#thirst hours

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Sabo is so glad that he’s the one in front. If he was the one behind you, you’d find out things he’s not ready to talk to you about. He’s sure he’ll tell you soon. One day. Maybe. Hopefully.

But if when that day comes, he won’t be telling you like this. Not with a nervous flush pinking his skin. Not with a slight tremble in his fingers and a shiver in his spine. Not with stuttering breath nor a mind skittering from all but your touch.

Despite his advantageous position, you’re sure not making it easy on him. Your steady breaths keep tickling the baby hairs on the nape of his neck, kindling a heat that swirls under his skin, moving through his chest and down. The insides of your thighs gently tease his hips. They give him little shocks every time your muscles move to adjust your dangling legs, accidentally caressing him. He dreads each time you move to peak around him; it invariably involves your hands holding his shoulders for balance and your chest pressed to his back for the same reason. You have a habit of always needing your hands busy, and it works against him when you absentmindedly massage thumbs into his tense muscles or trail your nails over his shirt, gently picking at it. The reminder that the touch is barely in your mind while it’s all his mind can hold onto makes him want to slam his head into the wall in front of him.

Unfortunately, that would be bad for many reasons.

High among them is that you’d likely think he’s a weird fucking idiot for doing that out of nowhere, especially when you’re meant to be silent. Then there’s the fact that you’re meant to be silent because there are targets he’s supposed to be spying on on the other side of the wall. Ones who definitely wouldn’t let a suspicious thump in the wall stay free of bullets for long.

That all is why you are both hidden in this false wall in the first place. A mission listening in and gathering intel with his beloved protege is not out of the ordinary, but this method sure is. He didn’t think that these close quarters would be an issue; hell, he was looking forward to it. He’s been fixated on you for a while now. He couldn’t fight his wants, actively seeking excuses for easily written off closeness. This hiding spot was sure not to be found and he gets to be crammed in there with you? ‘Best of both worlds!’ He had thought like the ignorant fool he was.

The logistics were nightmarish in themselves - finding the intended location that these meetings were to be held, finding the schedules of everyone in the building, sneaking in during the blind spots, creating a hollow you could slide into and traverse from the roof just above, replacing the mirror in the room with a one way. So much of it was luck, really, especially that your targets were the type to meet in gaudy gold crusted rooms with walls crammed full of decorations and filigree. No one who covets wealth so much could stand to stay in a room without a mirror, lest they go too long seeing their own image caked in opulence. And unfortunately they also tended to be tall if the height of the mirror was anything to go by.

Sabo could see out of it standing, his lips at level with the bottom edge of it but that meant that you would need a boost to see out. The mirror wasn’t wide so one of you raised behind the other made more sense, thus a small ledge was made with just enough strength and size to hold you sitting. The walls they built here were thick for soundproofing and fireproofing and that old castle feel. It gave you enough room to hop up and let Sabo squeeze in front of you, but you were always just brushing against his back and your knees were gently touching the wall next to his thighs. It was insanely uncomfortable for you after hours of being in here. You kept fidgeting, the time enough to make you a bit restless but the harsh ledge trying to turn you numb and the awkward way it rested your weight made it impossible to hold completely still. You tried to find comfort in Sabo through leaning into him and focusing on his warmth instead of the needles starting to creep down the back of your thighs. Good training and deep breathing kept you centered enough to focus on the room through the mirror and you had recording snails to save anything you may miss.

Sabo can’t believe himself right now - you’re his apprentice not the other way around, yet he’s the one that couldn’t tell you what these men were talking about if his life depended on it and it might actually come to that. Luckily you would have the answers but unluckily you are why he did not. You were also why he was so hot in this damned wall crammed against your body heat and electric touches. You’re why he’s currently picking a hole through his gloves in an attempt to keep his hands from sinking into the thighs that cage him. You’re why his lower back aches from the tenseness of holding his body still when all it wants to do is roll and give him some Gods forsaken relief.

He gives his head a small shake to snap himself into focus. He feels you reel back in surprise, narrowly avoiding a faceful of his hat. Your hands slide down and you squeeze his biceps lightly in question.

Are you okay?

Sabo hates that you’re so kind right now. Well that’s a lie, he always loves it but did everything you do have to overwhelm him so much? He thought this would be fine, it’s not like he hasn’t been close to you before but fuck being around you has gotten harder and harder as it’s gotten sweeter and sweeter. With each piece of you he sees he’s come to respect you more then enjoy you more then adore you more and he can’t tell you. He’s your superior, your idol, and now your friend. If you knew the devotion - the hunger - swirling in him, surely you’d be upset, surely you- fuck why are your thighs squeezing him?

