#smut content

It’s become a routine, the way his mouth goes straight to your tits. He’s obsessed with them, like a kid with candy. Half the time he doesn’t even let you sit down before his face is buried between them, sucking your nipples raw while his hands squeeze and paw at the flesh. He drools on you, leaves your chest red and swollen, moaning like it’s his meal of the day. You let him, because you know the second he gets his fill he’s yanking your panties down, desperate to sink into you.

That’s the other part of the routine: his cock. Always hard, always twitching for you, always sliding into you like he belongs there. Some nights it’s fast, he bends you over the nearest surface, pulls your skirt up, and ruts into you like an animal until you’re choking back screams. His hand smothers your mouth, his hips slap against your ass, and the only sound in the room is the wet slap of him pounding into your soaked pussy. Other nights he makes it long, drawn-out, flipping you from one position to another like he’s reading from a goddamn instruction manual—missionary, cowgirl, reverse, doggy, sideways, piledriver—testing them all like he wants to write a book called “How to Ruin Her Pussy 101.”

And he cums. God, does he cum. Half the time it’s inside you, thick and messy, leaking down your thighs when you finally stumble to the bathroom. Sometimes it’s all over your stomach, streaks of white painting your skin while he grins like he just marked his territory. Once, he even came all over your tits after sucking them for an hour straight, smearing it around like lotion while laughing about how pretty you looked covered in him.

Afterwards, you lay there, legs numb, body sore, chest littered with bite marks. He always tries to be clingy, tries to keep you longer, his arms around your waist, that puppy-dog pout when you start dressing.

But you made one rule: boundaries. No cozy shit. No acting like a couple. No smiles in class, no touching, no pretending this is anything but what it is. And he listens. Because he knows better. He knows the deal. He keeps his distance when people are around, even if it kills him a little.

Still, you catch him looking sometimes. Those sharp blue eyes flicking your way when he thinks no one notices. You know he’s imagining you spread out on his bed, moaning his name, dripping with him. Cute, really. Not that you care, as long as he doesn’t make it your problem.

So the cycle keeps spinning. Every night, you end up in his bed. Every night, you let him fuck you stupid, let him soak his cock in your pussy until you’re clenching and shaking. Every night, you sneak back out with sore legs and cum leaking down your thighs, praying no one ever notices.

And by now, it’s not even about how you ended up here. It’s about the fact that you can’t stop.

********

Yet another night in Gojo Satoru's bed.

Your body feels wrecked, skin sticky with sweat and cum, and yet he still won’t let go. His long arms are wrapped around you like restraints, his messy white hair tickling your chest as his mouth stays glued to your tits. His lips are puffy from sucking, tongue flicking lazily at your nipple, then dragging lower to bite at the swell of your breast before climbing back up to your collarbone.

You groan, fingers in his hair, tugging him back when you feel that sharp sting on your neck.

“Satoru,” you breathe out, tilting your head away, “don’t leave marks where people see.”

He pulls back just enough to pout, bottom lip sticking out, blue eyes glassy and wide like you just kicked his puppy.

“Why not?” he mumbles against your skin, brushing kisses up your throat anyway.

You roll your eyes and push at his shoulder. “Come on. We talked about this.”

He freezes, mouth hovering by your jaw, and for once he actually looks hurt. Like the reminder stabbed him. Then he shifts back down, face pressed between your tits again, voice muffled against them.

“Y/n… can I say something?”

You groan again, but for a whole different reason. “Yeah. Anything except you’re in love with me.”

His head pops up, hair sticking up in every direction, mouth hanging open. “Wha—no! That’s not—” He stammers, blinking, cheeks flushing pink under the moonlight leaking through his curtains. “I—I didn’t mean that, I—”

“Then spit it out.” You tilt your head, smug. “Come on. Say it.”

He swallows, clearly second-guessing this whole decision. His thumbs rub circles into your waist as if stalling. Finally, he whispers, “Well… I always feel so… bad when you… ignore me.”

You blink at him. Ahh, here we go again.

Does this moron even realize what he’s asking for?

“So what?” you shoot back flatly, hand dragging up his chest until your nails scrape lightly over his collarbone.

His lips wobble like he’s fighting between a whine and a pout. “Y/n… I mean… I know you don’t want people to know, b-but it’s fine if we talk like friends, right? Sometimes?” His eyes dart down, embarrassed. “Maybe you can say you’re asking me doubts or something… please, y/n…”

You laugh, sharp and humorless, shoving his face back down into your tits where it belongs.

“Satoru. That’s enough. Look at you—you’re sucking on my tits as we speak. Isn’t it enough that I’m with you like this every single day?”

He jerks up again, shaking his head, eyes desperate. “Noo, no, y/n, that’s not— I meant— I mean, I like being with you like this, but… I like to do other things too… like talk… and… go somewhere…”

You sigh, dragging your nails down his abs, feeling him shiver.

“Do you even hear yourself right now?”

“What’s wrong with that?” His voice cracks, and he sounds so fucking pathetic you almost laugh.

“Satoru.” You grab his jaw, forcing his eyes on you. “Let me make it clear. It’s either this—” your hand slides down, pressing against the heavy cock still twitching against your thigh— “or nothing at all. Okay?”

