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tonycries · 2 months ago

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To Have Your Eyes - T.F.

Synopsis. Toji Fushiguro - strong, hot, and your steadfast personal knight. And his duty to the crown means that Toji should…help the princess he’s always loved with obtaining an heir, right? Right?

Pairing. Toji Fushiguro x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem!princess!reader, knight!Toji, ROYAL AU, childhood-friends-to-Iovers, arranged marriage, Naoya gets NTR-d, PlNING, oraI (fem rec.), spítting, improper uses of armor, thigh ríding, dry húmping, matíng presses, BRÉEDING, dúmbifícation, marathons, D slipping, he’s BIG, size kínk, tummy buIges, cúmflation, slight exhíbitionísm, forbidden Iove, not actually unrequited, Undressed by Sombr references, happy ending, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 11.1k (wow)

A/N. TO HAVE THE EYES OF THE GIRL I WON’T FORGEEET-

“Q-quite a grand affair- wasn’t it, sir?”

Toji lets out a gruff, noncommittal grunt in response, seconds away from rolling his damn eyes as he listens to the newly-stationed recruit babble on and on about ‘seeing a royal wedding up close.’

Toji Fushiguro has always known that he didn’t deserve you - no one did.

No prince, nor duke, but particularly not that prissy, pompous Zenin heir you’d supposedly been betrothed to since birth. What was his name-

“Naoya!”

Ah, yes. Toji’s scarred lips curl when he watches the prince slam the staggering mahogany doors of your royal room open, stomping down the winding hallway in all his sour-faced glory. Not quite Prince Charming if you asked him.

“Ijichi-” He sends a sharp nod to the bespectacled knight, signalling him to follow the heir. As much as he hated the brat, it wouldn’t do to widow you so soon- especially not on your wedding night.

And with that, Toji goes where it’s most important - to you.

As the metallic padding of his armor clanked! with each determined step, so did the ringing thought that if anything - absolutely anything - had happened to you, he would kill that damn Zenin boy. Prince or not.

Treason or not.

He didn’t climb and elbow and fight his way through the ranks of knights to become your very own personal guard for nothing. From the very moment he’d met you, his duty was to you.

As was his heart.

Though, that last sentiment didn’t matter much - not when he was nothing but your lowly protector.

Completely out of place in the decadent, dimly-lit chamber of your bedroom; it was sprawling, and the entire Keep where knights slept would take up about only half the size of your chamber. It was obvious that this place was readied for the newly-wed couple - a faint mist of flowery fragrance clouding the air, white sheets so sheer that they looked like phantoms fluttering in the moonlight, and you.

You, seated on the center of your plush mattress, still dolled-up in your gauzy ivory wedding dress. Looking as angelic as ever- though, when have you not?

To Toji, it was routine to snap his jade eyes away from whom he never could have.

Throat slightly rusty with hoarseness as he whispers, “My princess?” Before shaking his head free of any more of those stupid notions of ‘his.’ “You alright, princess? Must I slay a haughty royal neck tonight?”

That, at the very least, seemed to get a watery chuckle out of you as he’d wickedly hoped. Then you’re finally turning-

And oh, Toji thinks he might do very well to fulfill his promise of bringing you the head of your so-called new husband.

Because right there - in the corner of your gorgeous face that he’d grown up admiring through every year, every emotion - was a singular, silvery tear track. Glittering in the rays of moon, Toji can’t stop himself from the way his body viscerally wrenches a step forward-

-before you hastily wipe away the evidence of your sorrow before he can. Fighting to keep your sweet voice even, “Oh, don’t bother, Toji. Naoya just seems to be having a…bad day?”

He narrows his eyes- you were unhurt, at the bare minimum. Though, that won’t stop him from bribing the kitchen staff into overloading that damn Naoya’s meals with a bucket of salt from now onwards.

“Tch, the worst date to have a ‘bad day’. Don’tcha think, princess?”

“You’re telling me.” Throwing your hands up in exasperation, the silky sleeves of your wedding dress ripple as you huff. And Toji takes a few guilty moments to memorize the vision, one he never thought he would see.

It’s only with how long you two had known each other that you’re not bothering with any plastic court manners as you pull your knees to your chest. Groaning in quite an unlady-like way, “And all because I simply asked him to help me take these damn laces off-”

“The bastard ran out because of that?” Toji suddenly interrupts, jaw slightly sagging as he dares to take a peek at the mass of ribbons and strings knitting the back of your stuffy dress together.

Honestly- years in the royal palace and he still didn’t understand what it was with you people and these damn layers.

Your embarrassed silence was enough of an answer, and Toji’s bowing. “If I may-” Letting his gloves drop to the polished marble floor with a clunk! “No, I will if he won’t. Turn around.”

Slightly yelping, you’re letting yourself be tugged closer to the edge of the bed once Toji walks his way ‘round. Gruff, grouchy, and yet he was still making gentle work with your frilly back - unplucking you free, one by one.

“He said this was a woman’s work.” You sigh over the whoosh–! of creamy white ribbons being loosened from your outer corset. Lips twitching, “And I asked him if he’d rather I spent my wedding night with a woman, then.”

“Ya think? Anyone would be better than that pig-headed, brutish, fucking-”

“Language, Sir Toji.”

“Tch.”

As the last of your stringy restraints are untied, you have to bite back a moan at the roughened padding of Toji’s fingertips. Dexterous digits digging into where your muscles were tender from being cooped up like this all day, “You’re…surprisingly talented at this- practiced much, Toji?”

“Been watching you get dressed since I came to this palace, princess, don’t underestimate me.” He’s growling, and if the very tips of his ears burned at the thought of being the one undressing you - on your wedding night, of all things - then, well, he’s only glad the flickering chamber candles were too dim for you to tell.

“O-oh shut up.” You’re scoffing at the way Toji leers. Eyes darting anywhere but his and falling on- ah, your bed.

Your very un-mussed, very un-desecrated bed.

“Oh.”

Toji perks alert instantly, “Did I hurt-”

“No no–” Waving him off, “It’s just…the bed.” And as his face tilts in confusion, you feel a slight twinge of envy at the way he wasn’t aware of this particular royal custom.

Sighing, you pinch the plain sheets between your fingers. “The sheets- tomorrow morning, the courts will check and see that the marriage hasn’t been consummated. Of course, they’ll blame me for not trying hard enough to secure an heir. And I don’t trust my lovely husband to be over with his tantrum by then, so…”

Oh.

The realization strikes - as do those words slip-

“I can help with that.”

Toji thinks he’s about to pass out- no, he thinks he’s already dead.

Because, surely, he was in heaven right now?

Or as close to heaven as he possibly could be - because with only a nod of yours, within only a few minutes he’s between your legs, kneeled at the very foot of your bed. The circles of his nostrils flaring in sweet, sweet anticipation the nearer he’s dragging his straight nosebridge in a meandering line towards your hot core.

Sniffing a deeeep few lungfuls of your body, your cunt’s saccharine aroma. Baritone so primally guttural n’ wet, “And yer sure? This isn’t just you talking out of- her?”

You’re whimpering once the honed, gleaming edges of his canines punctuate that last word by sinking into your drenched panties, gnawin’ until he lets it fall back with a sharp snap! that makes your heated skin sting.

You’re so wet that your inner thighs were gluing together with a thin sheen now, letting off the most sticky plap! of flesh-on-flesh as Toji throws one leg over his broad shoulder. The other pushed and pushed and pushed to spread apart with one of his rugged palms.

Hips squirming restlessly on your ancient bedsprings, “I’m positive. H-how bad can it really be?”

“Oh, princess, it won’t be bad.” The edges of Toji’s lips stretch at the way he hasn’t even started, and yet, you were already stuttering oh-so-cutely. The thickened curve of his thumb thumps against the top of your cunt, dragging a sultry touch down, down, doooown your sopping slit.

His eyes widen at the way it makes that flimsy fabric of your undergarments drench with a lil’ puddle of slick. And Toji feels his mouth water, “But don’t you take me for some priggish, posh prince that won’t eat out such a pretty pussy.”

“H-how crass!”

“Heh- if you think that’s crass…” Your knight doesn’t finish his sentence, only hooking a roaming index underneath the hemline of your panties.

Toji bores his half-lidded eyes straight into yours when he tugs- when he rips your starchy white underwear off. Absolutely nothing against his monstrous strength as your personal guard— “Skirts up.”

And you’re barely registering his grunted words fast enough to pull your numerous inner layers up to your heaving chest, barely on time before Toji jerks his head slightly back and spits.

Straight onto his target of your pussy, it cakes such a warm layer of sap that trickles down n’ in between your puffy folds.

“Messy giiirl–” He’s more than happy to spank the pad of his thumb down on your swollen entrance and smear the glossy mess. “Hidin’ this away under all those layers. How dare you.”

Prying the edge of your cunt open just enough so that he could sneak a teasing look at your sloppily soaked hole.

Toji’s scorching hot breath hits your skin in gusts once he’s leaning closer, nibbling on your fleshy pussylips until you whine. “O-oh my- s’it always this rude when one does…this?”

“No.” Gurgling out those syllables right where you were the most sensitive, he’s toying with you. Playing. Driving you mad with the tickling sensation of his scarred lips latching nose-deep into your pussy, “Just me.”

You buck, you keen, you spray him in even more gooey wads of slick that slip n’ slide riiight down Toji’s throat. And he stays there, maw agape so that you could watch each slithering trailway he drinks up like a man parched.

Like he was thirsting for water for years before coming across your leaking pussy, Toji spanks the underside of his palm against your cunt and makes you still.

“Now now-” Non-dominant hand latching to your waist to help you hold still, your knight snarls. “Enough runnin’, tell me what you want, princess.”

You claw desperately at the shaggy black strands of his bangs, a shrilling noise escaping you that you’ve never made before. Pulling him- “Want it, Toji. For you to do the…thing.”

“Ah ah-” Oh, he was having sooo much fun making his pretty royal beg for him like this. “The what? Didn’t you take all those ngh- elocution lessons, hm?”

Pulling away, in response your breath hitches with what sounds like a strangled sob, and it’s enough to make his aching cock twitch. Mindlessly humping the bulging outline of his girth against the cool wood of your bed frame, “Like my mouth?” Rubbin’ the line of his scar up and down your cunt, “My scar?”

Nodding and nodding because that’s all you can do, he watches on with a hooded gaze at the way your legs twitch with need.

Lengthy tongue flopping out even further, your mouth drops ever-so-slightly as you take in how long he was. And he was going to use that? Slathering the very edge of his temperate muscle over your folds, “Then uuuuuse- your-” Pokin’ his nubbed end just back in between your soppy lips to make you bawl- and right out again. “-words.‘

“P-please!”

“Hmm–?”

“Please-” Tears bubble up by the corners of your eyes, and your chin drops down to your chest as you wail out the rude, un-ladylike answer he’s been dying to hear these past few minutes. Past few years, really. “-e-eat me out?”

He was ruining you.

And did your command even have to be a question with the way that Toji was instantly diving his face between your trembling legs like his life depended on it.

Swirlin’ the textured buds of his tongue smack-dab on top of your swollen, sensitive folds to give you a goood, long lick. Once - just a taste before he pulls away with a short ‘fuck’, before surging back in.

Twice, before- thrice, he was addicted.

Smack after smack of his dewy wet lips that were simply drippin’ wet with all your juices, Toji’s gluing his maw against your core and sucking you all in.

He’s fighting to keep his verdant irises from rolling all the way back, he couldn’t even bring himself to even breathe before smushing his handsome features between your legs.

Gulping, “So fuckin’ sweet, princess. Sweeter than any wedding cake.” Toji’s knees go weak at the syrupy wet taste of you splashing on his tongue. “N’ I haven’t eaten allll day.”

And it wasn’t anything innocent - nothing sweet about it - you’re feeling the slimy tip of his tongue ease out further from between his puckered lips and swipe the dewy droplets of slick back into your hole.

