are laced with something darker and it makes Rafayel shudder. His breath hitches when you continue to speak, that same undertone in your voice causes his chest to heave, just a little bit. “I just missed your face too much. I wanted to come around and take a good look at you, is that alright?”

A shaky whisper escapes Rafayel’s lips, “y-yes. That’s fi-fine.”

You smile as you reach your hand up towards his face. It’s still covered in the remnants of his saliva and the juice of the kiwi but it doesn't look like he minds the stickiness, you watch as your skin comes into contact with his cheek, the way his eyes screw up (as if they could get anymore closed) and the way he leans into your touch like he’s been missing it for a hundred years. A pang of something sweet hits your chest and drives you closer to him.

“I’m going to kiss you now.” You whisper against his lips.

Rafayel can feel your breath on his face, his body lurches towards yours in an adorable and almost unconscious attempt to get closer to you despite not fully knowing where you are. You crash your lips against his before he has the chance to find you. Your hand squeezes his cheek and as you rub your thumb along his cheekbone you find yourself dragged away from your knees towards Rafayel’s lap. His arms encircle your waist and you gasp when he pulls you straight against his chest. The two of you fall down together, the platter of fruit by your side goes flying and you groan when the juices spill onto the picnic blanket. Rafayel wastes no time before flipping you onto your back, his fluidity and agility is no match for you when he takes you by surprise. You blink, looking up at the artist who now hovers over your body. You grimace when the spilled fruit juices start to seep into your clothes, but Rafayel plants his lips against yours roughly before you can even think to complain.

His hands are warm on your skin, they roam up and down your sides as he attempts to claw his way past your clothes. He pulls and tugs desperately at the material until finally you hear a tearing noise. Your protests fall on deaf ears, or rather, your attempts to protest, since Rafayel refuses to be separated from your lips for any longer than a second. His mouth is hot—almost searing. The build up of your sweet, teasing voice and the delicious fruit was almost too much for him. His hands find purchase on your now clothesless waist, the touch makes you groan as his fingertips dig into your flesh. The pain is welcoming, a beautiful addition to the taste of his tongue as it roams your mouth.

He tastes sweet.

The watermelon and kiwi from a delicious concoction of fruity heaven. Your tongues swirl together, both chasing and being chased by the other. As Rafayel attempts to move his tongue elsewhere he is met with a hum of annoyance from you, followed by an act that almost makes him cum on the spot: you pull his tongue into your mouth and suck on it like it’s his cock. You bob your head back and forth, whining and groaning as if you’re the one being sucked on. Your hands scramble for the back of his head and you lace your fingers among the strands and pull, just hard enough for him to moan into your mouth. Rafayel’s weight almost gives out from under him, he falls further onto you and in one swift movement his hands are freed from under your ripped clothes and planted palm down on the ground. His fast reflexes are the only thing stopping him from having a bloody nose right about now and if his brain could think about anything other than how badly he needs to taste you then it’d be thanking the stars for giving him the strength to catch his own weight as he fell.

You pull away reluctantly and take a big gasp for air. As your eyes flutter open you catch a glimpse of your boyfriend’s face—smug, happy, slightly dazed and with very glossy lips—as it disappears below your eyeline.

“Fuck, baby, you– your– mhm, so hot.” He murmurs against your neck.

Your eyes roll back as he runs his tongue over your exposed skin, such a warm and tingly feeling has your nerves going haywire because you know what’s coming next. A sharp sting of pain floods your body, Rafayel’s teeth sink into your neck, softer than usual but the chaotic mixture of pleasure and pain has you writhing underneath him. He smirks in satisfaction as he pulls away, kissing and licking over the wound.

Your chest sits just below his chin, exposed and free for anyone to see should they choose to take a scroll through the field this afternoon—unbeknownst to you that this will most certainly not be happening. Rafayel has taken every precaution to ensure the two of you stay undisturbed during your date, even when he didn't know the turn it would take…

Rafayel listens to the sounds of pleasure that escape from your mouth as he kisses further and further down your body. You hum in satisfaction as Rafayel plants delicate open mouth kisses down your chest, he works slowly, moving deliberately and with just enough softness to have you wanting. You squeak when Rafayel runs his tongue around your pebbled nipple, the warmth of his mouth makes you shudder. One of his hands sneaks up to play with your other boob, not wanting to leave one of his girls feeling unloved, and your squeak becomes more of a groan when he rolls his fingertips around the hardened bud. You let out raspy whispers of his name when he comes to rest at the waistband of your skirt and when he pulls the thin fabric over his head and kisses your exposed clit with no warning you gasp so loudly that Rafayel is certain his heart can’t take any more.