To Sabo’s delight and horror you let out a whimper so quiet it barely made it to your lips, but he heard it. His hips rock forward once before he even knew they were moving but he does know the flush of pleasure that washes over him when his aching erection grinds into the wall before him. He stills his body, leaving his hips pressed tight to the wall and away from you. It’s slightly painful and definitely not what he wants, but he’s so wound tight that any attention on his throbbing cock is almost too good to resist. Choking back his own whimper, Sabo slowly rests his forehead on the wall, careful his hat doesn’t fall off completely, and blows out a tight breath.

You continue your slow squirming. One hand leaves him but the other digs in firmly to his shoulder now, slightly pulling down as if to lift yourself up. He shuts his eyes tight to keep them from rolling, unable to stop the flood of fantasies of you gripping and pawing at him, panting and whining, drawing him closer with clenching thighs just like the ones twitching at his sides-

Sabo is unable to stop another rock of his hips forward. He slowly presses his hands hard into the wall to keep them from seeking you. He soon gives up stillness and busies one hand with keeping his hat steady while the other fists around the lapel of his jacket. His hips can’t keep from motion either; miniscule circles keep his cock rubbing against the wall. It’s too hard to feel good but feeling nothing is maddening and he couldn’t possibly do anything else with you all over him.

You pull down harder and this time his eyes do roll back. Precum leaks heavily out of his painfully sensitive tip. It starts to leak down over his head and down his shaft, well all the mess that isn’t soaked up by his pants. He worries for a second about hiding the growing stain when you both leave but then you sink your fingertips into him again and huff a breath on his tingling skin and there’s nothing in the world but you.

Your warm presence at his back, your desperate touch, your weight teasing at him, fuck he can even smell you on the air in here trapped so tight for so long. Wait does that mean you can smell him? Does he reek of sex - can you tell he’s leaking for you? Would you mind? Would it flatter you to know how much of a mess you make of him? Would you taunt him and make him make it up to you or would you want him to use the strength you admire to rip every bit of pleasure either of you can feel from your bodies-

Deep squabbling voices drum through the wall and remind him where he is.

Sabo’s hands finally flit to your thighs to stop your torturous squirming. Even with his gloves he can feel the plush of them by how his grip sinks into you. His fingers press deep and he can tell how good the grip is, how he could use it to press and pose you to his whims, drag you closer, open you up, fold you half. At the moment, all he allows it to do is hold you still and hold you close. Instead of a command to stop, however, you take it as an invitation.

That invitation leads you deeper against him, leaning your chest forward to put some of your weight on him instead of your sore bottom. It’s not much, but enough to dial encroaching agony back down to pain. Your head relaxes forward against him in relief, gently bumping under the brim of his hat from your spot buried against the back of his neck. One hand stays anchored to his shoulder while the other slides around his trim waist to anchor him to you. You feel his abs twitch and diaphragm stutter even through all his layers.

Sabo tries to shift himself up to help you and do something with all this energy. It relieves a speck more of the numbing pressure from your seat, and you can’t help but sigh from it. The sound is barely there, definitely kept safe from outside ears by the barrier of the wall but definitely close enough for Sabo to feel as well as he hears. He knows it was from something innocent but god was it just the same as some of the sighs he’d dream of pulling from you - sighs dripping with relief and need and even the pain of drawing you close again and again till all you can do writhe and gasp and beg and need him. He needs you to be as pathetic of a puddle of want as you’re making him and without even trying.

The fantasy melding with your touch takes him again and he just can’t help but cant forward again to grind himself on anything. He’s not sure if he’s ever ached half as much of this and is dangerously close to ruining the mission and risking your lives just to spin around, shred your clothes, and fuck you. But more than that he needs you to be as obsessed with him as he is with you or he shouldn’t get to sink into you, it wouldn’t feel right.

His hands give one massaging change of grip and then he’s pulling you forward with him on the next grind. This time, he’s holding a sizable portion of your weight and you squeeze him in relief and for more. Your second sigh stutters so prettily and he can feel your lungs and breasts jump with it against his back and the little hairs on his neck that it tickles. Who could blame him for tilting his head back to hear and feel more?

His hat is falling, the action bumping it right off of his head. Habit and instinct meet to jerk his hand towards it and the thump of knuckle meeting wall stops both of your hearts.

Before they could find their next beat, three shots tear through the air and the drywall. Your world lurches and liquid tingles run through every inch of your body, washing out all other feeling. Every muscle tightens, stopping squirm and grasp and blinking and breath and all but your newly sprinting heart. Sabo is stiff as stone in your hold, doing little to comfort you. Your only measure of time is the growing burn of your wide eyes and stalled lungs.