Filling up your entrance with his fat girth until the only thing you were cutely clenching ‘round was his tongue. Your mouth shapes into a soft circle as he starts thrashing his dextrous tongue all the way back n’ forth. “Ngh- ngh, fuck, Toji. It f-feels so…”

Fuck- not even the gossip of the court ladies talked about it being this good.

“Ohhh– what’s that? Using such expletives, where are your manners, hm?”

You’re fisting the expensive coverings of your bed as the tender, velvety underside starts scraping along just where you were fountaining out beads of slick the most. Toji’s high cheekbones hollow out with a slurp as he pumps his tongue in furiously. “How can I have manners when- oh fuck!”

Surprising yourself with the sheer carnal need that was seeping into your voice, your hazed pupils travel in circles inside of your eyes in synchronized tempo with his swirlin’ tongue. Rough, rugged.

“Tha’s it- that’s it.” Toji has the audacity to knock his pointed chin against the base of your cunt and snicker, spitting out yet another stringy wad of saliva that makes your pussy glisten damply. Splat! “Any louder and the entire hah! palace is gonna hear, princess.”

“And whose fault is that- oh!”

“Yours.” He answers, simply.

Already having located your swollen, perky clit and giving it a playful bite. Your spine arches back into the soft blankets as you see fucking stars, clawing through his sweaty scalp. “I-I should admonish you for cheek, Sir Toji.”

“Go on, then.” His gravelly tone was dangerous, sounding oh-so-vulgar from down below once Toji’s plastering his mouth in an open-mouthed smooch against your cunt and prying your pussy further open.

Breath hitching, his prolonged middle finger tugs on your swollen folds and slips just the plush pad in. Groaning at just how wet n’ ready you were for him, “Tell me to stop.” Stretch-stretch-stretching your snug entrance around his bullying digit, “Hmm– command me, princess.”

Sloppy and aching.

Eating you out like he was starved, you’re barely given the time to catch your breath.

Damn near crying out by the time he’s scouring your glossy folds with the curvature of his finger. So big that Toji’s reaching every geysering nook and cranny without even trying– “I-I– fuck! More-”

He gasps, “More?”

“M-more.” Your chin slaps stupidly against the treacly puddle of drool on your chest, one you didn’t even realize was there before. Hazily lidded eyes blinking down at him, “More, please?”

Even when you were this gone, you still used your adorable manners.

And that fact was enough for Toji to slip his free hand between his legs and massage the mountainous plane of his palm down on his throbbing length. Snaking a hand between his trousers, he silently thanked the wedding dress code for making it so that he didn’t need to wear his full metal armor today.

“My cute princess wants more. You- do you even know what you’re haaaa- asking for?” Toji pants - he heaves. Your cunt singing out a carnal squelch! as he’s crowning just the tip of his nimble index past your filthy hole.

Nearly the entirety of his upper weight crushing your body to the bed, movements jittery with desperation. He’s suckling on your clit like his favorite gummy whilst stretchin’ out your glutinous insides as if he was trying to mold you to his each shape.

Tracing your mushy channel in zig-zagged lines, the bed creaks each time you’re bucking to follow his lecherous movements. “D’you even know what I can do? How much I can streeeetch this tight pussy out?” Squeezing in another finger, he’s rawly opening up your cunt with crazed thrusts. “How much I’ve yearned-”

And more to shut himself up than anything, Toji stuffs his mouth full of your pretty lil’ clit. Craning his neck to let him drag his unfastened mouth over n’ over in slobbering drags.

Letting your restless hips ride his features, “O-ohhh Toji– it feels so good.” You mewl, your entire body burning after each knocking thrash of his barreling fingers.

He had three- three of them inside you. Slick, glissading, searching.

“Promise to hah- scream my name, princess.” He pipes up, still salivating all down your slit with ribbony wires of spittle that start formulating a puddle beneath you. Sexily-placed scar rubbing a lecherous massage as the curling tip of his tongue draws a few hearts on your clit. Like he was strangely…distracting you. Before-

“T-Toooji! There! There-”

He strikes your g-spot, mercilessly.

Whack after whack he’s pushing until the knobbled bumps of his knuckles are rawly red, poking into your deepest depths.

“Yeahhh- just like that, atta girl.” Toji utters on your tender, wet pussy and you see stars. Circling cartoonishly around and around your head while he keeps on probin’ your favorite spot.

A place you’d only read about in those steamy romance novels your attendants smuggled, and now your knight was treating it like some cute glossy button he kept on squishing. The steady pushes of his digits bruising a few circumferences onto that spot, he was leaving your head feverishly empty.

And you can feel his smug smirk on your pussylips, faltering ever-so-slightly when he’s twitching in his hands.

Oh, Toji could cum from just this.

Forced to dab the heavy padding of his thumb over his weeping divot, he knits his dark brows and tries to make sure that this was real. That he really had you like this - all whimpering and drooling with both pairs of pretty lips, the crevice of your mouth opening with the loudest, most broken sob of- “Feels so strangeee–” Hips jutting, “I’m close.”

“F-fuck.” And if his voice broke on that last line, you were too far gone to recognize it. Like a madman, he’s twisting his mouth to now drink in all of you.

Everywhere from the puffed-up nub of your clit, to where your sappy entrance was bulging with all of him. All his rummaging size that dug against your delicate sweet spots, Toji was kissin’ you everywhere and anywhere.

Until his mouth burned, and your thighs quaked. “G-gonna…I’m gonna-” You’re croaking out, throat turning husky every time his tongue rolled over your clit, snaking up and down your folds.

“Cum- cum on my tongue, princess.” Toji bores his dilated green gaze straight up at you as he grins. Lovingly. Pussydrunken. “That’s an order.”

And then you cum- and it’s right all over his mouth like he’d hoped.

All down his tongue. Pooling at the back of his raping throat. Thick, splashing waves of sap that he’d love to drown himself in - to drown himself in your sweet, orgasming pussy.

Toji’s riding you through each peak of your high on the dot, slashing his tongue in a slanted drag across your clit repeatedly. It’s such a primal back n’ forth that leaves your hips slamming back into his mouth.

Voice wavering, it takes you a few seconds to blink away the blotches of pure white staining your vision. “Th-that feels so–” Still suffering from each ravaged shake that wrecks you, “Wait- are you…”

And as your vision finally clears just the slightest bit, you’re catching the sight of Toji’s beefy arm disappearing underneath your bed posts. Moving to and fro angrily–

“Nothing to w-worry about, princess.” His smoky croon makes the line of your spine shiver, lavishing your cunt with another polish of his mouth. Allll the way up to your pulsing clit, he gives your g-spot another merciless thump. “Nothing to worry about at- fuck-”

He might be the strongest of all your knights, but he can’t handle this.

Can’t handle you looking so damn dazed on his tongue, twitching with even the tiniest graze over your sweet spots. Tearing out of your pretty pussy all for him - that he can’t help but reach his high.

And Toji wasn’t going to let it go to waste, no- in a quick split-second, he’s forcing himself from his kneeled position at the edge of the bed and hiking a meaty thigh beside your hips. Straddling you with all his bulky bodyweight, grabbing ahold of his reddened fat cock as he cums.

“Fuck- fuck fuck fuck–” He’s nibbling down on his rosy lower lip and still can’t hold back the sheer amount of moans that escape him.

Your eyes widen at the voluminous droplets of seed dribbling from that circular end of his shaft, throbbing and glittering with wiry strands of cum clinging to him. “Th-there’s so much, Toji.”

Head slouching forwards- “S’all for you, princess.” Toji’s orgasm hits him like a damn carriage, and it’s pure adoration to keep on creaming himself to the way you looked underneath him that he isn’t simply collapsing on top of you right now.

Whimpering, your cunt starts throbbing needily once more at the splatters of syrupy ivory sap staining your sheets now. Making a mess.

Husking, “S-s’all-” Still airy n’ half-lidded, Toji moves as if he’s in a dream when he creeps his cherry-red tip towards your plush lips. Inch by inch. Toned hips moving forward, toes curling as his angry cock cums even more– “-for you.”

“Oh- mmmm—” You’re looking up at him through your lashes once the last few pearly droplets of seed trickle down to your maw like a white gloss, mouth all full. Toji’s mushroom tip was as pink as a strawberry and just as massively thick, scraping your jaw with the puffy edges of his veins.

Finally stealing a proper look at him, he just looked so attractive with your slick sparkling on his chin. Plastering a wet gleam all the way from the tips of his cheeks down his sharp jaw.

Just dripping wet - he was wearing the mess he’d made of your pussy like a medal.

“Oh. Oh.” Toji’s dark pupils dilate, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d have said he had heart eyes. Shuffling further down to give your soaked mouth a looong, thorough kiss. His first, in fact, that he’s been saving for either you or no one. Not that he would tell you that. “Congratulations on the wedding.”

You’re whining, as if you’d just remembered what today was. “And what about the problem of an heir?”

“O-one thing at a time, princess. Besides…”

Toji didn’t have to finish his sentence for you, too, to register what his keener ears had picked up. The distant thundering of footsteps-

“They’re back.”

And just as soon as he’d arrived, he was gone.

A fever dream that never happened- or, at least, Toji would never believe it happened if not for the cloying treacly taste of you still sticking to his lips. And if Ijichi arrived alone, with Naoya still in the throes of his tantrum, and sleeping over at some other ward of the palace - well, he may have just cracked a smile.

“What a great affair today- eh, Ijichi?”

“Y-yes, sir!”

Naoya accepted your explanation of using oils to trick the court into thinking the marriage was consummated, but what wasn’t accepted was the fact that weeks had passed and you still weren’t with child.

With an heir.

And right now the pressure from the court was crushing–

“You must understand, my lady. You’re already at that age, and our majesties aren’t getting any younger!”

“Quite right quite right, an heir- if we can have an announcement before the upcoming ball-”

“It is imperative we have a newborn soon. Our enemies will see this as a weakness-”

“Right, and I believe Naoya will attend to that.” You’re throwing a bored glance at the way your husband lounged near the end of the council table. Stood tall, and aloof with power. And you didn’t mean just the matters with your kingdom’s enemies, Naoya hadn’t even tried to touch you since that night.

To which you’ve been quite grateful, frankly.

You cringe at the thought of what this arranged marriage may come to, and the fact that there was certainly no way Naoya could even hold a candle to how good Toji was-

No, subtly, you’re shaking your head. You couldn’t be thinking about these sorts of things during an official advisory meeting - especially not when your personal knight stood guard right beside your bejeweled chair.

“-and his highness Naoya was so passionate on your wedding night.” Tuning back into the important conversation at hand, you’re almost regretting it.

The elder that’d just spoken up sounded almost giddy with excitement, and you’re realizing - at his red-blotched cheeks - that he must have been part of the group to assess your bedsheets on the morning after your wedding night.

Plowing on, almost conspiratorial, “I mean- the way those fine silks were torn- surely you must try harder, my lady, to replicate that night. Otherwise we might have to consider additional royal consorts.”

Beside you, you’re feeling Toji’s towering figure stiffen- recreating that night with Naoya was the last thing he wanted. And he’s growling out through his helmet before he can control himself, “We have no ongoing wars. We have no rebellions. I’d say we’re quite at peace without rushing the princess, minister.”

“And who gave you permission to speak, knight?”

Oh, you don’t have to look up to know who seethed.

The shards of vicious ice cutting through his voice was enough for you to already envision the glare that Naoya was sending Toji’s way. “And you’re one of the lower-born ones- a peasant, are you not? Aren’t you the one that had to get on your knees and beg to be able to take training?”

Toji grits his teeth so hard he tastes rusted metal, “I am.”

“So it is much above you to even breathe so loud during a meeting such as this- is it not?”

“It is.”

“Then why do you butt in like some- some lover when we talk of her duty-”

“Because my duty is to the princess you impotent lout.” Toji’s voice was thunderous, making the long wooden table tremble and the court advisors to hold onto their breath. You were quite sure you saw at least one faint.