“Naughty girl,” he tuts. “You must have been planning something, hm? To wear this pretty lilac skirt with no underwear on a date where you know we won’t be in public? Don’t you know it’s rude to assume…” He chuckles against your lips, you can feel his breath fan you as he speaks, and it makes you want to slam your legs closed.

Not being able to see where his face sits is testing your patience more than anything else today. All you can see is the outline of his head, but what his eyes are fixed on, where he plans to move his tongue next, are both mysteries to you. You wait with bated breath for him to do something, to press his tongue against you or plant rough kisses on the sensitive bud between your legs. But he doesn't. He doesn’t move for what feels like hours and when you think you’ll just about scream if he doesn’t do something soon, he moves.

He plants his mouth around your clit and sucks. He turns his mouth into a suction cup and the sensation almost causes you to rocket out of your position on the floor. His hands hold your thighs in place, his fingers digging into the flesh as if he’s trying to tether himself to you. When he begins to bob his head up and down your eyes go wide, stars infiltrate your vision as he slowly works himself into a frenzy between your thighs. His wish to go slow and steady fizzles away as he hears you whining his name above his head, your soft voice penetrating his ears sounds as sweet as ever while you're begging him for… something–he can’t quite hear your words.

Rafayel takes a deep inhale as he pulls his lips away from you, the smell of your arousal sends a jolt of electricity straight down his spine. His eyes roll back into his head and when he takes another breath, louder and deeper this time, you feel the heat of embarrassment creep its way over your already flushed skin.

“Raaaf… Don’t– it’s embarrassing.” You whine.

Rafayel takes another inhale of your scent just to tease you and you roll your eyes at his unyielding obsession.

“You can’t tell me not to when you smell so good, cutie.” His voice is light, teasing. “Makes me want to eat you until the sun goes down.” He says, head still underneath your skirt.

You look up towards the sky. At your best guess you’d say it’s around 3pm… which leaves you with about 5 hours until sunset, give or take.

“Baby… you can’t, we have t–”

Rafayel slips out from under your skirt. His eyes latch onto you, his gaze is piercing and as it rakes down your body you feel almost entirely unable—or unwilling—to move. As though if you move you will break the spell that he’s under, or unleash the beast that is threatening to burst out from under the artist’s skin any minute now.

“Don't tell me I can’t.” His eyes darken, his voice is slow, precise, deadly.

You cough, wanting to ease the tension. “I-uh–”

“Keep your legs open and let me feast, isn't that what you've been trying to get me to do all afternoon? Feeding me fruits and sweet things, as if there's anything else in this world that I could find as sweet as you.”

He disappears as fast as he appeared, dipping back below your skirt before you have the chance to reply. His lips find you again immediately, not even giving you enough time to latch your hands onto the blanket beneath you.

The juices from the fruit platter stick to your skin, you can see the strawberries and raspberries strewn about to your left and the mango and watermelon pieces disappear out of your view behind Rafayel's figure. The soft grass and summertime flowers fade away as your eyes flutter closed again, the strong scent of fruits and pollen penetrate your senses in their wake. You can hear the sound of birds flying and chirping overhead.

There's something so… addicting about having you under his lips. Rafayel hopes it will never fade. The way your legs twitch as he swirls his tongue over your clit, switching between playfully flicking and licking your bundle of nerves like a lolly, makes the desire in his chest bloom brighter than the flowers you're currently surrounded by. He never tires of your taste, always letting the last drops of your juices linger on his tongue for as long as possible. And your scent– oh! It's Rafayel's obsession.

Your hands squeeze around the material of the blanket as Rafayel continues to make out with your pussy. You've had your eyes screwed shut for so long now that he's got you seeing stars. Raspy moans and shallow breaths are the only noises that manage to escape from between your lips, and other than the few and far between whispers of his name you haven't spoken for what feels like hours. The familiar wave of pleasure threatens to wash over you soon and it takes all of your will to hold off for as long as possible—lest you become overwhelmingly sensitive.