“Always breathe first”

The echo of Sabo’s steady voice in training breaks through the fuzz in your head and you can exhale. A spec of clarity eases in with the oxygen and you realize that you aren’t hurt. A tilt of your head and you realize the bullets ripped through the wall and planted themselves in the back layer safely to your side. And only because Sabo jerked you both just out of their aim.

More oxygen guides you out of the purgatory of fight or flight when the sounds of the meeting resume. The adrenaline begins to fall off of you, pulling you to lay slack against Sabo’s back. You feel him tremble and hold him as best you can, worried he’s stuck in the punishing fear that just swallowed you before spitting you back out.

Sabo is definitely stuck and there certainly is fear, but that’s not why he trembles. At first it was definitely for your safety; he doesn’t know what he’d do if you were truly hurt, especially because of his own blunder. He’s thankful that true danger kicked off his haki and let him act so quickly and competently where before he was too consumed to think of much of anything. He’s only dug back deeper into that hole now that “you’re safe” turned to a ringing of “we almost died” in his head. Each time the thought repeats, it pounds in his heart and shoots violently to his cock. The exhilaration, the danger, the relief, they all overwhelm him and make him feel so alive and so needy and so sensitive and so fucking close.

He trembles and gnaws at his lip to keep his throbbing cock from drooling out any more than the precum that’s been wetting his underwear for awhile now. He can feel it pounding between his legs so hard that it hurts. But shame keeps him fighting against the mouthwatering orgasm wringing in his gut.

What kind of freak cums from getting shot at? How could he lose himself with you so sweetly tucked to his back, no clue to how desperate and turned on and depraved he’s being? How lowly would you think of the man that’s your superior, your teacher and guardian, if you found out that being near you has them so close and a little fright pushes them over the edge? That they held you as they came in their pants like a pathetic loser?

The hyper awareness of his stoked haki and adrenaline make it all the easier to feel every little movement you make. He feels you settle boneless against him, relishing your weight pressing you so close. He feels your grip turn from a lifeline back into an embrace, making him hold back a sob at how soft it makes his heart and how painfully hard it makes his dick. He feels you use your thighs this time, gently squeezing his hips in something meant to be comforting but that ends up being agonizingly erotic. The muscle and fat of your thighs feels so warm and alive squeezing him and all he can think of is them holding him tight while his cock is instead throbbing in your wet heat, where each jerk of his hips shoots another gush of hot cum to the rhythm of your orgasm wringing down around him. He can hear your moans and cries and pleas ringing through his head now.

“It’s alright, darling, please cum in me, fill me up -nngh- I need all of you -hah!- Sabo! please cum for me, it’s okay, I need it”

Against his will, his hands grip down hard again and pull your thighs even tighter to him. You’re pressed so close he can feel the natural heat between your legs warming his lower back and it drives him insane.

Thinking he’s scared from the close call and possibly nervous about causing it, you give him a reassuring squeeze. A fresh shiver runs through his body from head to toe. Heart sinking even more at his sorry state, you move your hand from his shoulder so both arms are wrapping around him. This one changes trajectory, sliding to the middle of his chest, over his heart. You draw a few shapes over his sternum before applying firm pressure with a flat palm.

Sabo’s heart beats its ardor against your palm, but all it translates to you is anxiety. You don’t know that your sweetness only warms him through, drowns him deeper in the depths of love and desire he was already struggling to tread, sinks him into the world in his head where he’s already flooding you full like every cell in his body is begging for. A world colored by your gratitude for him saving you both from near death and your hidden love for him that had you throw yourself into him with the same desperation that’s burning him alive.

You nose forward until your lips are at his ear. Your lips and breath tickle the rim of it. He’s still tense and trembling and you’re so worried you forgo some of your fears and whisper, “‘s okay.”

Your thighs gripping him, your hand holding his heart, and your words - so close to his dream’s - smother him and he jolts. His breath is trapped in his throat, his jaw slack and mouth open as if to let it free, but his eyes and brow scrunch with delicious agony. He can’t think of any of that over the bliss beating through him as all the pressure finally turns to the crashing waves of his orgasm wringing him empty with spurt after spurt. His stomach and thighs burn at the tenseness turning to relief, taken by involuntary twitches and the power of each thump of his cock against the tight confines of his pants ricochets through them.

You hold and caress and, as quietly as possible, shush him through his orgasm. It makes it all the easier to imagine the sticky mess around his cock is a mix of your slick and the cum he’s pumping into you.