And Toji would let anyone mouth off against him - but one word against you and he would stand up to the king that knighted him himself. Nevermind some arrogant prince who couldn’t count the blessings he had.

A prince who, he was sure, was on the verge of bursting right now.

Face an unseemingly shade of red, veins popping, mouth spitting with what were surely punishments–

“I will remind you, husband-” Your voice speaks up, with all the regal authority that half this court wouldn’t be able to muster up. And every head snaps to you as if watching a particularly complex jousting competition. Your eyes narrow down at Naoya, “-that you are not king, yet.”

It didn’t even matter if he was - you would still not allow him to lay a hand on your steadfast knight.

And there was nothing more to say.

Gingerly, the senior advisor, Gakuganji, is slamming down the tiny golden gavel to adjourn the court session. And every huffy elder nearly tumbles out of their seat to escape the stifling tension between you three.

“You-” Naoya declares, as he stands up. With a jolt, you realize that he’s glaring venomously at none other than Toji. “I might not be king but I am next in line. And you shall do well to stay away from my wife-”

Those razor-sharp eyes now falling on you, and even though Toji’s body moves- his heart can’t help but ache at the fact that he had no right to stop the future king - your husband - from daring to look at you with anything but love. Suspiciously, “-or else.”

In a flutter of velvety capes, Naoya is dragging his court entourage off - each one undoubtedly buzzing to gossip outside about the scandal of your knight as they slam the door behind them.

And then, you’re alone.

It’s tough to be alone with someone as princess - always in the presence of elders, guests, or subjects - and this is the first time the two of you have been together in a room, unsupervised, since…that night.

Toji’s mouth runs dry at his blatant disrespect- not only did he have to embarrass you, but he had made you fall within Naoya’s line of sight so vile. “My p- princess, I am sorr-”

“Touch me.”

Fuck.

It’s only once your face breaks out into a tentative smile that he’s realizing he might have just said that out loud. And you’re standing- walking, cornering him, “Well…if you really want to, Sir Toji.”

“But your husband…”

And he didn’t really care for that prince, he only cared for what they might say about you if anyone saw. If anyone knew-

“Since when—” You’re drawling, eyes dipping lower. He really was oh-so-sculptured in his armor, all broad lines and chiseled curves. And it made the thin silk of your dress rub lewdly when you’re clenching your thighs, “-have we cared about him?”

Suddenly, you’re getting a demonstration on why exactly Toji Fushiguro was the fittest of all your knights - the one chosen specifically for you.

Because your back hits the frigid coldness of the table before the recognition hits you- as soon as you blink, as soon as you can gasp, Toji’s lifting you clean off the ground and sprawling you out so prettily.

Right then and there in the middle of the meeting hall.

The velvety fabric of your dress draping across half the chairs, legs flying up into the air in such an unroyal way until Toji’s grabbing ahold of your ankles. Stretchin’ them out to lock around the back of his neck with one big, beefy hand.

You ogle the way his plates of armor shift as his biceps flex from underneath, pushing apart your too-many layers and twisting your undergarments just to the side. “Toji wh-what are you…”

“Sayin’ those things and expecting me not to lose it.” Comes out the answer - rough, hoarse. Like every syllable was wrenched from the back of his smoky throat, sensual. “Maybe I’ve been too- nice- princess.”

You’re whimpering, hips bucking needily off of the flat surface when Toji punctuates the very end of his sentence by rovering the blunt, glinting hilt of his sword between your legs.

Safe. He would always keep you safe. Letting that scalding coldness drag down, down, down between them–

“Oh- fuck!” Before pressing down so meanly on the slope of your throbbing pussy with his metal shaft, you’re seeing stars once he’s nudgin’ apart your puffy folds just enough to locate your clit and massage.

“Seems like we’ve taught my lil’ princess some baaad manners, huh?” He’s snickering, ‘round and ‘round go the gyrations of decorated hilt.

And you’re so wet that every swerve of his blade leaves the barren air ringing with a muffled squelch! Thighs twitching further apart, he takes the opportunity to clunk his muscular thigh up on the ledge and let it grind just teasingly against your cunt.

Watching in awe as a puddle of silvery sap starts polishing his knee-plate, “Why don’t you get yourself off, princess? Hah- use me.”

“S-so crude.”

Latching onto the broad deltoids of his shoulders, Toji’s bending and bending you all the way in half like a parchment. Smooth fringes of his knee sinking in past the plush of your thighs and draggin’ up your slit.

The metallic surface of his armor squeaks when you prod up into it sloppily, riding his knee. All the way up to his thigh-

“And this, princess–” He gruffs out from above you, scorching hot pants sending goosebumps down your neck. Your hamstrings buuurn when he pushes against you, mounted, almost like he was fucking you- just with clothes and armor unfortunately on. “-is called a mating press. Never taught that one in elocution classes before, huh?”

A mating press- oh, Toji had you in a mating press, and he was rutting down into you until your joints popped in protest.

Wrangling the fronts of your knees until they hit your tits, he’s lavishing his tongue on the crook of your neck and biting.

“Oh, what I would ngh- give to have you like this.” Scarred maw tickling your skin, he’s humping you like he’s in heat. “Would absolutely ruin you.”

“S-so why don’t you-” You’re whimpering once he’s gripping a good handful of your left ass cheek, usin’ the lewd leverage to motion you in a manhandled pace. You’re not just being angled, he’s lifting you almost into midair so that you could hit the most perfect spots on your pussy against his thigh.

Crushing the front of your perky clit against his muscles, he snarls when your riding becomes more erratic. His ears burning, “Don’t- haaaah- don’t tempt me, girl- m’already so-”

He doesn’t even have to finish his sentence for Toji’s mossy eyes to drop and for you to realize exactly what he’s talking about.

The firm, rock-hard outline of his cock that was peeking out through the gaps in his armor- you don’t even consider what you’re doing before you’re undoing one of his tight laces to let the metal drop and show you all of his bulge.

“Oh, shit-” Toji gasps, eyes sprinting to the back of his skull when you tug down his black trousers to palm his throbbing erection. “Oh shit oh shit-”

“I-I thought these were padding-”

He smirks, “Heh- not for me.”

And, truly, you hadn’t gotten a good enough look at Toji’s fat, veiny cock when you had the chance to on your wedding night. Because he was just so damn big that you’re finding trouble wrapping your hand around his entire girth, palm tingly where you could feel all his prominent veins pulsing across.

Zig-zagged patterns that Toji hunches over and makes you feel-

“M’not fuckin’ breeding ya.” He spits as soon as he lifts his dripping knee off with a sopping plap! Though, he still keeps his sheathed sword hilt positioned on top of your clit. “Just let me…just…”

Toji couldn’t even begin to explain how filthy it felt to be doing what he was doing.

Holding you all spread apart for him while he fucked you- all without putting it inside like he so badly wanted to. Just lazed, sensual draaaags of his lengthy shaft straightly across your slit. All the way from where his pointed mushroom tip poked your clit, to the innocent smooch of his balls against your cunt.

Bass voice hitching with a crack, “I can’t- I-I can’t I can’t-” It sounded as if he was losing it- Toji’s given an inch and he takes a mile. Rearing the bulbous end of his cockhead to slip underneath your panties- “M’gonna go fucking crazy like this.”

“F-fuuuck- feels like you’re ngh- really fucking me, Toji–”

“Don’t say that- ohhh, don’t say that, princess.” Warning you from above, Toji’s free hand grabs a handful of your sopping soaked underwear so that he can wrap the useless fabric around his shaft whilst he grinds down on you. Faster. “S’fuckin’ dangerous, might just end up giving birth to a heh- Fushiguro.”

Mewling whines, “I-I don’t mind-”

The only thing you can get out before Toji crashes his mouth into yours and makes you shut up before you made him even more feral. Vulgar groans departed into your lips as he thrusts across your pussy, barely audible over the sluuuurp of your two juices mixin’.

“Now whaaat have I said about talking out- of- her-” His sensitive pink slit scratches the nub of your clit along with his blade haft, and that makes you see white.

Again and again and again- so close. Toji was just so unintentionally sexy as he pushed you closer n’ closer, meaty thighs sticking against yours, beads of sweat splattering down onto your body, and it only made you even wetter to imagine how much better it would feel if he actually–

“Oh-” Your knight gruffs out, stern lips twitching into a smirk when he snaps his eyes down to your furiously fluttering pussy. “-you’re cumming, princess.”

You- Clenching your eyes as you throw your head back and mewl. You were.

And you didn’t even realize it until Toji was pressing one particularly prominent vein between your bloated pussylips, letting the gleaming curve of it dig back n’ forth against your cunt and grind you through your high.

White-hot bolts of fire sparking, spine arching into his armor.

“O-oh please–” Such pretty noises of pleasure escape your lips, and right now you’re too far gone to wonder or even care if someone might hear from outside. Toes curling, “Toji Toji Toji- Toooji—!”

Chilling metal hilt scraping your pretty clit, “That’s it- thaaat’s it- might not get to stuff you like I want to, princess. But you-” Darkened green eyes stare into yours seriously, “But you’re cumming for me.”

Toji keeps on staring right into your eyes as he fucks himself against your pussylips- straight into his own high. Forcing himself to milk out every drop, to cream all over your puckered lips with a froth of sappy white.

Hissing, it’s all he can do to stop himself from throwing his head back at his orgasm - not wanting to miss a single nanosecond of your expressions.

You’re blubbering out stupidly, “Will it always ngh- feel this good, Toji?”

“I can’t always have you, princess.” With a saccharine-sweet squelch! he dabs the thick end of his thumb into the pool of white that’d collected near your entrance. Letting it drip a few speckles of cum on its way to plop! right between your pouty lips. Making you suck.

It’s all Toji can do to not keen as he responds, “And- and when you…” He gulps, and in all the years you’ve known him, you don’t think you’ve ever heard him sound so pained. Sage eyes narrowing, he gazes into yours as if he was trying to memorize each blink. Each twinkle. Each shade. “-when you have children, please- please don’t let them have…”

Your eyes, the ones he’d never forget. The ones he’ll see till his dying day. He could handle watching you grow your family, raising heirs while he stands by your sides as he always has.

But if he has to look at them and be looked at through your eyes- ones that never knew him as you did, he doesn’t think even the strongest knight could bear it.

It’s what he wanted to say.

It’s what he would’ve never forgiven himself if he said- because who was he, really, to demand such a thing from you?

So it was only because the universe had finally taken pity on poor Toji Fushiguro and his hopeless love that they decided to spare him this. Because just before he could dare finish that sentence, there’s a soft gasp from the other end of the doorway.

Your blood crystalizes into ice, and Toji’s immediately covering your body- shining blade honed in on the faint figure of Ijichi, who’d very obviously been handed the task of bringing you two back to court.

“S-sorry for interrupting!”

With a bow so low that his wiry glasses clatter briefly onto the marble floor, Ijichi shuts the door fast enough that your mind - still reeling from your recent orgasm - starts to wonder whether he might even have been a figment of your imagination.

Until Toji breathes out a ragged sigh of almost relief, “I have a new recruit to teach about knocking, princess.” Before staring back at you - and that ivory puddle of cum between your legs, and he grins. “Keep that there.”

Toji Fushiguro knew you had a penchant for wandering off- it’s how he met you, after all.

That starry-eyed lil’ girl, just a few years younger than he was, who was roaming around the bustling streets of the town market with absolutely no sense of danger or emergency. Seriously- why the hell were you entertaining that hawker trying to sell you glass as real pearls, when you were obviously wearing the real thing?

And even from a distance, it was obvious that you were out-of-place. So Toji, with all his wizened fourteen years as an actual townsfolk, was the one to help you.

“-from the greatest depths of the greatest sea, I tell you, little miss! And only for you I will give you the low, low price of-”

“Absolutely nothing.” Toji had snarled, signature scowl on his face - he was the most feared of the neighborhood boys for a reason. “That’s what tha crap’s worth.”