Rafayel hears the change in your breath and it sends a surge of fresh energy through his body. His pace quickens and he has you arching off of the ground, trying to get closer to his mouth. The familiarity with which he's kissing your clit causes a scream-like moan to erupt from your mouth.

Rafayel moans against you, continuing to plant kisses on your clit between each word. “I-” kiss. “Know-” kiss. “Baby-” kiss. “You–You’re-” kiss. “Almost-” kiss. “There-” kiss. “Fuck, you taste so good!”

The way that Rafayel speaks his last few words, so breathless and desperate, has you twitching with desire. You can hear how badly he wants you to cum, how much he’s enjoying tasting you. Heat prickles all over your body, a bead of sweat trickles down your chest as the sun blares down on the two of you. Rafayel takes a shape inhale of breath.

You realise just a second too late why he wanted that extra air…

His tongue presses between your pussy lips excitedly, lapping at the juices that have already pooled there. The tip of his nose nudges against your clit and elicits a whine from your already open mouth—a path of drool trails from the corner of your mouth down to your chin, a marker for how truly blissed out he’s making you feel. That extra breath of air he took seems to be giving Rafayel the fuel to push you right over the edge. He works tirelessly now. His mouth moves back over to your clit and when he places it over your already sensitive bud you're unable to stop the sound that blasts past your lips.

“Aaa–Raaaf–oh… ooh,” you cry.

Your moans are half delirious. The pleasure threatens to sweep over you any second now. Rafayel holds your thighs tight, uncaring about leaving fingernail indents in your flesh. It’s times like this when you're reminded of just how strong he is. He keeps your lower half completely still, his biceps rest just below your knees and every flex of his muscle sends another pulse of desire straight to your core.

“Raf!” You yell out when he begins to roll his tongue over your pulsing bud. “Raf, please– I-I’m gonna–”

Your back arches off of the ground as your wave of pleasure begins to crash down over you. Your hands scramble for something to hold onto, you scratch and claw at Rafayel’s head until your skirt is pushed out of the way. The second you feel his hair between your fingers you snap your eyes open, needing to look at him, needing to see him, before the thread finally snaps.

“Fuck–f-fuck fu-fuck fuck–” You curse brokenly.

Rafayel knows you’re cumming. He can tell just from the way your breath is shallow and ragged. He opens his eyes when your fingers thread through his hair and when he looks up he swears there’s a halo resting around the top of your head. Your angelic glow almost causes the artist’s heart to skip a beat. The soft rays of the afternoon sun sit beautifully on your skin.

Rafayel is precise and measured with the way he manages to carry you through your orgasm, he doesn’t rush, there’s never any worry that he’s going to stop touching you before you get to the end. He continues to move his tongue over your clit, kissing and sucking and bobbing his head up and down until he’s certain and satisfied. He pulls away when he senses you're about to open your mouth to complain about being too sensitive.

“You’re fine, my love,” he whispers from between your legs, eyes still locked to yours.

You see a smile surface on his face and you match it with a bashful one of your own. He slowly peels himself away from your lower half, but just before he leaves he gives your clit one more little kiss. It causes your body to jolt unexpectedly.

“Oi!” You cry, shoving at him as he climbs his way up your body.

He stops and kisses you in all the same places he did on the way down. Your waist, your chest and your neck—which now possesses a Rafayel shaped set of teeth marks.

As he settles himself on top of you, the beginnings of a full body ache already setting in, he presses a gentle kiss to your temple. Your eyes screw shut when he starts to pepper kisses all over your face, soft laughter and giddy breathlessly settles in the air between you.

The two of you stay there—lying on the picnic blanket soaked in fruit juice, with watermelons and mangoes and apples and berries scattered all around you—an entangled mess of sweat and limbs and torn clothes, until you’ve been laying there for so long you think he must have fallen asleep.

Rafayel takes a deep breath, curling his face into the curve of your neck and placing a kiss to the mark he left earlier. You smell like vanilla and strawberries.

“I love you. So much.” He whispers against your skin.