It’s a long while before Sabo settles. The crash of both the adrenaline leaving and an orgasm strong enough to keep him kicking past having anything to give make him fall almost completely slack in your grip. He leads it gently so the wall holds him and you up (at the cost of being able to watch the meeting, as if either of you were fulfilling the mission at this point) and focuses on aiming to be silent while he tries to catch his breath. All the while, you sweetly anchor him through their capricious tides.

It makes him ache again - a corrosive pool of shame eating at his chest. Reality trickles in with it and sets its scars in his flesh and bones. Not only did he cum in your arms while you’re none the wiser, he did it on a mission where you almost got shot and are trying to comfort him about it. The empathy and care he so loves in you are only serving to shove him into the grave he’s dug with his uncontrollable attraction to you. You offer him your affection and he perverts it into dry humping a wall and ruining his trousers. It’s wasted on him.

He doesn’t deserve your touch, your love - not like this.

But he can’t escape you. Even when he’s reigned in his lungs and heart, you’re right there with your tickling breath. Even when he’s forcing his mind to repeat every word he picks up from the other side of the wall, you’re right there with your resting cheek. Even when he’s managed to smoothly place you back on your ledge and his hands back on the wall, you’re there with your embracing arms.

It’s the best hell he’s ever known.

He was almost sad to see its gates open once the earth outside them was empty.

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Thank you for reading!! There will be a part two Eventually where both are aware participants this time lol

Will update with taglist soon!

to say that gojo satoru makes you uncomfy is the least of your worries. initially, you'd brushed off his hugs as nothing more but an attribute to his outgoing personality. but that doesn't explain the casual kisses he presses to your cheek- close enough that his lips brush the corner of your mouth, his bold fingers toying with your collar, the hem of your skirt, the occasional explicit picture that somehow 'accidentally' slides into your messages at 3am.

and the fact that he'd squeeze your cheeks between his fingers until you give him a meek 'nii-chan'

after weeks of putting up with gojo's antics, you finally muster up the courage to knock on your brother's door. suguru is as unmoving as a rock as you tell him about gojo. the more you blabber on, the more insignificant you feel under your brother's narrow gaze.

suguru simply shrugs when you are done with your tale. one look into his dark gaze tells you that you will gain no sympathy here. "gojo has always been friendlier than most." he waves a hand in the air to dismiss your concerns. "you're reading too much into it."

"besides, what would you have me do?" suguru questions pointedly as his gaze hardens. "tell him off like he's a kid?" his voice is filled with irritation. 

“i-” you begin. “he’s harmless,” suguru cuts in before you can finish. “are we done? i have matters to deal with.” 

immediately, you shrivel up. the hurt look on your face causes suguru’s glare to soften just the slightest bit. “don’t worry about gojo.” in a rare moment of softness, suguru tucks your hair behind your ear. the whisper of his fingertips against your cheek prompts a shiver to run down your spine. the dark look in suguru’s eyes is indiscernable. “i’ll talk to him about it.” 

the next day, gojo corners you against the wall the moment you dare to step out of your room. before you can even flinch, both his arms have closed around you, keeping you boxed under him and left with no choice but to stare into his crystalline blues.

"heard you ran your mouth about me yesterday," gojo muses. immediately, your breath hitches at the implication behind his words. "painted me out to be a nasty pervert, didn't you?"

"n-no!" you shake your head frantically. "i didn't say that."

"yeah?" gojo cocks his head with a grin that's a little too wide. "that's not what i heard. you really hurt my feelings you know. don't you know that i've always protected you like my lil sister?"

all sense of bravado that you'd embodied yesterday fades into thin air the moment gojo leans in. "you gotta make it up to me," he tells you in gleeful tone that doesn't sound the slightest bit hurt.

"how?" you ask wobbly, anything to get out of this situation as soon as possible.

gojo smiles down at you. "give me a kiss."

when you lean in to peck his cheek, he tuts you. "on the lips, darling."

"what?"

the stunned look on your face prompts gojo to sigh. without warning, without permission, his long fingers cup around your chin and he angles his head down to press his lips against yours. despite your pathetic attempts to pull free, gojo simply takes your muffled whimpers and the way your fingers fist around his shirt as a sign to lean even further down. 

it almost felt as if he needed the breath that you were holding, like it belonged to him. there was nothing gentle about the way your back slams against the wall as gojo takes your face between his large hands. dimly, you register a low groan that rumbles at the back of his throat before he pulls away. 

looking at him scares you. the way his pupils have been blown out so wide that you can see your own distorted reflection in them. the imprint of his fingers seem to burn into your skin. 

he lets out a little breathless laugh, the grip around your face tightens like he’s restraining himself from doing anything more. “that was a kiss that i wanted.”