His whole body jolts under your touch. He nods fast, terrified. “Y/n—s-sorry, don’t say that—please don’t leave me. I won’t talk about it again, I swear.”

You chuckle darkly, leaning in until your lips brush his ear. “Yeah… now that’s a good boy.”

Then you kiss him, slow and messy, tongue sliding into his mouth while your hand drifts lower, wrapping around the thick base of his cock. He moans into your mouth, already hard again despite the god-knows-how-many rounds you just finished.

You pull back with a smirk, guiding him down, pressing the head against your swollen pussy lips. His mouth falls open, eyes rolling back as you drag him up and down your slit, coating him in your slick and his own cum.

“F-fuck,” he gasps, hips jerking against your grip, “y/n—”

You cut him off, rubbing his head against your clit, letting him twitch and throb while you smear the mess across your folds.

“Satoru. You wanted to talk?” You grin, guiding him lower, not letting him inside, just sliding him back and forth over your cunt. “Here’s your conversation. My pussy talking to your cock.”

He whines, actually whines, his head dropping to your chest again as you use him like a toy. Each drag makes his cock leak, smearing more pre all over you.

“Y/n—please—stop teasing—”

“Stop teasing?” you echo with mock innocence, grinding him hard against your clit until your body jolts. “Isn’t this what you wanted? To be more than just this? To talk?”

He groans loud, rutting against your hand, desperate to push in. But you tighten your grip, keeping him right where you want him, his cock sliding along your soaked slit but never breaching.

Your nails dig into his hip as you guide him, up and down, over and over. His whole body shakes, his breath hitching against your tits.

“Say it,” you whisper against his ear. “What do you want?”

He moans, voice cracking, cock twitching hard in your grip. “Y/n—fuck—please let me in—”

You laugh low, dragging him harder against your clit until your thighs tremble.

And he breaks, moaning shamelessly as you keep grinding his cock against your swollen pussy, making a filthy, wet mess between your thighs.

You keep him right there, desperate, needy, grinding his cock against you like it’s the only thing keeping him alive, and you don’t even let him in. Just rub him up and down against your slit, dragging him slow sometimes, fast other times, just enough to drive him insane. His hips jerk, his chest heaves, and the way his eyes keep rolling back while his hands grab at your waist—pathetic. Pathetic, but so damn cute.

And when it finally hits him, when he spills all over himself just from the teasing, he looks ruined. Teary-eyed, bottom lip trembling, cheeks red like he’s embarrassed but too blissed out to care. It’s almost laughable how easy it is, how quickly you can pull him apart without even giving him what he’s begging for. He’s such a pretty loser like this—messy, whiny, and still looking at you like you’re untouchable, like you’re his whole damn world.

You lean down, watching his face up close while he catches his breath, and it only makes you smirk harder. Gorgeous, ruined boy. It’s addictive—the way he worships you, the way he can’t hide how obsessed he is. And knowing he’d let you use him like this forever if it meant staying close to you? Makes teasing him all the more delicious.

But is his dick the only reason you keep going back every day? Is it just that? Just the way he falls apart under you, the way his cock keeps you filled, stretched, satisfied until your legs give out? Or is it the fun of teasing him, of making him whine and pout and beg like a needy puppy? You tell yourself that’s all it is—that it’s just dick and fun. That he’s just a loser you use whenever you want, that you’re the one in control.

But if it was really only about dick and fun, then why don’t you talk to guys anymore? Why aren’t you texting your fuck buddies who used to hit you up every weekend? Why aren’t you slipping into the backseat of some stranger’s car after a night out, the way you used to? You’ve been to clubs, to bars, to house parties. You know the thrill of letting someone new take you apart. So why aren’t you doing any of that anymore? Why does it feel like your life has shifted, quietly, without your permission?

Because now, most nights, you’re not even considering anyone else. You hang around your friends before excusing yourself and drive straight to his place, and he’s always there waiting smiling, jittery, like he knows what’s coming. And every single time, without fail, you give it to him. You let him fuck himself stupid into you, you let him cling, you let him beg. And you act like it’s nothing. Like it’s casual.

You talk a big game about keeping it detached, about boundaries, about how this doesn’t mean anything. But look at you. Look at your routine. You don’t even let him talk to you in class, but at night, you’re letting him bury his face in your tits, holding him close while he whimpers your name like it’s a prayer. You don’t let him near you in public, but behind closed doors, you let him cum inside you, again and again, until you’re full of him.

Who’s really fooling who?

You tell yourself it doesn't mean anything. But the way you’ve stopped entertaining anyone else—the way you’ve stopped even looking—it says something you don’t want to admit.

It’s not that you can’t go out and fuck someone new. You could. You know it’d be easy. But lately, the thought doesn’t excite you. The thrill isn’t there. Not when you’re already getting ruined by him every night, not when Satoru alone is enough to drain every ounce of energy and leave you craving more the second you walk out his door.

Because Satoru is a lot. A lot for your mind, with how he always wants more, more touches, more kisses, more little pieces of you that he’s not supposed to have. And a lot for your pussy too, because he never fucking stops. His stamina, his desperation, his absolute obsession with you, it’s overwhelming. He dicks you down until you’re hoarse from moaning, until your thighs ache, until you’re trembling and still begging for one more. He’s a loser, but he’s your loser, and that’s starting to sound way too dangerous in your own head.