You smile, love sick and happy.

brother's best friend!gojo who ensures you never bring the same date home more than once when he's around. knowing that when you walk your date out the door they'll say something in an awkward tone about how protective your brothers are, leaving you to explain,  actually I only have the one brother, the white haired one isn't related to me, a weird feeling of shame and guilt hanging over your head when your date never calls you back. 

brother's best friend!gojo who comes over while you're home alone, planning to fake ignorance and assure you that he really had no idea your brother wasn't home, but that he's happy to wait for him to come back—not wanting a pretty thing like you to be all alone. but who instead catches you fucking your ex-boyfriend—the one who you said to your brother was the biggest piece of shit you'd ever met. the one who you'd sworn you'd rather bite your own tongue off than ever see again.

brother's best friend!gojo who can't help but listen to the sounds of your moans—which he is confident are fake—through the door. pressing his ear against it's smooth surface and screwing his eyes shut. he can't help but picture your face contorted in pleasure, wishing he was the one fucking you. knowing that you would never need to fake it with him. 

brother's best friend!gojo who doesn't come around for almost a full three days after this. you remark to your brother about how the two of them must be in a lovers quarrel, but you can't help the unease that creeps up on you as the third day comes and goes with no visit—you don't care about him, not like that, but the lack of his annoying presence feels like it's left a hole in your house. 

brother's best friend!gojo who texts you out of the blue—his number saved into your phone under a very unsavoury name—asking if you could let him in. confusion clouding your mind as you head towards your bedroom door. the loud tap you hear against your window causing you to turn quickly on your heels and you don't know how you hadn't seen the shadowy figure loitering outside your window before now. 

brother's best friend!gojo who doesn't look like himself. his usual well crafted fake-but-doesn't-look-it bed hair is now unmade and unruly. the cocky half smile/ half smirk always plastered on his face has been replaced by deep bags under his eyes, a harrowed look on his face, and darting eyes. 

"Gojo…" your voice is unsteady. 

You were expecting the usual back and forth—the teasing, the mocking. You were confused by his appearance at your window, sure, but you've never seen him like this—so jumpy and insecure… it's unsettling you. 

"Don't fuck him again" Satoru's voice is low, so low that you almost don't hear him. 

"Wha—" 

"I don't want you anywhere near him again." Satoru keeps his eyes down, refusing to meet your gaze. His hands are deep in his pockets, and you can see his feet shifting. It's making you nervous. 

"Him… And you?… It's not right. You shouldn't have—I won't let you again—" 

He clears his throat, and the sudden loud noise startles you, making you take a shaky breath. Your ears had become too used to straining to hear the words Gojo was saying—his change in volume almost left your ears ringing, even if it was only a cough. You cup your hands together to try and subdue their shaking, and your jumpiness doesn't go unnoticed by the man in front of you. 

You try to speak again, willing your words to come out stronger than you feel. "What are you talking about?" 

"He doesn't deserve you. He's not right for you. You have to understand what I mean." Gojo's voice starts to rise as he reaches the end of his sentence.

He takes a step towards you, refusing to put up with the distance you are so clearly trying to put between the two of you. He reaches his hands out towards you, gripping your upper arms in a way that is almost painful. 

"The people you've dated, the ones who fucked you and never called you again, they don't deserve you. No one is good enough for you."

You grimace. The reminder of your failed attempts at love and the fuck ups you've let screw you is nothing new from Gojo, but something in his voice makes your heart race. The look on his face causes goosebumps to cover your skin. You can feel his fingernails digging into your flesh, the pain acting as a reminder that he shouldn't be here—your brother's best friend, the one who teases you and mocks you mercilessly, the one who doesn't care about you beyond being a punchline for his jokes—he needs to leave.

"Gojo, you have to go—"

"Don't call me that. I don't want to hear that name fall from your lips again—you call me Satoru from now on."

Your eyebrows knit together, and you wipe your palms against your t-shirt the best you can—a pointless effort to try and calm yourself down. You have no idea what has gotten into Gojo—Satoru—you inwardly correct yourself despite your confusion.

"What are you doing here?" You finally ask, your voice quivering as you do so, unable to stop your nerves from showing.