Pawing a hand on the silken sleeve of your dress, it’s only after he’d tugged you away from the shop and by his side that he’s remembering something you nobles (even badly disguised ones) had called ah- etiquette.

But no matter, it was too late for that now, and you weren’t complaining either. Only peering up at him with a questioning gaze as Toji pulled you closer to his dirtied undershirt with a hand on your shoulder, “Scam the rich not the kids, fuckin’ conman.”

That seemed to draw a reaction from you, “Oi- who’re you calling a kid-”

“And who’re you calling a conman.” Indignantly, the older man eyeballed the two of you menacingly, “Who even are you, little twerp- I can’t imagine you’re her boy-”

“Gods yeah, I’m her- boy.”

The words made his ears hot with blood, Toji wasn’t popular with anyone in the neighborhood - all finding him too frightening and big - let alone with the daughter of some aristocracy like you. But you weren’t correcting him, either!

“S-so–” The hawker seemed to have believed him, at the way his tannish cheeks were boiling bright red more than anything. It was enough embarrassment for him, and Toji’s turning to tug you away, “-you better- stay away from my girl!”

Hell, that was worse than embarrassing.

Toji’s noticing that damn near the entire market turns at his cracking voice and wishes the ground would swallow him whole.

Even more so when he’s out of earshot of the marketplace and you speak up- “So, my…boy, huh?” Shit- he was still holding onto your hand. You giggle when Toji lets go as if you burned, finding the older boy hilarious. He turns to you and oh- oh, his breath catches at your smile. “Guess that makes you the future king- you seem quite a lot better than that Zenin boy, anyways.”

“Future…king?”

It’s only then that he hears it- the galloping of horses so powerful that they could only be part of the palace’s special forces. The call of ‘princess! There you are-’

Oh, shit.

Toji Fushiguro was fucked.

Go-home-and-think-about-the-princess-you-accidentally-propositioned fucked.

Wreck-your-humble-abode-into-a-training-ground-so-you-can-beg-to-try-out-for-the-royal-knights fucked.

Toji Fushiguro was very, very-

“-out of it.” Wafts Ijichi’s tremoring voice through his little reverie. Tone slightly raised over the humming orchestra, “Toji, sir- sir!”

Toji jolts as he’s brought back- right, here he was. Stationed guard inside the ballroom of one of the most important annual functions of your kingdom, to bless the first few months of the newly-married couple.

He’d zoned out just as your father, the king, had introduced the two of you, and Naoya had led you by your hand for the honored first dance - nothing worse than seeing you in the arms of another.

He’d rather live in his memories with you, than a real life without.

And that brought him back to Ijichi- whispering, though Toji wasn’t sure if it could count as whispering if half the surrounding nobles could likely hear. “Is this because of the other week when I caught you and the princess-”

“You will shut your mouth, Ijichi.” He cuts him off, tightly.

“Yes, sir!”

Bored eyes refocusing back on the middle of the dancefloor, it seems the first dance was finally, torturously over. And Toji’s licking his dry lips as his gaze instantly finds you, as they always can’t help but do.

Always looking at you.

Two parts of the same heart when they meet yours- and Toji feels a part of his break at the sad glimmer in your eyes when you’d wandered to the side of the polished floor, smearing one of those aching faux smiles he’s learned to distinguish. You wanted to leave.

How could you stand there like that?

So bothered and beautiful in your flowing gown, looking as if the rays of the chandeliers above were bouncing off of your sparkling dress - like they, too, knew they wouldn’t shine half as bright as you. And where was your husband-

Oh.

Toji feels something ugly twist at the sight of Naoya talking with a court lady, a smizing smile on his lips. Too close. Too hurtful. And it’s a damn miracle he didn’t slay the heir right then and there.

“Ijichi-” He hisses out, suddenly. Nodding as the other man yelps into rapt attention, “Hold my station- I have fuckin’ important business to attend to.”

The new recruit almost looks as if he was about to argue his superior orders, that is, until he follows Toji’s line of sight to meet you.

“Understood, sir. Please take care of the princess.”

It takes Toji almost fifteen years to reach you, and only three steps.

“Toji!” You gasp, seeing your lifelong friend bound up to your side, pointedly away from his station. “What are you doing here-”

“Do you want it to be him?”

Eyes boring into yours, hands itching for your own. He can apologize and grovel at your feet later for cutting the future queen off, but right now he just needs to know. And you already know, too.

Your eyes darting to the middle of the dancefloor, where the string quartet had started up a new romantic melody, and Naoya was dragging a giggling noble lady into a dance.

You could feel the eyes on you, and not just Toji’s. “Consorts. I told him I didn’t want- and then- about the heir- I think he just wanted consorts from the beginning. That’s why…but even though we’ve never consummated, our marriage is a contract so I can’t.”

“Do you want it to be him?” And Toji never repeats himself - not to eager new knights, generals, or those court elders - always listened to.

But he would echo those very words to you as many times as you wanted until he was heard.

Your voice was almost a whisper- “No.”

There comes your answer, and there comes that familiar scarred grin of his.

“Then come with me.”

“M-mm right there, Toji–” Your cries rip through the empty atmosphere of the knight’s quarters, right in unison with the rickety creak! given off by Toji’s shabby bed as you buck your hips in tandem.

The glossed walls of your cunt scouring for the touch of his roughened fingertips, scraping and stirrin’ right between your pussylips and hitting the bottom deeply. It’s driving you mad how easily he’s spotting your sultry g-spot, clawing at his ruthless wrist-

“Impatient giiirl.” He croons out cockily from above you, words huffed through clenched teeth. And Toji’s pressing his capped knee against your restless thigh to make you take it- “Unless you want my fat fuckin’ cock to hah- stretch the princess out then take it.”

You’re whimpering, spine arching off of the clammy blankets when his middle finger flicks your sweetest spot. “I-is it always that big that you have to stretch it out this much.”

“No.” Comes the answer - and Toji’s free hand toying with your left hand. Particularly the diamond ring on it, one he’s unapologetically plucking off of your finger and pushing onto his own - his thick pinky finger being where it would fit.

Before slipping the banded digit past your dewy wet folds with a pryin’ squeeeelch, the noise is so loud and lewd that Toji groans as your greedy cunt swallows his fourth finger inside. “Jus’ me, princess.”

Just what- your brain can barely even compute past the stretch. The firm ridges of your knight’s lengthy fingerpads barreling straight past your elastic hole.

Opening you up so much on his digits that it takes you a few breaths, a few seconds staring between Toji’s meaty thighs for you to understand what he meant- oh.

He was just that big.

Whimpering, the chilling royal insignia creeps along your gummy walls and presses deep into your tender areas. Splotchy puddles of sap dribbling down Toji’s wrist, “Chatting to me from there too, huh? So loud- they’ll hear us at the ball, princess.”

They wouldn’t - the Keep too barren with every knight stationed, and the music of the orchestra too loud. You’re sure that the royal event was so bustling that no one’s even noticed you were gone, yet.

But you mewl anyway, “Th-then- ngh! Then just wan’ you inside, Toji- please.”

Oh, the sound of your cute begging makes Toji’s ravaged, aching cock twitch. “Ohhh- I wanna fuck those manners outta you-” He groans, head slouching backwards once he’s assessing your driveling cunt.

Faster, harder.

Toji’s fingers carnally itch your pussy like he was crazed, pumping feverish in n’ out like he wasn’t even letting your slick, bulging folds get used to the stretch. Just watching with a leer as you struggle.

Gruffing, “Open those pretty legs for me wider- yeahhh–” Toji’s sweaty, armorless body nuzzles the insides of your sheeny limbs. His bulky legs spread apart until his heavy erection throb-throb-throbs by the side of your inner thighs.

“Wh-what are you-”

“Shhh watch.”

You can’t do anything but gawk once he’s rovering his free hand over your tummy- doughy thumb pressing down on the button of your clit, index streeeeetching upwards.

He was measuring you. Measuring just how far his cock would go inside you.

Once the curve of your knight’s index draws a horizontal line about halfway down your stomach, he grins. “There-” X marks the spot, and you yelp once the stern point of his finger taps right there. “-m’gonna fuck an ngh- heir into you there, princess.”

“Th-then do it, Sir Toji.” You huff, brows knitting with impatience.

“Well…” He drawls, and for a second you think that Toji’s about to pull away and leave you all high and dry. But, really, he’s just tugging on his snug white undershirt, dampened and clinging onto him with sweat in a way that made it look painted.

Your mouth waters as you peek at the curly black happy trail which was lining the middle of his abs - so toned and tense that you could count exactly eight. Maybe more.

A pearly droplet of sweat clings onto one of his shaggy bangs, and drips- slithering between Toji’s pectorals, his bumpy core, disappearing into where his heavy cock was fat n’ throbbing.

In the dimmed lighting of Toji’s bedroom, you can already make out just how red and pretty his bulging tip was, curved just slightly right and weeping fat globules of frothy pre. It collects in a sleek mess over your pussylips, damn near ten inches of veiny shaft settled between your slit and waiting.

He was weighty.

“-if my queen asks.”

And Toji knows you. He waits just until your mouth opens to snark back- before kissin’ your glistening entrance with the edge of his mushroom tip and pushing—

“O-ohhh fuck–!” You’re letting off a shrill wailing whimper, hands reaching somewhere- anywhere for you to hold onto for dear life while Toji fit himself inside your tight pussy.

Slurring, you grasp onto the rippling muscles of his deltoids and claw such red, red lines. “Shoooo big-”

Toji’s leaning himself closer, he’s slouching. He’s swabbing his plump, swollen tip deeper-

“A m-mating press.” Barking out a sudden laugh - octaves higher, wild like he was still in disbelief. Toji snakes his beefy arms underneath both your thighs and lifts you up until your ass cheeks are almost off the aged mattress. Folding and folding- he really was pushing you into a mating press. “I have you in a mating press- you. Like I’ve always dreamed.”

Before the words have even left his mouth, he reaches down to swab your bloated folds with the edge of his thumb. Straightly smoothing your pussylips and watching how you gulping down each solid, rummaging inch.

“And yer taking me-” Gasping, just the slightestshift closer leaves his pointed cockhead gliding off your walls and burying even deeper. Snagging his tender veins on your orifice and making him hiss, “-taking me allll up inside. O-oh, you’re so fucking- tight-”

It’s the first time you’ve ever been stretched out this much. Toji’s so damn big that it’s like your soppy walls were clinging to him like a second skin.

Not even thrusting properly, quick, rapid half-ruts that make him feel more like an animal. The curves of his spine bowing against where your syrupy pussy was being stretched out, “But will it even fit, then?”

“M’gonna make it fit.” He growls, slowing down the mindless cadence of his hips to a lazy tempo that makes you keen at the sensual lightning bolts of his veiny shaft.

Feeling every twirling coil and pulse shoveling through your entrance.

Possessively, Toji’s guiding one of your sweaty palms within his. Placing it right down on your tummy and pushing on the back to make you press- “Here- feel.”

“Oh-oh!”

You’re seeing white- the walls of your pussy being sagged by his cock’s weight.

Toji was making you massage where his pounding shaft was creating a lil’ bulging outline. Feeling every mazing bump where his slimy tip was snaking to your deepest depths. “Feel the way you’re sluuuurping me up s-so good. S’like you’re made for me.”

Crying out- you can’t keep yourself from planting your feet flat and leaning into his touch. “Don’t tease me and j-just put it all the way in, To- fuck!”

“Awww, but I’ve waited years, princess.” He snickers, kneading harder on the cylindrical ridge of your cute tummy bulge. And oh- Toji can feel that precise moment he’s bottoming out.

When he’s bubbling out a fat wad of precum that smears against the very back of your cervix, the edge of his ballsack hitting your cunt. Finally. Finally.

Panting- seething through his teeth at the gooey warmth, “Princess- princess princess- oh, princess, m’finally inside you.”