You groan, fingers tightening on the steering wheel as you pull into your place. Another late night. Another round—or five—with him. Another morning where you’ll wake up sore, stretched, and still unsatisfied because somehow he only makes you want more. You try to brush it off, but deep down, you know the truth: whatever this is, it’s gotten under your skin, and it’s not letting go anytime soon.

******

The next day, Aira had that look on her face the second class ended—the one that said you weren’t escaping her. She cornered you near the stairwell, blocking your way with that smug little smirk.

“Y/n, what’s going on with you lately? You’re… so different,” she dragged out the word, eyes narrowing. “Always rushing home, never hanging out with us anymore. Am I being ditched or what?”

You forced a laugh. “Come on, Aira. Don’t start. I’m fine. It’s just… I’ve had a lot going on, okay? Energy’s low.”

Her arms crossed, hip cocked, not buying it. “Energy low my ass. You used to have too much energy. You were the first one to drag me out. Remember that girl? Where is she? Now I blink and you’re gone.”

You shrugged. “People change.”

She rolled her eyes dramatically. “Yeah, or maybe you got yourself another bestie I don’t know about. Someone’s replacing me?” She tilted her head, voice teasing but with that bite underneath.

“It’s not like that, Aira…” you muttered.

“Then what? Tell me. Because you’ve been ignoring me. And don’t say you’re fine. That’s bullshit.”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “I just don’t feel like going out. That’s all. Don’t make it into something it’s not.”

Her pout was exaggerated, the kind she knew you hated because it always made you cave. “You used to enjoy it. What happened? I miss my girl.”

“Aira—”

“Nope. No excuses. Sarah’s hosting a house party tonight and guess what? You’re coming with me. Don’t argue.” She wagged a finger at you like you were a child.

“Tonight?” you groaned. “Evening? Ugh, Aira, really? Why not the weekend? I’ll be more free—”

“Nope. Don’t even try. You’re not getting out of this. You’re coming.” Her grin widened.

You pressed your lips together, shaking your head, but she looped her arm through yours and that was that. Aira never let go once she latched on.

*****

By evening, she had you all dolled up and dragged along, dressed cunty as usual—short skirt, tiny top, confidence dripping off you. You stared at yourself in the mirror before leaving, thinking about how Satoru would lose it if he saw you like this, smiling to yourself.

At Sarah’s house, the place buzzed with bass and bodies, familiar faces everywhere. Too familiar. Guys you used to laugh with, grind on, kiss just because it was fun. Guys you used to let take you home, let fuck you sloppy, and forget their names the next day. You sighed, the nostalgia hitting and grating at the same time.

And of course, the moment you stepped in, eyes started scanning you.

“Yo, y/n,” a voice called, and you turned to see Brad leaning against the counter with a drink. “Haven’t seen you in forever.”

“Yeah,” you smiled tightly. “Been busy.”

“Busy with what?” His smirk widened. “Got a boyfriend or something? That’s not you. Yeah?”

Your mouth twitched. “Nah, nothing like that. Just… personal stuff.”

“Ohh. I tried texting, even called once. You didn’t pick up.”

Your stomach dipped. “I must’ve missed it. Sorry.”

“Yeah? So what’s the plan tonight then?” He leaned closer, eyes running down your body. “Wanna come with me after this?”

“Brad—”

Before you could answer, Aira swooped in like a hawk. She hooked an arm through yours, yanking you back. “Bye, Brad,” she sang out. “You don't give head anyways.”

You whipped your head around. “Aira!!!”

Brad looked offended, staring at both of you. “What? She told you that?”

“Exactly,” Aira grinned.

“Unbelievable, girl,” you muttered, glaring as she dragged you away.

She only winked. “Saved you, didn’t I?”

*******

Upstairs, away from the crowd, you ended up sinking into the couch with a drink. Music thumped through the walls, laughter echoed, but your eyes drifted to your phone. You unlocked it checking the time. Right around when you usually go to Gojo's.

You typed out the words: I won’t be coming today.

You stared at it. Fingers hovering. Wait… what the hell were you doing? Why would you even tell him?

Basic manners, sure. Otherwise he’d wait. He’d probably stare at his door, pacing, restless, desperate. Like a stupid puppy waiting for its owner.

Cry, maybe. Pout. Be pathetic in that way only he could.

But sending that text? That would be a signal. That would mean something. And he’d twist it into what he wanted—that you cared, that you were his.

And you weren’t about to give him that.

So you did the petty, bitchy thing: you erased the draft. Slid your phone back into your bag. Let him wait. Let him ache for you, crawl for you in his head.

Tomorrow? He’d be better for it. Tomorrow he’d fuck you like he’s starving. Tomorrow he’d be obsessed even more, more of a good boy.

You smirked to yourself, leaning back on the couch. One night wouldn’t kill him. Let's just hope it wouldn't kill you either.

Time to forget about him. Time to enjoy the party.

**********

Well, that enjoyment doesn’t last long when she shows up.

That bitch.

The one who’s always been jealous of you, jealous enough to smother you with fake compliments to your face while running her mouth behind your back. Always acting sweet, soft, and innocent, when everyone knows she’s a manipulative fuck. You and Aira never liked her, not one bit.

She walks into the room, slotting herself right between the guys on the couch like she owns the damn place. The moment her eyes land on you, her face lights up with that fake smile you hate.