Satoru smiles, but it's still not his usual smile, his mouth contorts in a way that makes you want to shrink away from him—his tight grip on your arms making this impossible. It's unsettling, everything about him has seemed unsettling to you this evening. You want to run. Your regret at letting him in through your window threatens to swallow you whole, and yet… you can't look away from him. He still commands your attention, your focus, like he always does when he's in your house. Except this time it's different, you don’t feel safe with him, not exactly, but you know he’s not going to use his words to harm you—he's not going to call you names or make you feel insecure or mock your clothes. He’s mesmerising—you realise with a start—you’ve never been this close to him before, never allowing yourself to look at him with anything other than disdain. With his cocky attitude and his sneer wiped off his face, he's actually quite pretty. His eyes glow with an iridescent blue shine—you realise you'd only ever seen them through your own narrow glare, your harshness towards Satoru clouding your vision, never letting you see the true brightness of his eyes, only ever seeing what you wanted to see. The angles of his face make him even more alluring, the way in which every bone and sharp edge fits him perfectly—as if someone had spent time crafting him to be God’s most beautiful creature. 

Satoru watches you as your eyes glaze over, as if you were deep in thought about something—someone, he hopes. He notices when you absentmindedly run your tongue across your lower lip. He notices when your breathing changes pace, and when your hands fall limp at your side, the shaking finally subsiding. He watches all of these things happen, but what gets his attention the most is when your mouth falls open. 

He doesn't know how he's managed to stay away from you for this long. All those years he's spent teasing you and making you feel small, being friends with your brother, being welcomed into your family as if it was his own—he never imagined he’d be here, finally giving in to what he truly desires.

He remembers the first day he met you, your brother had given him warning that you’d be home, “just ignore my little sister, she's barely a year younger than us but she can be a real pain in my ass sometimes”. Satoru had thought nothing of it at the time, chuckling lightly as he stepped through your front door. He was ready to chill out and watch the game—on the couch your brother had been raving about for almost 3 weeks—a cold beer in his hand and his feet resting on the coffee table. But he had stopped almost dead in his tracks at the very first glance he got of you—your hair swishing behind you as you hurried about in the kitchen. 

You hadn’t heard the two of them enter the kitchen, too busy clearing up the final few freshly cleaned dishes you had washed. The small gasp you had let out had made it obvious you scared easily, and you turned quickly on your heels when your brother had cleared his throat. You had smiled ever so politely at Satoru when your brother had introduced him to you, in the way that people do when they meet someone for the first time, but Satoru could tell you were wary of him, even if he wasn't sure exactly where your hesitation came from. 

He had watched you and your brother converse, teasing conversation bouncing between the two of you—it was friendly, despite the slight contempt in your brother’s tone earlier. Satoru had leant against the doorframe while he watched you, he had found himself fascinated with how you moved. He couldn't take his eyes off of you, every movement you took, every step and stretch and smile had him entranced. 

It wasn't until you were on your way out of the kitchen that you finally spoke to him for the first time. He watched as you walked towards him, you had a plate of food in one hand, and your other hand had come to rest on your hip. Your eyes had narrowed as you looked at him, clearly bothered by his choice to lounge in the doorway.

“Hello…? Are you going to stand there all day? Or can I actually move around in my own house?”

Your brother had scolded you as you pushed past Satoru and headed towards the stairs. And you had stuck up your middle finger in return. Your brother had apologised for your behaviour, but his apologies had fallen on deaf ears, Satoru didn't care that you were rude, he didn't care that all you showed towards him in that moment was dislike, and he didn't care that he hadn't had a chance to properly talk to you. He knew one day he would have you—he needed to have you. Your obvious disdain for him would make the day you finally submitted all the more sweeter—he didn't care how long it took. 

“What are you doing here?” You ask again, your voice stronger than it was before.

Satoru turns his head, looking down at you as if the fact that you were still here was a surprise to him. You felt his fingers flex slightly, sending a shiver down your spine… He still had his hold on you, you began to wonder if he would ever let you go.

“I’m here to make you mine.”

He said it so plainly that it took you a second to register what he was saying. 

He wanted to make you his…? But why? He’d never shown any interest in you before. He’d never once left any evidence in your interactions that would’ve caused you to believe that he liked you, let alone that he wanted to make you his… whatever that meant...

“I don’t believe you…” You whisper, your voice so quiet that Satoru only caught your words because he was waiting for them.

“You don’t believe me?” Satoru’s tone is teasing, and he has a smirk on his face, but something about his words makes your breath hitch.

“No… You—you’ve never—you don’t—you aren't serious.” You take a breath. “You don’t like me, you barely tolerate me. Whatever the real reason you decided to climb into my bedroom tonight, it's not that…It can't be.”