Experimentally, Toji reels his hips all the way back - all the way until the cherry-red end of his cocktip was sticking to your hole like adhesive. Before slamming right back in- “And again.” Another. “And again. And again and- hngh- again.”

“Shit- shit shit shit y-you really are all the way inside.”

You caress the mean bulging swab of his cocktip against the top of your tummy, confirming to your melted mind that he wasn’t actually thumping your damn lungs - even though it might feel like it.

“Of course I am-” Toji doesn’t end his hoarse declaration with any punctuation. He’s finishing it with a quick splat! of saliva gluing your lips shut, “You’re mine.”

With a hand on your tummy to balance himself, he leans just the barest inches backwards until he can do the same to your puckered pussy. Splatter! It’s so wet and gleaming with moisture that forms the most sinful pool, “All mine. And I’m yours.”

And now he’s fucking you like a madman, drilling the split-ended circle of his orifice against your mushy walls until you sob.

The size of him was insane. It was stretching you out so good that all you can do is flap your mouth-watered tongue wetly inside and yeowl. “Ngh- feels so good- feels so full inside with you, Toji.”

“Yer gonna feel ngh- even fuller when I fuck a baby into ya, girl.”

He scoffs once an especially hard thrust leaves the base of his cock stinging, and you shoved up to the headboard. “And n-no running.” Before you know it, Toji’s maintaining a rude chokehold of your neck and using it to drag you after every recoil. “How m’I gonna fuck a nghhh- baby into ya if you run, hm?”

Fuck- Toji’s jackhammers were vulgar - almost vicious.

Every spank of his v-line let off aggressive paps! that made your eardrums pop. Your lips wobbling each n’ every time his bulging tip was stirrin’ around your insides to pinpoint every sensitive orifice.

You feel the thin line running down his plummy tip scrape right along the bundle of your g-spot, dolloping out a stream of precum as hello. Grumbling, “Hmmm– how cute. Hope our heir’s just as cute as ngh- you.”

“Gonna be j-just as rude as you.” You’re mumbling, and his absolute favorite moment was whenever your hips would be so stimulated that you’re perking away from his thrusts.

All the better for him to tighten your airflow and bring you back down- humming at the erotic jiggle of your ass cheeks against his chiseled pelvis. “Heh- then I guess I’ll be the fun parent, meanwhile you…”

And fuck- fuck, he almost doesn’t finish his sentence with the way your tight, circular-shaped insides clench.

A glittery gloss of slick dripping down the sides of your pussylips, Toji’s scarred lips curl once he drags your pliant body back to his again. Relishing in the harsh smack! against his abs, “You can sit there while I give you a pretty lil’ heir. Make my h-hah! pretty lil’ princess all round n’ glowing. All-”

He doesn’t know what not to do. He’s touching you everywhere - anywhere.

From the underside of your thighs to the perky nub of your clit, Toji brandishes his thumb against your nub and watches you quake.

“-all pumped- full- until you can’t take anymore. S’my damn duty. I’ll wash them- dress them, put them to sleep, feed them- don’t have to do a nghh- damnnn thing. Just- get- pregnant.”

With the fringe of his muscular thigh lifting to keep you from running, you can only throw your head back and trill at the dual knocks of his cock against your g-spot, fingers against your clit. “I’m close- close- haaah not gonna last, Toji.”

“Already fuckin’ know.” He could feel the way your cute insides were clamping after every sweet ba-dump! of your racing heartbeat. The heavy curve of his balls begging him to milk himself on you, “Cum for me. Cum on my cock- fuck! The mama needs to cum if we’re gonna get you pregnant, princess.”

“Please- mm–”

“Deep breaths, deeeeep breaths.” With every heaving deep breath, his rams only grew deeper, too. Before ultimately Toji spreads his sweat-sheened thighs wider and groans— “Cum.”

It’s impossible not to listen - not when his fat, vein-decorated cock was splitting you open just so. Swervin’ your sticky walls apart and shoveling himself all the way near your throat whilst you reached your high.

“It’s sooo- oh.” Your vision dazed with stars, and it took so much out of you to even grind your hips down and meet his sloppy tempo. Keening, “Cum…inside.”

Oh-so-dumbified that you didn’t even realize Toji was already finishing himself off on your dripping wet cunt until he’s guiding one of your hands to feel your driveling pussy. Letting that saccharine white sap slip allll the way between your digits and wad up.

“Already- hah- already did. And fuck- girl, you’re loving this, huh?”

Nodding, your eyes just kept on criss-crossing after every knot of seed that bundled up near your cervix. Sloshing like waves against your womb-

“Oh look.” He’s manhandling your own hand to tease and sluuuurp down your overstuffed slit, pushin’ back in the knots of creamy white that leaked out. “Even she agrees- oh, aaaand you wanna know what else she’s sayin’?”

“Wh-what?”

Gruffly leaning in closer, Toji’s skin was so burning hot against yours that you feel your slam-impacted flesh break out in a fresh layer of perspiration. “She says it’s gonna be a girl.”

It was unsteady, animalistic the way that your knight- your lover was creaming out every ounce of cum on your pussy. Squishing it past your tight hole and letting his base slather in such a thick ivory ring, you whine. “O-oh, fuck, m’so sensitive, To- ah!”

But he wasn’t letting go of you that easily.

Fuck how electric skitters of your orgasm left your legs thrashing weakly, oh-so-overstimulated.

Toji hisses at the springy recoil of his knobbled tip against the entrance to your womb, rugged fingers dragging you back-

“How about…” Pressing down, your pretty bulge wasn’t simply filled with his cock anymore. It was jiggling around with the inflation of his masses of cum. “-we make it twins?”

And it could have been Toji simply greedy for a second round, for a lucky third, a fourth- but the only thing you’re sure of was that his wooden bed was brokenly sagging on one side by the time early day had begun breaking through the shutters of his drafty windows. Lighting your eyes ablaze once you’re lolling your head forwards and slamming your grinding hips down onto Toji’s.

You don’t know who’s more ruined now - him or you.

Whimpering at the slight scratch of his tufted happy trail, your thighs twitch weakly at the sensation. “H-haaa- just a little more- mmm a bit more, Toji.”

He sounds utterly fucking gone as he coos up at you, eyes half-closed. “You’ve been saying that for ngh- aaaages, greedy girl.” And yet, the cracked bedframe protests when he’s bucking his hips in tandem to puncture your battered g-spot with a spank. “G-gonna milk me d-ry–”

Toji’s voice was breaking, he was whimpering.

You gasp, “Did you just-”

“Shut up.” His veiny shaft enters your hole mercilessly- and each time you thought you were used to the textured stretch of his sheer size, he always manages to surprise you. “Sh-shut up and-”

Toji can’t even tell you to take it because you were- over n’ over until his bulbous, weighty balls were all tender, and each time your hips swerved in that wiiide heart shape left him drooling. Hypnotized.

A creamy circle of cum brands on his hilt and Toji gulps, “Get pregnant.”

“That’s what we’re doing.”

“Yes- yes, I want- no. I need it.” It wasn’t just enough to have you riding him, Toji’s rutting up in half-dazed ruts until he was seeing stars. “Need you to- get- pregnant.” One hand pawing at the bulging cumflation on your tummy, the other clinging onto your hips to make you bounce. “Get pregnant get pregnant- get- pregnant.”

He wasn’t just animalistic, he was feral. Filthily streaking your walls with a wisp of pre, every slight gush only makes his slip n’ slide probe deeper.

Blinking back fucking tears when your sopping wet walls clamp down - just the tiniest bit, but he was so damn fucked-out. He’s gasping, feverish, bucking-

Only to make the fleshy tip of his crown slip out of your sloppy entrance with a loud plop!

“N-no-” Toji’s lips depart a murky pant, entire body shuddering when one of his hands clasp his ravaged n’ red cock. “No no no no- no- inside, need it i-inside.”

“O-ohhh fuck the stretchh–”

Maw dropping, voice hoarse with calling his name - if the ball hadn’t heard you before, then they sure as hell were now.

Whining, you’re cumming on Toji’s cock for the nth time in the past few hours. Well, ‘cumming’ was an understatement - you’re downright drenching him in sparkly bucketloads of your squirt.

Letting it drip down the sides of his ripped, flexible hips, showering him in a thin spray of your cloying wetness. You find it easy to use that sticky moistened texture as a way to glissade your front down his abs and ride him to insanity.

Milking Toji’s fat, bludgeoning cock until he was wrung dry.

Hitting and hitting the goopy spots inside you that clamped down on him the tightest, and yet, all his achingly hard tip could do was flinch. Jolting with a few sparks of pleasure once he’s hitting his wave of bliss. “Shit- shit, ya fucking milked me sucked me- hah- dry. Sucked me all dry.”

Cumming.

Cumming and cumming so hard that Toji half wonders whether he could cum again. The softened smooch of his ballsack makes his head feel numb, teeth grit as you just keep on riding him in slight motions repeatedly. As if you couldn’t stop anymore.

“I-I love you.” Toji breathes, voice cracked. Holding you tight against him, “I’ve always- always loved you. I’ve loved you so long that I’d tear down any world where I don’t.”

“Toji- I love you, too.”

Toji feels the scouring end of his mushroomy tip skim deeply into your womb, letting it brand its spongy circumference and stay there while he babbles. Hopelessly pussydrunk. Hopelessly in love. “Run away with me…?”

Took him long enough.

“My princess, I told you not ta handle heavyduty tasks when you’re-”

“And I’ve already told you, my Sir Toji, that reading a book isn’t heavyduty.”

“Just let me read it to ya.” Toji rolls his shoulders from a long day out in the field. And you’re roaming your eyes over him appreciatively, all this extra manual labor had only made your husband more naturally swole.

He trudges up to where you were sprawled out serenely across your cute cottage couch, tucked safely away in a kingdom where nobody would find you. None of your furious, heirless ex-husband, or those nosy elders.

Well, almost nobody-

“Ijichi wrote to say he’ll be visiting this week.” You’re tittering over Toji’s dramatic groan, poking his beefy biceps whilst he lays across your lap, restful. “Oh, c’mon, our daughter loves him. Speaking of- you should get her from the garden, it’s getting dark.”

Waving an airy hand, though his heart swoops as it always did when he thought of you and his little daughter, his exact carbon copy - except for that one feature, of course. “Builds immunity.”

His little family.

Including-

“I hope…” Gently, oh-so-gently as if this was a dream on the verge of shattering, Toji lays his palm across your swollen tummy. Awe striking through him at the slight movement beneath your thoroughly stretched-out stomach- and your daughter chose that exact moment to barge inside, sprinting to cuddle right on top of him.

Looking at you, and you’re finally looking back. “-our son has your eyes, too.”

A/N. Daddy’s been listening to this song and going THROUGH it- Anyways, this was supposed to be PWP what HAPPENED?

Plagiarism not authorized.

#jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk x you #toji x reader #toji smut #toji x you #toji fushiguro x reader #toji fushiguro smut #toji fushiguro x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk fic #toji #toji fushiguro #tonywrites

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shokocide · 2 months ago

Text

LAW OF ATTRACTION - GOJO SATORU

summary. Newton said the smaller the distance, the stronger the pull. Gojo Satoru thinks that explains the way he feels when you’re close.

word count. 18.2k (i need help)

content. mdni, fem!reader, college au, nerd! gojo, simp gojo supremacy, fluff, banter, tensionnnn, pet names, he's so down bad it's actually pathetic, teasing, smut, male mast., oral (male + fem rec), cum eating, face sitting, p in v, mating press, slight hair pulling, praise, swearing, light dumbification (just a lil), tit play, overstim, creampie, aftercare, pillow talk

author's note. fashionably late (?) to the trend BUT HERE WE ARE

Gojo Satoru is already arguing with the professor.

The classroom smells like coffee and too-new textbooks, the kind of sterile atmosphere that clings to the first week of university. Half the students aren’t even paying attention yet, still easing into the rhythm of things. But not him.