“Ahhh, Y/n! Didn’t see you there.” Her voice drips with mock surprise.

You force your lips into a polite curve, a fake smile just to keep the peace. “Hey…”

She tilts her head, eyes raking over you like she’s inspecting a bug. “Haven’t seen you around anymore… what happened? You disappeared on us.”

You exhale sharply through your nose, keeping your tone clipped. “Just… busy. Personal stuff.”

“Personal stuff,” she echoes, like she’s tasting the words just to spit them back out.

One of the guys across the couch smirks, lifting his drink. “Maybe y/n’s got herself a secret boyfriend.”

The room laughs lightly. You’re already preparing a half-assed denial, but then she jumps in, her eyes wide with faux innocence, her words sharp as glass.

“Oh no way. Y/n doesn’t do boyfriends.” She giggles, looking around the room for approval. “She needs a different dick each day.”

Your eyes widen, stomach flipping at the bluntness. Even though you’ve heard worse, the way she spits it out in front of everyone makes heat rise to your cheeks.

“Aira—” you hear her sharp inhale, already ready to throw hands, but you grip her wrist before she can move.

Some people laugh at the comment, some shrug, some raise brows. Not that you care. Not that you want to care.

She leans back against the couch, twirling her hair like she’s the main character. She keeps talking, more shit pouring from her mouth, the kind that makes you grind your teeth just to stop yourself from snapping.

And then—

“Guys, you know that big shot in our class? The white-haired one?”

"Who?"

"You know the one from Gojo family."

Another guy scoffs. “What about him?”

She licks her lips, grinning. “Well… he’s in my project team. Our group were working together last week. And, like, I swear… that boy seems so different nowadays.”

Someone else frowns. “Why would you even care about him?”

She shrugs dramatically. “No, that’s not it. Yesterday I saw him… and he had a hickey on his neck. Like… an actual mark.”

Your whole body freezes. The blood drains from your face. You stare at the floor, praying no one notices the way your hands start trembling.

“Does he have a girlfriend or something?” she asks loudly, all faux-curious, lips curling with the nastiest smirk.

“Impossible,” someone snorts. “Imagine someone like him having a girlfriend. How dumb would she be?” Laughter bounces across the room.

That bitch laughs the loudest. “Exactly! I mean, come on. If he does have one, she must be pathetic as fuck. Like… imagine dating him.”

More chuckles. Another guy adds, “Nah, he probably just paid a whore. Guy’s loaded, right? With money anyone can get anything.”

You pretended you didn’t hear it. You scroll through your phone, eyes glued to the screen like you’re totally detached, like none of this is crawling under your skin. But your ears won’t stop ringing. Your chest feels like it’s caving in.

And then her voice cuts through again, sweet as poison.

“Ohhh, Y/n…” she drags your name, and your head snaps up before you can stop it. She tilts her head, her grin wolfish. “When I think about it… haven’t seen you around lately. Are you, perhaps, that loser’s secret girlfriend?”

Your jaw slackens. Eyes widen. It’s like the room tilts. You choke on your own breath, stuttering— “W-what? N-no, that’s—”

But before you can even form words, another guy bursts out laughing, shaking his head.

“Ahhh, no way. Y/n’s got class. Tell jokes that at least have a potential to be true.”

The room erupts again. You sit there, frozen, heart hammering so loud it feels like everyone can hear.

She claps her hands together, giggling. “Haha, I was just kidding, of course.”

The problem is… was she? Was she actually kidding, or did she fucking know?

You can’t stay there anymore. Not for another second. You shoot up from the couch, muttering, “Excuse me, washroom.”

As you turn away, she calls after you, voice saccharine.

“Y/n, come on! That was a joke! Don’t be so sensitive.”

Her laughter follows you as you push into the washroom and slam the door behind you, pressing your back against it, chest heaving.

You lean against the sink, staring at yourself in the mirror. Your chest is tight, your jaw locked, hands gripping the porcelain as if you could wring it to dust.

That fuckin' bitch. She had no idea, but she hit way too close. “Secret girlfriend.” The words won’t stop replaying in your head.

It was just a joke, sure, just her usual digging claws into you and twisting them around. But your throat is dry because it didn't feel like a joke to you. This time it was aimed right at the sore spot.

Because it is true, isn’t it? You’re basically acting like his fucking girlfriend without ever saying it. Always at his place. Always in his bed. Always leaving marks, letting him cover your body in his brand.

You don’t go out, don’t fuck around like you used to. Aira’s already suspicious. And now that girl outside just dragged his name into the open. And if this keeps going on, people will start connecting the dots no matter how “pathetic” they think he is.

You splash water on your face, but it doesn’t help. Your reflection looks more rattled than before. You try to breathe, to think logically.

Okay, calm down. She doesn’t know shit. Nobody knows shit. You just gotta play it cool. Keep that fake smile plastered and let them think you’re still the same slutty little free spirit they remember.

But then another thought creeps in, nasty and sharp: And if anyone finds out?

Your stomach twists. You wipe your face with the back of your hand, staring yourself down in the mirror like you could bully yourself into sense.

You swallow hard, nails tapping against the sink. You hate that bitch outside, but she’s right about one thing: whoever Gojo’s “girl” is would have to be pathetic. And staring at yourself, you realize—you’re already halfway there. You squeeze your eyes shut, whispering under your breath like you could confess it to the empty air.