“Why can’t that be the real reason, huh princess? You don’t think you’re good enough for me? Is that it?” Satoru doesn't wait for you to answer. “Do you seriously think I would be here right now if I didn't like you? All the things I've done for you…Do you really think it's a coincidence that none of your dates ever called you back after they met me for the first time? Do you think you would be invited to all of those parties on campus if I wasn’t there making sure every idiot jock and blonde bimbo knew who you were? All of the lecturers and T.As I’ve threatened to make sure you get the best grades possible…are you telling me you don't appreciate any of that? That I shouldn't have bothered with any of it…"

Satoru turns to leave, finally releasing you from his tight grasp, but he knows you won't let him get very far. There's no way you aren't dying to ask him what he meant by all of that. You need him to clarify. He's certain of it. 

You let out a small squeak, warmth beginning to spread from your face down to your neck. Unable to stop yourself, you take a step forward. 

"Wait…" 

You practically fall into Satoru's back, failing to notice that he hadn't got very far, too busy rushing forward to notice much of anything. You hear a low chuckle as he turns around, one of his hands coming to cup your face. Shock runs straight through you as he begins to gently rub his thumb across your cheekbone, his other hand now resting on your waist. The sharp difference of his hold on you makes your head spin, no longer is he harsh and rough like before, he's instead holding you as if you are the most fragile thing on earth. As if one fast movement would cause you to break in two.

"I'm right here, angel. I'm not going anywhere."

Satoru is blinded by his glee, he can't believe how well this is going for him. The fact that you were just the one chasing him…

"You needed me that bad, huh?" He means for it to come out teasing, but the need in his voice is evident, even to your surprised ears. 

Satoru doesn't waste one more second, he's waited long enough, all those years he's known your brother, all those years he's visited your house… if he doesn't get a taste of you now he knows he won't be able to stop himself from pouncing on you the next time he sees you, even if you're surrounded by your entire family. And that's probably not something they want to see, he thinks. 

You can sense something different about Satoru as he looks down at you, as if something just shifted inside of him. His eyes are dark, laced with hunger, and your eyes can't help but follow as he licks his lips. You let out a small gasp when you feel yourself begin to move, Satoru guides you gently, but with haste, back towards your bed. Your knees knock against the edge and Satoru lets you slip from his grasp, watching as you lose your balance and fall backwards onto your mattress. 

You scurry to the end of the bed opposite Satoru, trying to put some distance between the two of you, but your efforts are for naught. Satoru crawls toward you, closing the gap with little effort, until he's right in front of you again. He watches as you turn your head from side to side, looking for an escape route, he thinks, but he knows you won’t find one. 

His hands reach for your ankles, grasping them tightly as he pulls them backwards, shifting your entire body until you lie flat on the bed. He wastes no time, lying himself on top of you immediately, unable to suppress a groan at feeling your entire body under his. 

He attaches his lips to your neck, planting open mouth kisses all along your jaw and down to the base of your throat, you let out a whine at the contact and try and reach your hands toward his shirt, looking for anything to grip on to. Satoru notices your movement and grabs your hands with his own, still focused on kissing your neck, he manages to pin both your wrists down on the bed next to your head. 

“Please don’t try to move, kitten.” He pouts, breathing the words against your neck, and you feel a shiver run down your spine.

Satoru reattaches his lips to your neck, eliciting a soft moan from your lips. As if fuelled by your moans, Satoru presses himself against you, trying to relieve himself of the ache that is beginning to form just below his waistband. You whine when you notice what he’s doing, craning your neck you manage to see his hips moving as he rubs himself against your leg. You try to move your arms, riggling them in an attempt to free yourself, but to no avail, Satoru’s grip gets even tighter the more you move. 

You let out a shaky breath as Satoru moves his kisses further down your neck, he smiles against your skin when he feels you tense up. But just as he reaches your collarbones he pulls away, wanting to admire his work on your throat. 

You are covered in his marks, dark purple splotches paint your neck like you were nothing more than a canvas for Satoru. He gently traces the marks with his fingertips, moving the few fallen strands of hair that block his view. Pride swells in his chest, knowing that anyone who looks at you will be able to guess what you've been up to makes his cock throb. He presses himself hard against your leg, groaning loudly, and he bites his lip when he sees the look in your eye. 