Gojo stands tall near the front, hands in the pockets of his pressed slacks, sweater vest and button-up perfectly in place, thick-rimmed glasses pushed up the bridge of his nose. His snowy hair is perfectly messy, his posture relaxed—almost bored.

“I’m just saying,” he drawls, voice smooth and annoyingly self-assured, “you can’t talk about general relativity without at least addressing gravitational time dilation. Not if you want to keep your credibility.”

There’s a beat of silence. Someone in the back stifles a laugh.

The professor straightens her notes. “We’ll get there, Gojo.”

“Sure,” he says, unbothered, but there’s a glint in his cerulean eyes. “But isn’t it a little irresponsible to feed undergrads simplified versions of reality? We’re not children.”

“You’re barely adults,” the professor mutters under her breath.

And just when it seems like he’s winding up for another volley—another casually devastating critique that’ll make the professor’s eye twitch—the door opens with a quiet creak.

“Sorry I’m late.”

The room stills.

You step inside, backpack slung over one shoulder, sunlight catching in your hair like some perfectly staged movie scene. You aren’t frazzled or apologetic—just calm, composed, like this is your class and everyone else is simply borrowing space in it.

Gojo turns. And forgets how to speak.

He doesn’t recognize you even though he’s memorized everyone’s faces during the orientation. But yours is unfamiliar. Distractingly so. And in that moment, standing half-turned at the front of the classroom, he is completely, totally, undeniably wrecked. His mouth parts slightly. No sound comes out.

The professor clears her throat. “Try to be on time next class.”

You nod easily. “Of course. Won’t happen again.”

Gojo’s eyes follow you as you make your way to an empty seat—his row. The one he claimed early on for optimal note-taking and strategic interruption placement. And of course, because the universe clearly enjoys watching him suffer, you pick the seat right beside his.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t sit. Just watches as you settle in beside him and flip open your notebook like nothing’s happened. Like you didn’t just reset the laws of gravity around his universe.

“Gojo?” the professor prompts from the front.

He startles. “Huh? Oh—yeah. I mean, yes. Sorry.”

Silence stretches as the lecture resumes. Gojo Satoru’s foot bounces beneath the desk. His fingers twitch like they want to scribble something but forgot how pens work.

He chances a glance at you from the corner of his eye. You’re taking notes, completely unfazed. Like you haven’t just walked into his orbit and thrown everything off-axis.

It’s quiet in the library. The kind of quiet that almost feels sacred, broken only by the occasional rustle of paper or the soft click of a keyboard. You’re tucked away at a corner table, head down, headphones in, completely immersed in your reading.

Gojo spots you the moment he steps in. He hadn’t meant to come here—physics homework was the last thing on his mind today—but the second he saw you seated, that changed. Suddenly, he’s very interested in gravitational lensing and quantum field theories.

He chooses the table diagonally across from yours. Not directly opposite—that would be too obvious. But just close enough that he can sneak glances without it being weird. Probably.

He flips open a textbook. Doesn’t read a single word. Just peeks at you over the top of the page like a little nerdy menace in disguise. Every time you adjust your hair or furrow your brows or smile faintly at something you read, it’s like he’s been hit in the chest. Repeatedly.

Then you look up.

He freezes. Straightens up. Pretends to be deeply fascinated by a diagram of a particle collider. You blink. Tilt your head a little. Then—you pull your headphones out. “Gojo Satoru, right?”

He almost drops his pen. “Uh—yeah. That’s me.”

“You’ve been staring at page fifteen for like… twenty minutes.”

He blinks. Looks down at his book. Flips it to page thirty-seven. “Right. Yeah. That’s, uh—intentional.”

You smile. “Sure it is.”

He wants to melt into the carpet.

You go back to your notes, sliding your headphones on again like it’s nothing. But that smile doesn’t leave your face. And Gojo’s certain he’ll be thinking about it for the rest of the week.

You're sitting under the tree near the physics building, nose buried in your laptop, headphones on, pretending you don’t feel someone staring at you. You do. Of course you do.

You glance up. He’s there.

Gojo, the cocky know-it-all from class. Still in that damned sweater vest, hair all floofy like he just rolled out of a nap and somehow made it fashion. He’s holding a coffee cup with one hand and awkwardly adjusting his glasses with the other, pretending like he just happened to pass by. He absolutely did not.

You blink. He panics.

“Oh. Uh—hey,” he says, and it comes out a little too loud, a little too fast, like his vocal cords staged a mutiny the second your eyes met.

You slide your headphones down. “Hi.”

There’s a long pause. He fidgets with the sleeve of his shirt, eyes flicking everywhere but your face now. “You, uh… You always sit here?”

You raise an eyebrow. “During this exact 30-minute window between classes? Yeah. Kinda my thing.”

“Oh,” he says, and laughs—nervously. “Coolcoolcool. I just—uh. I just thought you looked like someone who enjoys differential equations under tree shade.”

You squint. “You’re making fun of me.”

“What? No! I—I do that too. All the time. Big tree guy. Huge… leaf enjoyer.”

There’s a beat of silence. You bite back a laugh. “You good?”

“I was,” he mumbles, almost to himself, then louder: “Yeah! I’m totally—so good. Amazing, even.”

You give him a look. He clears his throat and tries again. “Listen, I didn’t get your name earlier, and that’s kind of a crime in several countries, probably. So…”

You pause, then finally tell him.

He repeats it under his breath like a prayer. “Pretty.”

You tilt your head at him, teasing. “So… was there a reason you were looking at me in class? Or is staring at people just part of your regular schedule?”

He flinches. Like, visibly. Adjusts his glasses again even though they’re already perfectly in place. “Staring is a strong word.”

“You choked on air.”

He groans, half-laughing, half-dying inside. “Okay—yeah, that… may have happened. But in my defense, I didn’t know I was capable of being that flustered until you walked in.”

Your eyebrows lift. “You were flustered?”

“Fatally,” he replies without missing a beat. “It was the most embarrassing moment of my entire academic career. And I once accidentally called a professor ‘dad’ in front of the entire cohort, so.”

You snort. “No you didn’t.”

“Unfortunately, I did. That man never looked at me the same again.”

You shake your head, smiling despite yourself. There’s something kind of charming about the contrast—how sharp and smug he is in the lecture hall, then how weirdly dorky he gets the second he talks to you.

Gojo notices the smile. He lights up. “That’s a win, right?” he grins. “That counts as a win?”

You roll your eyes. “Barely.”

“Still counts,” he sings, rocking back on his heels. “You like coffee?”

You blink. “That’s random.”

“I just thought—maybe next time I bring one, I could bring you one too. You know. If we’re both going to be professionally loitering under this tree during our thirty-minute window.”

You pretend to think about it. “What kind?”

“Whatever kind makes you smile again.”

You pause. Okay. That was smooth.

You look away, just for a second, to hide the grin threatening to take over your whole face.

“You’re annoying,” you mutter.

He beams. “You’re not the first to say that.”

You part ways not long after, the building just a few steps ahead, and Gojo’s still standing where you left him—hands in his pockets, glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose, hair gleaming like spun silver in the sunlight.

You steal one last glance as you walk away, and—yep. He’s still watching you.

Still smiling like he knows something you don’t.

And just when you think you’ve escaped unscathed, you hear his voice call after you: “By the way, if you keep looking at me like that, I will ask for your number next time!”

You don’t turn around. You can’t. Your cheeks are already on fire.

But he laughs, bright and victorious, and you know he saw the way you tripped on the curb a second later. Cocky bastard.

And yet… you’re smiling the whole walk to class.

You’re seated a few rows back this time. Thought it might help with the whole not staring directly at Gojo Satoru like he invented astrophysics problem.

It doesn’t.

Not when he’s in his usual seat up front, one leg crossed over the other, sleeves pushed to his elbows like he’s here to work. Glasses low on his nose. A pen between his fingers that he keeps spinning—casually, like it’s no big deal he’s also kind of stupidly good at everything.

The professor drones on at the front of the room, explaining quantum field theory, but you’re only half-listening.

Because Gojo raises his hand. Again.

“Actually, that’s not entirely accurate,” he says, voice way too smooth for a know-it-all. “If you factor in the renormalization group flow, the outcome shifts entirely. I can show you if you want.”

She blinks. “I… well. That’s a fair point, Gojo.”

He grins, leans back like he didn’t just out-nerd a tenured physicist, and then—then—he looks at you. Like he knows you’re watching.

And you are. You so are.

Gojo tilts his head slightly, mouth curling into that infuriating little smirk as he mouths: Impressed yet?

You look away instantly.

You are. You’re very impressed. Unfortunately. But you’re not gonna let him know that. Not yet.

So instead, you raise your hand. And when the professor calls on you, you challenge his answer.

Gojo looks like you just proposed.

Class ends and students start filing out, a low murmur of backpacks zipping and chairs scraping filling the air. You’re casually packing up your things, pretending not to notice the way someone is lingering by the door.

He should’ve left already. But no—he’s leaning against the wall like it’s a conscious choice, not that he’s waiting for you or anything. Totally not that.

You sling your bag over your shoulder and head out. You don’t even get five steps into the hallway before you hear—

“So…”

You turn.

Gojo’s standing there, hands in his pockets, lips parted like he’s still catching his breath. His glasses are a little crooked. Probably because he’s been running that hand through his hair again. He straightens up when you face him.

“That was… impressive,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Like, really impressive.”

You smile. “Thanks. You were good too, by the way.”

He blinks. “Good? I—good? That’s it?”

“Yup.” You start walking. “Try harder next time.”

There’s a pause. And then he jogs up beside you, looking equal parts offended and delighted. “Oh, okay. So that’s how it is?” he teases, grinning. “You’re one of those girls.”

“What girls?”

“The ones who enjoy crushing the academic dreams of sweet, helpless nerds like me.”

You give him a look. “Helpless?”

“Devastatingly,” he says, deadpan.

You snort. “You literally made a PhD cry last week.”

“She recovered.”

“You sent her a fruit basket.”

“See? I care.”

You try to hold back your laughter but fail miserably, and he lights up like you just handed him the Nobel Prize.

You turn the corner toward the next building, Satoru trailing beside you like a very tall, mildly wounded puppy.

He’s oddly quiet—hands still shoved in his pockets, eyes flicking your way every few seconds like he’s waiting for a verdict. It's kind of adorable.

You stop walking. “Come on,” you say, already veering toward the campus café. “I’ll buy you a coffee.”

Satoru blinks. Twice. “L-like… like a date?”

You snort, rolling your eyes. “Woah there. Hold your horses, bud. I’m doing it so maybe you’ll stop moping around.”

He gasps—actually gasps—hands flying to his chest in mock offense. “I am not moping!”

“You literally sighed ten times during that walk.”

“I was brooding. It’s different.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You pouted when I said you were just ‘good’ in class.”

“I’m a sensitive soul!”

“You’re insufferable.”

“But charming,” he says quickly, catching up to walk beside you again, shoulder bumping yours. “Undeniably charming.”

You hum, lips twitching. “Sure. Let’s go with that.”

He grins, all pearly teeth and pretty-boy smugness, practically floating now. And just as you're about to step into the café, you hear him mutter something behind you, half to himself—

“I’m so gonna make you fall in love with me.”

You turn slightly. “What was that?”

“Nothing!” he chirps, already holding the door open for you like a gentleman. “Ladies first!”

He watches you from the tiny round table by the window, chin propped in his hand, glasses slipping a little down the bridge of his nose. You’re standing at the counter, reading over the menu with a furrow between your brows like you’re solving quantum equations instead of choosing between oat milk or soy.

He could watch you forever. Not in a creepy way—okay, maybe a little creepy—but in that dumb, enamored kind of way where even the way you tap your fingers against the counter makes his heart do this weird flip.

You step up, voice soft but certain when you order. Vanilla latte, extra shot, light foam.

He files it away instantly. Vanilla. Extra shot. Light foam. He’s going to remember that forever. He could write a thesis on it.