You’re fucked for real now.

to be continued in the next part...

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Steve had you propped up on your elbows and knees as he kneeled behind you. "Go slow.." you whisper, your voice and breath shaky as you had already sucked him off and then he made you cum with his mouth— pretty goddamn easily by the way.

He runs his hands soothingly over your back and ass, spreading your cheeks gently. "Shh, baby... I got you." He lines himself up slowly, pushing just the tip inside you. He's being incredibly gentle, knowing how sensitive you are after already having an orgasm. Oh and he was also pretty fucking big.. (CONFIRMED). He's stretching you open so slowly and carefully, but fuck, he's big. "You okay, honey?"

"y-.. yeah.." Your forehead drops to your forearms as they rest on his mattress. You were addicted to the feeling of him, and he was only the slightest bit inside you. He was just so addictive in every way.

He pushes in a little more, his thick dick spreading you open wide. "Fuck, you're so tight..." He pauses, letting you adjust to his size. "Breathe, baby... just breathe." He kisses your back gently, running his hands over your curves. He pushes in another inch, his hips barely moving as he takes his time entering you. He's being so gentle, almost painfully slow, as if he's afraid of hurting you. His hands grip your hips tightly, pulling back slightly to watch his thick cock disappear inside you. "doin' s'good honey..."

He bottoms out inside you, his pubic bone pressing against your ass. He's buried to the hilt, his massive dick completely filling your tiny pussy. He stays still, letting you feel every inch of him stretching you open. "Holy fuck..." he breathes out, his forehead falling to your back. Your hips buck and jerk slightly, trying to get yourself re-used to the feeling again as it had been about a week.

He feels your hips move underneath him and wraps an arm around your waist, holding you still. His other hand was on the pillow beside your head to hold himself and keep himself steady while he leaned over you. "hey, no moving just yet..." He nuzzles into the back of your neck, inhaling your scent. "Let me just stay like this for a minute... feel how deep I am inside you..."

Everything felt weak so the only response he got was an airy "mhm… s'deep.." He hums softly in agreement, his hips pressing even closer to yours. He's so deep inside you that you can feel him in your stomach. "You feel that, baby? You feel how far inside you I am?" He kisses your neck gently, his breath hot on your skin. "I'm gonna start moving soon..."

Your eyes were already searching for the back of your head as he angled his hips slightly different, "ok-okay…"

He starts to slowly pull out, his thick dick dragging against your inner walls. He pulls out until just the tip is inside you, then slowly pushes back in. He sets a gentle pace, being careful not to hurt you with his big size. "Fuck, you're so tight... I can barely move..."

You let out a huff of laughter, "sorry a-about that.." He shakes his head smoothly, his hips still moving slowly. "Don't be sorry... it feels amazing. You're perfect, baby. So fucking perfect." He leans down and kisses your shoulder blade gently. "But I need you to relax a bit more... let me move easier."

Half of the time, you and Steve would just be fully in it— no thought about it, just crazy sex. But other times— like tonight— it would just be a little giggly, a bit more normal and relaxed. for now. "m' tryin'.."

He smiles softly, understanding your struggle. He knows how tight you are and how much his size can overwhelm you. He slows down even more, his hips moving at a glacial pace. "I know you are, baby... just take your time. Let me do the work."

He continues his slow, gentle thrusts, watching your body closely. He knows you're trying to enjoy the moment without getting overwhelmed. "See?" He smiles, relieved that you're starting to relax, "That's my girl... just take it easy."

He starts to pick up the pace just slightly, but keeps it slow enough so that you’re not too overwhelmed. "Still good, baby?"

"yeah.. s' so good steve.."

He smiles, hearing the pleasure in your voice. You sound relaxed and into it, not overwhelmed or stressed. He loves how this gentler pace lets you enjoy everything without getting too much stimulation. He grips your hips gently, pulling you back onto him slowly.

He starts to fuck you a bit faster, still being gentle and mindful of your comfort. He's hitting that spot inside you perfectly, making you gasp and moan with every thrust. He hears your soft whine and he knows he's hitting the right spot. He spreads your cheeks wider, watching as his thick, hard dick slides in and out of you.

You feel him spread your knees wider so they were barley even up before he leans down over you. he practically had you fully on your stomach and elbows now except your ass was up slightly. he drops from his hand keeping himself up, to his elbow and forearm— now his full body was pressed against yours. You then felt his other arm wrap under and around your neck, he wasn’t actually choking you but his bicep pressed under your chin. You moan loudly before dropping your head to bite down on his arm. "g-g..go faster honey… need you so bad stevie.."

His dick twitches at the bite and sound of his nickname on your lips. He picks up the pace a bit, thrusting harder and faster now. "You need it harder, baby?" He asks softly, his voice strained with effort and arousal. "Need me to fuck you deeper?"

"yes!.. yes please steve.." The words come out in a string of moans, breath heavy as you moved your hips back to meet his own movements. His arm tightens slightly around your neck, not choking but applying gentle pressure. He's getting more dominant now, fucking you harder and deeper while keeping that arm around your neck as leverage to pull you back onto his dick with each thrust. "Take it deep like a good girl.. i know you can.."