You can't explain why, but hearing the noises Satoru makes from only pressing himself against you makes your whole body tingle. The realisation that you want to hear more sends a jolt of embarrassment through you, but your arousal outways any shame you feel. You arch your back slightly, aiming to press yourself closer to Satoru's cock, you can already feel the outline against your leg. He lets out another groan, this time looking you straight in the eye. He smiles when you look away, as if you hadn't fully realised what you were doing, or maybe you were just embarrassed, he thinks. 

“Do you like what you feel, princess?”

You nod, watching as Satoru sits up. He gently traces his fingers along the side of your face, before moving further down your body until his head hovers over your thighs. You suddenly feel self conscious about what you're wearing, and Satoru must notice—at the same time it dawns on you—that all you're wearing is an oversized t-shirt. You see him lick his lips, his hands coming to rest on your hips. His touch sends a shiver down your spine, and your legs shake ever so slightly. 

He locks eyes with you as his hands move under the hem on your t-shirt, the touch of his hands on your skin makes your heart beat faster. He hooks his fingers under the band of your underwear, pausing, before he begins to pull them off of you. You buck your hips to make it easier for him, and he whispers a small thank you. 

He discards your underwear someplace behind him, now too focused on your naked cunt to think much about anything else. He shuffles further back, pulling you with him until you are right at the edge on the bed. Satoru kneels in front of you, his hands resting on your thighs, as he bends his head his breath warms your skin, tickling you. You screw your eyes shut as his tongue comes in contact with your cunt, he smiles against you when he hears you whine at him, a breathy “move, toru” leaving your lips. But he wants to work slowly, he wants to focus on the noises you make, and try to figure out exactly how you like it. He wants it to be perfect.

You watch as Satoru’s hands grip your thighs, his fingers dig into your flesh. You let out a loud moan when he presses a hard kiss to your clit, and your eyes roll back when he uses his tongue, lapping up your juices from between your folds, the unfamiliar sensation makes you squirm. 

Your scent overwhelms Satoru’s senses, and he suddenly feels a new wave of want overcome him. His lips wrap around your clit, and he rolls it against his tongue. You purr underneath him, your body responding deliciously to his movements. 

The only noise in the room comes from Satoru slurping at your pussy, he works tirelessly, his head buried between your thighs, waiting for you to cry out his name again. He would do anything to hear you moan for him, but he doesn't have enough patience to wait for you to be comfortable enough to do so—if he has to work two, three, four times as hard to hear your pretty voice, he will.

Your eyes snap open when you feel Satoru’s mouth disappear from your clit, already missing the sensation of his mouth on you, your head turns, aiming down towards him when your mouth is met by one of his hands. He forces two of his fingers inside your mouth without warning, slipping them past your lips and pressing them down on your tongue. Your head moves almost instinctively, sucking and rolling your tongue against the digits with a confidence that Satoru reads as practiced ease. The thought of you doing this with someone else makes his chest burn, red hot jealously courses through his veins, making his head dizzy. 

His fingers disappear as fast as they appeared, and you whine at the sudden loss between your lips. But Satoru leaves you no time to complain, he forces his spit covered fingers past your folds, and he watches as they get enveloped in your warmth. His eyes roll back, and he bites his lip to stifle a groan. 

“Fuck—you're so tight, princess—shit.” 

He pumps his fingers into you frantically, his heart racing wildly because of the pace he's set himself. He's ruthless in his speed, and it makes your head spin.

It's not long before your legs begin to shake, your breath hitching as you draw closer and closer to the release you so desperately crave. Your whole body thrums with electricity, the way Satoru is touching you makes your mind cloudy, unable to think about anything more than the pleasure he's giving to you. His fingers fit perfectly inside of you, and you're sure he was made to be there. 

Your pussy squelches lewdly, and Satoru smiles, uncharacteristically soft, and not at all fitting for the situation he currently has you in. His eyes dance across your figure, watching your stomach spasm as he brings you closer to your orgasm. He feels you clench around his fingers, your breathing getting increasingly more rapid. Your eyes meet his and the look on Satoru's face makes you squeeze your eyes closed—as if not looking at him will make the oddly lovesick look disappear from his face.

“C’mon, baby—please—need you to cum now… need to feel you cum around my fingers, baby. Please please please.”