Your name is called, and he watches the way your eyes crinkle a little when you thank the barista. When you turn around, drinks in hand, and start walking back toward him, he panics—because suddenly he’s hyper-aware of how dumb he must look just staring.

He quickly looks down at his phone screen, pretending to scroll through something important. It’s literally just his calculator app open from earlier. Nothing’s calculated.

You slide his drink toward him when you sit. He doesn’t even care what it is. You could’ve handed him gasoline and he would’ve sipped it happily.

“Thanks,” he says casually—way too casually for someone whose brain short-circuited the moment you looked at him.

And then you take a sip of yours, and he blurts it out without thinking:

“You’re sweet.”

You blink. “Huh?”

He clears his throat. “The drink, I mean. It’s sweet.”

Smooth. So smooth.

You squint at him suspiciously. He hides behind his cup and takes a sip.

You're mid-sip of your latte when he says it—completely out of nowhere, eyes locked on you like he's trying to memorize your entire existence.

"You're kinda pretty when you’re annoyed, y’know?"

You almost choke. "What?"

He leans forward, resting his chin in his palm, grinning like he just cracked the code to the universe. “Just an observation. Purely academic.”

"You’re impossible," you mutter, eyes darting away—and he sees it, the blush creeping up your neck.

And that’s it. That’s his victory.

He leans back in his chair, smug as hell. “You're blushing.”

"I'm not."

“Oh no, don’t worry. I think it’s cute,” he says, like it’s a fact in a textbook.

You throw a sugar packet at him. He dodges with a laugh.

"You trying to kill me? And here I thought this was a date."

You give him a look. “It’s not a date.”

He shrugs, grabbing your drink and stealing a sip like it is. “Could’ve fooled me.”

You snatch your cup back, but it’s too late—he’s already smacked his lips like a wine critic.

“Are you always this annoying?” you ask, sipping your drink now.

He shrugs. “Only when I like someone.”

You freeze for half a second. And he sees that too.

Your voice is careful, teasing but cautious. “So you like me now?”

He hums, looking away dramatically, as if he’s pondering some great cosmic truth. “I don’t know… Maybe. You’re cute when you’re flustered. And when you’re mean to me. And when you roll your eyes. And—”

“Okay, stop.”

“Nope. You gave me coffee. I’m powered up now. Can’t shut me up.”

You groan, slumping in your seat with the most dramatic expression you can manage.

He grins wide, and that smug sparkle in his eyes softens, just a bit. “But seriously,” he says, voice quieter now, “I like talking to you.”

And that shuts you up for a beat.

You meet his eyes again, and this time, there’s no teasing, no cocky grin—just sincerity, wrapped in dorky charm. “…I like talking to you too,” you admit, soft.

And just like that, he lights up all over again.

You both exit the café, coffees in hand, the air warmer than before but still crisp. The sun’s out, and so is Gojo’s smile—until you stop at the sidewalk and glance down at your phone.

“Shit,” you mutter. “I’ve got class right now.”

His face drops instantly. “Wait—already? But I haven’t even finished annoying you yet.”

You laugh, nudging his arm with your elbow. “You’ve done plenty in the last thirty minutes, trust me.”

He exhales dramatically, shoulders sagging as he pouts. “This is tragic. A real loss for humanity.”

“Don’t be so dramatic.”

“But I miss you already,” he says. “Who’s gonna listen to my unfiltered genius now?”

You raise a brow, backing away slowly. “I’m sure you’ll find a new victim. See you, Gojo.”

“Wait—wait, when do I see you again?” he calls after you, half-joking, half-not.

You shoot him a smile over your shoulder. “You’ll live.”

And as you disappear into the crowd, he just stands there for a moment, lips pressed together, watching you go.

“…No I won’t.”

You don’t think much of it when Gojo catches up to you outside the lecture hall again. He’s chatty as usual, teasing you about your keychain, dramatically proclaiming how he almost tripped over a squirrel on the way here, all while walking a half-step closer than necessary. Same old Gojo stuff.

You head toward your usual seat, a few rows back from the front—just enough distance to not get called on every two minutes. You’re used to watching him breeze right past, to the very first row, like he’s the poster boy for "overachiever of the year."

So when you slide into your seat and Gojo casually takes the one right next to you, backpack dropping with a thud at his feet, you do a double take.

“What are you doing?” you whisper.

He only shrugs, flashing that annoyingly pretty smile. “Just felt like switching it up today.”

You’re not the only one caught off guard. A few students glance over and someone even nudges their friend like this is newsworthy.

Because Gojo Satoru doesn’t switch it up. He’s the guy who color codes his notes and brings a backup calculator. But now he’s here, sitting so close that his knee bumps yours beneath the table and stays there.

You try to focus when class begins—but it's hard when he's right there beside you, radiating warmth. Every now and then, his fingers graze your thigh beneath the desk—casual, like it’s nothing. Like it’s everything.

You don’t look at him. But you know he’s grinning. And just when you're starting to think this can’t get more distracting—

“Before we end today,” the professor says, “I’m assigning a group project. Pairs, selected at random.”

Your stomach sinks. You glance at Gojo, who’s already turned toward the front again, fingers drumming lightly on the desk. Like he knows.

You hear names being rattled off. A list of partnerships. Then—

“And lastly, Gojo Satoru and…” A pause. “You.”

Silence. You blink. Gojo leans back with a loud, satisfied sigh and stretches his arms behind his head.

“Oh no,” you mutter, already dreading what’s coming.

“Oh yes,” he says, grinning so wide it should be illegal.

You step out of the lecture hall with Gojo hot on your heels, practically bouncing with excitement. He’s still beaming about the professor’s decision like he just won the lottery.

“This is fate,” he says, catching up to walk beside you. “We’re gonna be the best pair in that class. I mean, you’ve got the brains and the beauty, and I’ve got the everything else.”

You snort. “You’re not serious.”

“Oh, I’m dead serious.” He adjusts the strap of his backpack with dramatic flair. “This is the beginning of a legendary academic alliance.”

You roll your eyes, trying to suppress the smile tugging at your lips. “So, when do we start this legendary alliance of yours?”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “Thought you’d never ask. I was thinking… we could cash in that coffee date you promised me. Use the time to plan out our project. Very responsible. Very scholarly.”

You shoot him a look. “It’s not a date.”

“Sure,” he says easily, eyes twinkling. “A purely educational rendezvous at a cozy café where we might happen to sit close enough to accidentally brush knees again.”

You groan. “Fine. But we’re actually working on the project this time.”

“No promises,” he grins.

And you hate how you laugh at that.

You’re tucked into the booth of a café, a half-empty cup of coffee sitting forgotten as you scribble into your notebook. Across from you, Gojo’s talking a mile a minute—bouncing between theories, concepts, and potential outlines for your project with the kind of ease that only someone dangerously smart could pull off.

And the worst part? Every word out of his mouth actually makes sense.

You glance up at him, brows lifting slightly. “Okay, that last one? That’s actually… really solid.”

He beams. “Right? I knew you’d see the brilliance.”

You shake your head with a small laugh. “I hate to say it, but I’m impressed.”

Gojo leans forward, resting his chin on his hand with a smug grin. “Careful now. Compliments like that might go to my head.”

You ignore him, scribbling something down beside his last idea. The two of you work like that for a while—you writing, him throwing ideas around and occasionally sipping from his drink. And before you know it, you’ve got the skeleton of a full project mapped out.

He stretches his arms above his head, shirt riding up just enough to be distracting. “Whew. Honestly? I didn’t expect to get this much done.”

You close your notebook, tapping your pen against the table. “We could start putting together the first draft later this week.”

Gojo nods. “Yeah, sure. We could work at my place or someth—”

You cut him off, tone light. “You could come to mine.”

He freezes. Blinks. “Y-your place?”

You smile sweetly. “Mhm.”

He stares at you, cheeks tinged pink behind his glasses. “I—yeah. Yeah, totally. Your place. Great idea. Love that. Very efficient. Extremely platonic and professional.”

You laugh. “You’re cute when you malfunction.”

“I don’t malfunction,” he mumbles.

You don’t believe that for a second.

He’s trying so hard to play it cool, but his brain short-circuited the moment you suggested your place. His legs bounce under the table, fingers fidgeting with the sleeve of his shirt like it’ll ground him somehow.

You lean back in your seat, arms crossed as you observe him with a smug little smile. “You alright there, genius?”

Satoru clears his throat, adjusting his glasses even though they’re not crooked. “Me? Totally fine. Just recalibrating. You know, like… spatially. Mentally.”

You blink at him. “Uh-huh.”

He runs a hand through his snowy hair, the tips poking out in every direction like even they are flustered. “I just wasn’t expecting that, is all.”

“You weren’t expecting me to suggest we work on the project?”

“No—I mean, yes—but at your place?” He lifts his hands, palms up like he’s holding the concept of your apartment in the air. “Do you even realize what that implies?”

You tilt your head. “That I trust you to not snoop through my things?”

He looks offended. “I would never snoop. I am a gentleman.”

“Okay, gentleman,” you say, standing and grabbing your bag. “Then bring snacks when you come over.”

That shuts him up real quick. He stares up at you, blinking as you sling your bag over your shoulder and give him one last little smirk. “Oh,” you add casually, “and maybe wear those glasses again.”

His jaw drops.

You don’t wait to see his reaction. You just turn and walk off with the smuggest little sway to your step, leaving Gojo sitting there—completely malfunctioning, heart doing gymnastics in his chest.

He presses a hand over it, eyes wide. “Oh god.”

[gojo]: hey. hey hey hey

[gojo]: when u said ur place… u meant like. like ur apartment right

[gojo]: like ur home. with walls. and couches. and stuff

[you]: i am aware of what my apartment contains, yes.

[gojo]: just checking 😇

[gojo]: do i need to bring a textbook? or will u be tutoring me using sheer intimidation alone

[you]: i thought i was the one taking notes last time?

[gojo]: yeah but you intimidated me into being smart. that’s powerful

[gojo]: anyway what’s ur address 👀

[you]: [sends location]

[you]: and bring snacks like i said. i’m not letting you in if you show up empty handed

[gojo]: what kind of snacks

[you]: surprise me

[gojo]: …

[gojo]: you have NO idea what you’ve just done

[you]: satoru it’s literally just snacks

[gojo]: and now i’m overthinking EVERYTHING. chips? chocolate? do i bring a charcuterie board???

[gojo]: i need you to know i’m taking this Very Seriously.

[you]: i’m sure you are.

[gojo]: 😤 just u wait. i’ll be the best study buddy you’ve ever had.

[you]: is this your way of flirting or are you always like this

[gojo]: …yes

You open the door and there he is—standing on your doorstep. His arms are full: a tote bag slung over his shoulder, a drink carrier in one hand, and a plastic bag filled with snacks in the other.

“You said surprise you,” he announces, stepping in. “So I brought everything. Chips. Cookies. Gummy worms. Protein bars, because balance. And boba. I panicked.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You brought a buffet.”

“I wanted to impress you,” he says, dead serious, slipping his shoes off at the door.

You stifle a laugh and step aside. “Come on in.”

Your place is cozy, warm lighting humming softly. Gojo’s eyes flit around like he’s taking mental notes of every detail—your throw pillows, your bookshelf, the faint scent of your perfume lingering in the air. You pretend not to notice how he seems ten times quieter than usual.

“Sit,” you say, motioning to the couch.

He plops down next to you, thigh brushing yours, and pulls out his notes. “So. I was thinking we model the phase shift in the magnetic field using—wait—wait, are you actually listening or just staring at my mouth?”

You blink at him. “I was listening. You just talk a lot.”

He leans in, smirking. “But you were also staring.”

You swat his arm. “Focus.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he mumbles, hiding a very pleased grin.

As you two dive into the project, it’s surprisingly productive. He’s brilliant—he rattles off concepts with such ease that you’re genuinely impressed. You ask questions. He answers. You scribble notes while he paces your living room barefoot, gesturing wildly as he explains advanced equations like they’re children’s bedtime stories. He’s in his element. And kind of hot, too, in a completely nerdy, passionate way.