As he tightens it, you realise he’s literally fucking you in a headlock. As you still lean on your elbows, your hands move to hold his arm rested under your chin, just needing something to hold onto. He feels your hands grab his arm, "Hold onto my arm, baby.. Need something to hold onto while I fuck this pretty little pussy?" He says softly, his voice strained with effort.

It baffled you that he could say words like that in that soft tone he always uses with you, it drives you crazy but in the best way possible.

He knows you're about to squirt all over him, he can feel it, but he doesn't care. He loves it. He leans down and bites your ear gently. "You're gonna make a mess, aren't you baby?.. Squirt all over my dick honey.. please.."

All you could do was moan in response. It was all so overwhelming that forming words right now felt like hell. He feels your body start to shake and tense up, knowing you're about to let go. He tightens his arm around your neck to make it a little harder to breathe and thrusts deep and hard, hitting your g-spot perfectly as he speaks into your ear. "Cum for me, baby.. Squirt all over my big dick.. Make a fucking mess..."

As soon as he hears you start to stutter and curse, he knows you're right there. He pulls out almost all the way, then slams back in deep and hard, his arm tightening around your neck as he does so. This perfect combination of stimulation sends you over the edge.

You let out a squeal as your legs tremble and attempt to rise to a kneel but his body doesn’t let yours move. From trying to lift up, it caused him to press deeper for a sec which just kept the release coming. He could feel you contracting and pulsing around his dick as you squirt slowly and messily around him. He keeps his arm wrapped tightly around your neck, applying gentle pressure to keep you slightly out of breath. "Fuck yeah, baby.. let it out f'me.."

You expected him to at least pull out by now, but instead he stayed buried inside you, trapping your release. You whine and plead, "Steve! Steve, honey.. come on.."

He ignores your whining and pleading voice. He wants you to come undone completely when he can see your pretty face. “i know honey.. don’t worry, you’ll be okay. just need you to turn over for me…”

You were tidying up some stuff around the house, boredom hitting you hard. To shake things up, you decided to rearrange the vibe in your space. You started by moving some boxes in your closet and picking up random junk from under your bed.

That’s when you spotted it—a red, unopened package tucked away.

—Huh? What’s this doing here?-you muttered, curiosity getting the better of you.

It was a gift for you, so you tore it open, eager to see what was inside. Big mistake. The moment you pulled out the contents, your eyes widened at the sight of a shiny, bright red dildo—way too long and girthy for your liking.

—Ugh… Panty gave me this for my birthday?-you groaned, the memory flooding back.

You’d shoved the gift under the bed that day because you had a sneaking suspicion it was something like this. As you rummaged further, you found more stuff in the package. With a mix of amusement and disbelief, you pulled out a bottle of lube and a pack of condoms.

—Lube *and* condoms? Seriously?-you scoffed, rolling your eyes.

Shaking your head, you stuffed everything back where it came from and went on with your chores.

A while later, you’d finished everything around the house, and boredom crept back in like an unwelcome guest

—Great… now what?-you sighed

It was a glorious weekend, perfect for lazing around or sleeping in, but there had to be *something* else to do. Your eyes drifted back to the red package. Well, that was one way to pass the time, and you were alone with nothing else going on. Options… options…

—Eh, one time won’t hurt, right?- you reasoned with yourself, a mischievous spark igniting.

You grabbed the dildo and the lube, heading to your bed. Kicking off your pants and sliding your underwear to the side, you settled in.

—Just a quick one…- you murmured, trying to convince yourself.

You squeezed a generous amount of lube onto the dildo, coating it thoroughly to make things easier—and less painful. To get yourself ready, you teased yourself a bit, fingers circling your clit, feeling the heat build as you got wetter. When you felt ready, you positioned the slick, red toy at your entrance and slowly started to push it in.

—Ugh…-you gasped, the stretch intense as it filled you.

*How the hell does Panty handle this thing all day?* you thought, wincing slightly.

You moved it in and out, slow at first, trying to adjust to the size. The toy stretched your walls, each thrust sending a mix of pleasure and slight discomfort through you. Wet, lewd sounds filled the room as you picked up the pace, your hips rocking against the slick length, chasing that sweet spot deep inside.

You kept moving, rocking your hips against the slick, red dildo, each thrust pushing you closer to that sweet release you were chasing. Your breath hitched, pleasure coiling tight in your core, when suddenly—BAM—your door swung open, making your heart nearly stop dead.

—Hey~, ____, there’s this insane deal at Casino City, like, totally unmissable, let’s g—

The voice cut off abruptly. Heart pounding, you slowly turned your head to see who it was, and there, standing in your doorway, were the two angel brothers… SHIT!

Your face burned crimson, the pleasure you’d been chasing instantly replaced by a flood of pure, mortifying embarrassment. The dildo was still buried inside you, your legs splayed, and the slick sounds of lube and your own arousal lingered in the air like a traitor. Their wide-eyed stares felt like they were searing right through you.

—Kill me now, please-you stammered, your voice barely a squeak as your face burned hotter than ever.

The two angel brothers exchanged a glance, then looked back at you, their faces splitting into matching, mischievous smirks.

—Oh, well, Casino City can wait a bit-the pink-haired one said, sauntering closer to you with a dangerous glint in his eye

—Yeah, we’ve got the whole weekend free. We can go later-Polyester added, following his brother’s lead with a grin that spelled trouble.