Satoru has no idea why he was begging you to cum, all the times he had pictured having you like this, he was always the one in charge. He was always the one to keep his composure, waiting for you to lose yourself within the pleasure he was giving you.

Something about his voice made the knot inside your stomach tighten. The need written on his face, coupled with despair with which he was begging for you to cum was too much for you. Your arms reached out, gripping Satoru's shirt tightly. You breathed his name over and over—torutorutorutoru—as if in prayer, letting your orgasm wash over you. Satoru cursed as you came around his fingers, your tight pussy never stopping him from pumping his fingers into you, helping you ride out your orgasm for as long as he could. 

You didn't know the last time you had come that hard—if you ever had, the amount of times you had to fake it for your exes was uncountable. Your chest heaved, your breathing still erratic as you let your eyes flutter closed. Satoru had slowed down his movements, removing his fingers from you with a pop! 

He brought his hand up to his face, letting your scent waft over him. He licked his lips, drawing his tongue across his fingertips before letting his mouth drop open. He slipped his fingers inside, groaning as he did so. But the mere remnants of your cum on his fingers was not enough. He needed more.

He dropped back to his knees without a thought, hands gripping your thighs even tighter than before, causing you to open your eyes. You were unsure of what he was doing, but before you could ask, or take a look, his tongue was lapping up the juices from your pussy. 

All you can hear are the noises Satoru was making against you, your own moans are quiet in comparison to his. He groans against your cunt, and desperate for some friction he grabs a pillow that had fallen from your bed and stuffs it between his legs. He slurps all the mess you'd made from your previous orgasm, making sure not a single drop was left untasted. 

Your hands dart straight to his hair, gripping the strands tightly between your fingers. You try to move his head, desperate to give yourself some reprieve from his unfaltering assault on your already overstimulated pussy. But he is too strong. His head burys itself deeper between your legs, focusing now on your swollen clit. He sucks the bud into his mouth, planting kisses and rolling his tongue across it mercilessly.

The pillow between his legs was not forgotten, and amidst the wet noises coming from your pussy you are able to hear Satoru's own moans. He thrusts himself against the pillow's material, rolling his hips and giving his rock hard cock some long awaited attention. 

As he got himself closer to release all he could think about was how desperately he wanted his cock inside you. He wanted to paint you with his cum, mark you as his, make sure you never thought about letting anyone else inside his pussy ever again. 

He groans at the thought, and shivers rock your body. Tears threaten to spill from your eyes as Satoru continus his brutal assault on your clit, your hands still tightly gripping his hair but you could feel your strength diminishing the closer you got to your second orgasm. Broken sobs and whispered whimpers are all that escape your throat, your mind is scattered, an overstimulated mess. Satoru could not have been more thrilled at your state, only lifting his lips off of you for a second to praise your behaviour.

“You're doing so well for me, sweetheart. Letting me wreck your pussy like this—hhhng fuck—gonna reward you, baby—shit—we’re gonna cum together, okay?”

All you could do was nod weakly and let out a quiet hum to answer Satoru's question. Your whole body was shaking, your legs were completely out of your control, and Satoru considered himself lucky you hadn't accidentally hit him in the head because of how much you were moving. 

He smiles against your clit, your overstimulated moans coupled with the tears he knew were falling from your eyes brought him hurtling towards his own orgasm. It took all the strength he had to focus on making you finish, his thrusts against the pillow becoming more sloppy and his moans getting louder and louder as he sucked and nipped at your sensitive clit. 

Your arms jerk against his head, falling down to land on the mattress next to you, as your breaths shortened Satoru was certain you were about to cum, a cry from your lips solidifying this suspicion—“mmcumminhgg”.

Satoru's eyes rolled back, “me too, sweetheart—fuck—cumming with you, cumming with my needy slut.”

Your eyes squeeze tightly shut as you come for the second time, but you could feel Satoru spasm against your abused cunt. He whines from below you, still sucking your clit, while he painted the inside of his boxers with ropes of his cum. 

Your body shocks begin to ease as he moves his mouth and begins to plant kisses along the inside of your thighs, but your legs still feel wobbly and your head is still spinning from how powerful your orgasm was.

Satoru drags himself onto his feet, momentarily standing before flopping his body on top of yours. He shifts until he is comfortable, burying his head in your neck and breathing in your scent.