This isn’t gonna end well, is it? you thought, your heart racing.

—W-Wait, guys, maybe you should come back later, and—ohh!-your words cut off as both men pounced on you. One of them—quick as lightning—yanked the slick red dildo out of you, making you let out a soft, involuntary whimper. The toy was tossed carelessly across the room, landing somewhere with a faint thud.

—Now… looks like we don’t need any foreplay since you’ve already taken care of that, huh?- Polyurethane teased, slowly peeling off his clothes, his eyes locked on you with a wicked smirk.

—Though, I gotta say, I’m a little jealous you’re out here entertaining yourself with that silly toy instead of calling us…-the purple-haired one added, already tossing his clothes carelessly across the room.

When both brothers were fully stripped, your eyes couldn’t help but drift downward, taking in their… assets. Your breath caught. Yeah, those were way bigger than the dildo—thicker, longer, and intimidatingly ready.

—…Have mercy-you whimpered, your voice trembling with a mix of anticipation and nerves.

—Oh, you know damn well we don’t do mercy, sweetheart- the pink-haired one purred, gently pushing you back onto the bed and positioning himself at your slick entrance, his eyes glinting with mischief

—By the way, I’d take a deep breath if I were you-the ruby-eyed one chimed in, smirking as he slipped his fingers into your mouth, teasing your tongue with slow, deliberate strokes.

Before you could process it, you felt both of them—both—their thick, pulsing cocks pressing into you. They moved in sync, alternating between slow, deep thrusts and quick, relentless ones, stretching you to your limits. It was like they were punishing you for daring to play with that toy, each thrust driving you wild with a mix of pleasure and overwhelming intensity, your moans muffled against the cock of the older one

—Ugh… hah… wanna switch after this?- Polyurethane panted, glancing at his brother with a sly grin

—Fuck… yeah, fine-the other groaned in response, his voice strained with pleasure.

Your vision was hazy, but you shot them a wide-eyed look of What the hell?!

—Oh, relax, we know you can handle a bit more, right?-the pink-haired one teased, smirking down at you- Weren’t you just complaining about being bored?

—Don’t worry, we won’t be too rough… for now- the ruby-eyed one added with a wicked chuckle, his fingers brushing against you as they kept up their relentless rhythm

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

The carpet does not match the drapes, but we knew that already. March visits Vera for his routine bright red dye job with the consistency and commitment of someone going to church. The carpet is however fairly well-groomed. He’s not super meticulous about it, but he prefers to keep things cleaned up down there.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

He is…surprisingly romantic. In his own March way. He’s not great with words, so physical intimacy is an opportunity for him to show you how much he cherishes you. That doesn’t mean he’s going to treat you like glass. He knows how much you can take. He just wants to make damn sure that you feel loved, appreciated, and of course, thoroughly satisfied. He is devoted to learning what you like best. Even when he’s losing his mind and his head feels like it’s full of clouds, those dark eyes are seeing you with crystal clarity. He hopes he can use his body to convey the depth of his feelings, since his words always seem to come out wrong. He’s a little awkward at first! But he really does love looking into your eyes, caressing you, and holding your hands as he drives into you. 

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

It’s only once in a while, once you’re dating him. His own rough, calloused hands are not his first choice when he has you. Before that, though, it was happening pretty often. It was necessary to preserve his sanity with how incredibly frustrated you made him. He would have just lost his mind if he let himself get all pent up. Or, he would have snapped and jumped you a long time before he was actually ready. He needed *some* kind of outlet and jacking off was way easier than confessing his feelings. 

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

So. The thing is. Even though you are precious to him…even though he tries very hard to be really nice when you’re dating…there’s still a part of him that goes wild over being a little mean to you. He delights in your reactions. He’ll do things like squish your face in one (large, calloused) hand and call you a brat just to watch you squirm. He’ll hold something up over his head so you have to jump, and hopefully climb all over him, to get it. He’ll shove you face-down into the pillow when you start babbling while he’s taking you from behind. There is no real harm intended and he will never take it too far; he just loves pushing your buttons. 

Singing his praises always goes straight to his dick. This is a button of HIS you can push whenever you want. He absolutely loves to get his ego stroked. If you do that while you’re also literally stroking him? He’s done for. 

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

His favorite place to fuck you is *your* house! His bedroom is fine, but it’s attached to a shop and also his brother’s living space. Privacy is not guaranteed. Olric has probably knocked on the door to ask if March wants dinner when March was eating YOU for dinner. So…your farmhouse is just perfect. Nobody ever goes down there at night except the two of you, and it’s far enough removed from town that nobody could possibly hear the sounds he’s dragging out of you all night. 

However. It’s not out of the question that he might drag you off from a night at the inn or a festival to pound you against a wall; somewhere secluded, somewhere he’s sure no one else has any reason to be. Sometimes you just get him so turned on over the littlest things and getting all the way to either of your homes is just not happening. 

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

He has a quick trigger. As Ryis so aptly noted, getting worked up is pretty much March’s hobby. And oohhhh, you get him worked up. You always have, one way or another. Getting March in the mood is not difficult. Things that will do it 100% of the time; being a little sassy, being extra sweet, letting him guide your hands as he shows you something at the forge, acting super impressed by his work, buttering him up with praise, and giving him *that look* from across a crowded room or busy town square. That last one makes his knees weak every time. It’s like you start glowing while everyone around you fades away. 

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

No sharing. No, no, no. You may have good intentions by suggesting bringing someone else into the bedroom for some fun, but all poor March will hear is “I’m not enough for you.” He is determined to meet any and all of your needs through his own efforts. 

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He’s really good at giving head. It’s kind of crazy. Who taught him all that? (He taught himself by practicing on you). Your legs will be shaking and you will be seeing entire star charts. The chances of him stopping before your shit is rocked are basically zero. 

That said, he still slightly prefers receiving. Seeing you on your knees sucking him off is like a dart of pure bliss shot straight at his ego. It makes him feel like he’s king of the world. It’s also oddly romantic to him—you’re doing something for the sole purpose of making him feel good? That’s an act of love in his mind, sure as anything. 

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

He’s an intense guy by nature. His default setting is to get you good and ready, and then pin you down—or lift you up—and pound you. He’s entirely capable of softer and slower sex, though, and he does genuinely enjoy it. Just communicate what you want and March will accommodate you. 

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He actually likes quickies. While naturally he’s a huge fan of the long nights you spend exploring and pleasing each other until the point of exhaustion…there’s something so exciting about stealing you away from an evening at the inn to fuck you silly before you both stroll back over like nothing happened. 

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Depends on what risk, exactly. The risk of harming you? No way. Getting caught? He won’t let it actually happen, but walking the line is hot. Experimenting with new positions? Very much yes. 

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

He has too much stamina honestly. He spends all day every day swinging a hammer around next to a blazing hot forge, so it’s no surprise. He has a short refractory period and a high level of physical fitness, so a round two (or three) is yours if you want it, whenever you want it. He’ll keep foreplay up for so long you’ll be begging him to just fuck you already. The flip side; he doesn’t last veerryyyy long once he’s inside you. He is not a two pump chump or anything, and he is gradually improving in this area, but yeah, he’s not long for the world with your walls around him. It doesn’t help that just being naked around you is nearly enough to send him over the edge. Short fuse and all that. 

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He doesn’t own any actual toys and doesn’t want them involved. Yes, he is a craftsman, but he is also a very proud man. He doesn’t need some object doing his job for him. He’s totally fine with things that only enhance the experience or spice things up, like blindfolds or restraints. 

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

As we’ve established, he can be a lil mean. Now, that doesn’t mean he’s seriously degrading you —he adores you. He’s just a smug bastard who likes getting a rise out of you. When you started dating, he mostly suppressed the worst of his rough and callous behavior. It comes back out in bed. Your mere presence tortured him for months. He can imagine no sweeter revenge than teasing you before he lets you have it. Getting you to beg for it gets him so turned on he can barely survive it. 

He is also perfectly happy to let you mess with him, even if he pretends to be mad about it. Working him up and then trying to walk away produces some delicious results. Everyone’s winning. 

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He’s a vocal person all the time and that’s especially true when he’s having sex. He 100% talks you through it. He acts so cool about it, just like all those times he patiently explained blacksmithing techniques in that deep, gravely voice of his. It’s a fun little game to find out how fast you can make him lose the plot.

He simply cannot cum quietly. A major contributing factor to why he likes to fuck at your house. The smallest sound he’ll ever make upon his release is a strained groan. Most often, he will be muffling a scream into your pillow or your shoulder. It’s a blessing you don’t have neighbors. 

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

March has some deep-seated issues. When you spend your entire life bitterly guarding your heart, you don’t just magically have no problems with emotional and sexual intimacy—even with the right person. And make no mistake, he is certain you are the right person for him. He’s just working through some stuff. One of his main attempts at retaining a feeling of control over himself was to delay sleeping with you for a good while even once you were in a committed relationship. At the same time, he really, really wanted you. What this potent psychological mixture created was several weird nights early on when he’d come onto you like a man possessed and you’d think, finally let’s goooo this is happening, only for him to suddenly stop with no explanation. He would get cagey if pressed about it. 

Eventually, he just processed whatever he was processing and popped that cherry. Sex with him has been very natural and very fun ever since!

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

You can’t have an attitude like that without something to back it up. He’s a gifted guy, and I’m not talking about his famous forging skills. Yet he’s not so massive that penetration will hurt or require extensive prep to be possible. Basically, if you endured the great and trying journey of breaking through the walls of steel that March built around his heart, you get to reap the reward of enjoying his practically perfect dick. 

His body is just divine. You didn’t need to wait until dating him to learn that—he made sure you knew it. That time at the beach when he was all, “if you’re going to stare, can you do it from further away”...that was a clumsy attempt at flirting. He wanted you to notice how ripped he is. 

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Between the point in time when he realized he was into you and the point where you started having sex, his horniness level was frankly insane. It presented a genuine problem. Acting unaffected around you took constant, dedicated effort, and he still failed…often. 

Now that he’s getting laid on the regular, he’s more normal about it. He’s always into you. That hasn’t changed. He’s just more able to focus on other things when he’s not around you, because he knows he’ll have you again before long. A sustained burn versus a raging five alarm fire. If you have some span of time when the two of you can’t go at it, he will revert to the old ways. He starts getting twitchy if it’s been more than four or five days. 

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)