“You’re really smart,” you say eventually, mid-note-taking.

He freezes. Turns to you slowly. “Say that again.”

You raise an eyebrow. “I said you’re smart—”

“No no,” he says, dropping onto the couch beside you again. “Say it slower. Maybe into my ear this time.”

You laugh, shoving him gently. “God, you’re impossible.”

“And yet you invited me over.” His voice drops just slightly, eyes glittering behind those thick-rimmed glasses. “Kinda makes me think you like having me around.”

Your heart skips. “Maybe I do.”

He stares for a moment—really stares—and then gives you the softest smile. “Then I guess I’m not leaving until we finish the whole project. Top marks, remember?”

“Top marks,” you echo.

When your hands brush reaching for the same pen, you both freeze.

You recover first, pulling your hand back slightly. “You can have it,” you say, trying to keep your voice casual.

Gojo, stubborn as ever, immediately shakes his head. “No, it’s alright. You can have it.”

“No, seriously, take it.”

“I insist.”

“You’re being annoying.”

“You like when I’m annoying,” he says with a cheeky grin.

You roll your eyes and shove the pen towards him. “Just take it before I stab you with it.”

There's a beat of silence where you both just stare at each other—awkward, heated, too aware of how close you’re sitting. You can feel the air shift between you, something lingering and soft.

Gojo clears his throat loudly, leaning back against the couch with exaggerated nonchalance. “Uh—snack break?” he says, voice a little too high-pitched to be smooth.

You bite back a smile, grateful for the out. “Yeah. Snack break.”

He springs up like he’s been given a second life, muttering something under his breath about chips and cookies while you try very hard not to laugh.

Gojo rummages through your cabinets like he lives there, narrating dramatically under his breath. "Let's see... we have some chips, half a granola bar... oh-ho, instant ramen! A true feast fit for a queen."

You lean against the counter, arms crossed, watching him with an amused smile. "You're so dramatic."

He whirls around, holding the ramen packet in one hand like it’s a sacred artifact. "Dramatic? No, no, this is culinary excellence, sweetheart."

You snort, covering your laugh with the back of your hand. "You're about to microwave that."

"Precisely." He winks at you. "Modern problems require modern solutions."

You roll your eyes but grab a cup, filling it with water and handing it to him. Your fingers brush when he takes it, and maybe you’re imagining it, but he seems to pause for half a second longer than necessary, fingers brushing yours again on purpose.

"I'll make you the best cup ramen of your life," he declares proudly, tossing it into the microwave and punching in the time.

"Bold of you to assume I have low standards," you tease.

He leans an elbow on the counter, cocking his head at you with a lazy, smug grin. "Again. You invited me over. I'd say your standards are excellent."

Your cheeks flame immediately. "Shut up."

He just laughs, tossing his messy hair out of his eyes, looking at you like you’re the only thing that matters in the room.

The microwave dings and Gojo gasps. "It's time."

He pulls the ramen out like it’s a precious treasure, dramatically blowing on it before holding it out to you.

"Milady," he says in a terrible fake accent, "your meal."

You’re laughing too hard to even be annoyed. You take the cup from him, smiling so hard your cheeks hurt.

You both make your way to the couch after the world's most gourmet snack break (according to Gojo), slumping down with your legs tucked under you while he scrolls endlessly through your streaming options.

"Pick something," you say, poking his thigh with your toe.

"But it's so hard," he whines dramatically. "What if I pick something that doesn't match our vibe?" He flashes you a sly, boyish smile, the kind that makes your heart lurch even when you don't want it to.

You roll your eyes, tossing a throw pillow at him. "Just pick something, drama queen."

He catches the pillow effortlessly, still grinning, and finally settles on some random romcom—probably because he thinks it'll impress you with how emotionally available he is. Not even five minutes in, he does the whole exaggerated stretch and casual arm drop behind you. Textbook.

You give him a look. "Subtle."

He just beams, smug and utterly unbothered. "Thanks. Been practicing."

You shake your head, laughing under your breath, but you don't move away. Instead, you let the warmth of his arm hovering behind you linger there, like a secret.

You both slowly ease into a lazy sort of comfort, shoulders brushing every so often, knees bumping when one of you shifts. He’s fidgety, though—tapping his fingers against the cushion, sneaking glances at you when he thinks you won't notice.

You notice. You just pretend not to.

Time blurs, the movie forgotten as conversation picks up again. Dumb stuff. Stories about professors, weird classmates, Gojo ranting about a physics experiment gone wrong because "the equipment was stupid, not me," and you laughing so hard your stomach hurts. At some point you realize how late it’s gotten.

You glance at your phone. "Shit, it’s almost midnight."

Gojo pouts dramatically. "Nooo, don’t kick me out."

"You have class at eight tomorrow," you remind him, stretching your arms above your head. "Don’t you dare blame me when you fall asleep in class."

He sighs, long and exaggerated, standing up anyway. "Fine. But just so you know, leaving is painful for me. Agony, even."

You snort, pushing yourself off the couch. "You'll live, Satoru."

He lingers by the door, bouncing on his heels like he wants to say something. And then he blurts, all in one breath: "Do you wanna go on a date with me?"

You blink, caught off guard. "A coffee date?"

"No, no!" He waves his hands frantically. "Like—a real date. A good one. A fancy one. With food and everything!"

His voice goes a little desperate toward the end, as if you're seconds from rejecting him.

You cross your arms, fighting back a laugh. "Are you begging, Gojo?"

"Yes," he says instantly, with zero shame.

You tap your chin, pretending to think it over just to mess with him. He looks genuinely tortured, hands clutched in front of him like he's praying.

Finally, you shrug. "Alright. You can take me out."

The way his whole face lights up could rival the sun. "YES—YES, OH MY GOD—okay, okay, I won’t screw this up, swear on my honor—"

You laugh, pushing him lightly toward the door. "Text me the details, Romeo."

He’s still beaming when he stumbles out, waving giddily.

You shake your head, grinning to yourself as you shut the door behind him.

You stand in front of the mirror, arms crossed, glaring at the mountain of clothes on your bed.

It’s ridiculous. It's Gojo Satoru, for god’s sake—the same man who wears sweater vests unironically—so why are you panicking about what to wear?

You pick up a red dress, stare at it, and toss it aside. Too much.

A simple blouse and jeans? Too casual.

You want to look good. Scratch that—you want to make his brain short-circuit when he sees you.

Finally, after what feels like hours of spiraling, you settle on a black off-shoulder dress that hugs your figure flatteringly. It’s something that feels like you—simple but pretty, enough to make your heart skip when you catch your reflection.

Right as you’re fixing the final touches, your phone buzzes.

[gojo 💙]: here <3

[gojo 💙]: try not to fall in love with me too fast ok

You snort under your breath. Too late, you think, heart thudding faster than you’d ever admit.

You grab your bag and head outside, spotting him.

You almost don't recognize him at first.

Gone are the thick-rimmed glasses and the nerdy sweater vest he usually sports in class. Tonight, Gojo Satoru is dressed in a simple white button-up—sleeves rolled up to his forearms—and black dress pants that cling just right to his lean frame. His snowy hair is still messy, like he ran his hands through it a million times, but somehow, it works. He looks effortlessly good. Stupidly good.

And when he spots you, he nearly trips over his own feet.

"Hey," you greet, a little breathless from how unfairly good he looks.

"Hey," he says back, voice cracking halfway through. He coughs, fumbling to form literal words, cheeks flushed. "You, uh—you look—wow."

You laugh softly as he practically skips toward you, offering you his arm with an exaggerated flourish. "Shall we, m'lady?"

You roll your eyes but take his arm anyway, feeling the warmth of him through the fabric of his shirt.

He leans down to whisper in your ear, cocky and sweet all at once: "Just so you know, I'm totally gonna brag about this to my future grandkids."

You elbow him lightly in the side, and he laughs, the happiest sound you've heard all day.

You laugh softly, letting go of him to get into the car, and he stands there for a second like he’s been shot.

When he finally gets himself together and slides into the driver’s seat, he sneaks a look at you. "You’re—" he starts, then cuts himself off, shaking his head like he can’t believe his own luck. "Perfect," he finishes under his breath.

You pretend not to hear it, hiding your smile as he pulls out onto the road—one hand casually on the wheel, the other fiddling nervously with his collar.

Neither of you says much at first. The radio hums softly between you.

But every few seconds, you catch him sneaking glances your way, grinning like this is already the best date ever.

You recognize the place immediately.

It’s a beautiful rooftop restaurant—one you’d mentioned wanting to try in passing, months ago, when a friend posted about it on social media. You hadn’t even realized he was listening.

The fact that he remembered makes your heart swell.

Satoru pulls into the valet line, hands slightly fidgety on the steering wheel. He throws a quick, nervous glance at you, like he’s scared you won’t like it.

"You, uh, mentioned it once," he says, almost shyly. "Thought it'd be better than, y'know... coffee again."

Your chest tightens in the softest, sweetest way. You open your mouth, ready to tease him, but the look on his face—the earnest hope in his eyes—makes you stop. You just smile instead.

"It’s perfect," you say quietly.

And the way he beams after that? God, you almost have to look away. Too much.

He practically leaps out of the car the second it's parked, sprinting around to your side to open the door for you. Except—he miscalculates the timing and almost slams it into his own shin.

"Ow—shit—" he mutters under his breath, recovering quickly and yanking it open like nothing happened. He straightens up, all suave-like, grinning down at you.

"Milady," he says dramatically, offering you his hand.

You roll your eyes but take it anyway, letting him help you out of the car. His hand is warm—so much bigger than yours—and he doesn’t let go right away. In fact, he keeps holding it as you walk toward the entrance, fingers intertwined like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

And you don’t pull away. If anything, you squeeze a little tighter.

Inside, the restaurant is even more beautiful than you imagined—glittering fairy lights, soft music, a gentle breeze whispering across the rooftop.

Gojo glances down at you, smiling like you personally hung the stars. "Ready for the best date of your life?" he teases, but there’s a nervous edge to it—like your opinion actually, genuinely matters to him.

You bite your lip to hold back a grin.

"Lead the way, Romeo."

And he does. Hand in hand, heart thundering, wearing the dopiest smile imaginable.

Dinner with Gojo is…effortless.

For once, he isn’t tripping over his words or cracking half a dozen stupid jokes just to fill the silence. He’s confident—naturally confident—in a way that makes your heart stutter. It’s like all the nervous energy he usually carries around you has melted away tonight, leaving behind nothing but the real Satoru.

He leans back in his chair, the sleeves of his white button-up rolled up to his elbows, flashing the veins in his forearms as he lifts his wine glass to his lips.

There’s a lazy smirk playing on his mouth as he listens to you talk, bright blue eyes never straying from your face.

"You’re staring," you tease after a moment, pretending to inspect the menu like you’re not burning under his gaze.

"Yeah," he says simply, not even bothering to deny it. "You’re beautiful. I’m allowed to stare."

You nearly choke on your water.

Recovering quickly, you raise a brow. "Smooth," you deadpan, setting your glass down.

He chuckles lowly, the sound curling around your spine like smoke. "Only because it’s true," he says, and the sheer casualty of it has your cheeks heating up.

And the worst part? You can’t even pretend you’re unaffected—because he sees it. The way your lips twitch, the way your eyes flicker away for just a second.

"So," you say quickly, trying to regain control of the conversation, "when you’re not busy terrorizing professors and making girls swoon, what do you do for fun, Gojo?"

He hums, pretending to think about it, tapping his fork against his lip.

"Hmm...think about you mostly," he says airily.

You whip your napkin at him across the table, and he lets out a bark of laughter, catching it midair like a reflex.

The two of you fall into easy conversation after that—bantering, laughing, throwing subtle (and not-so-subtle) jabs at each other. It feels so natural that you almost forget this is your first real date.

There’s a moment—between courses, when you’re both picking at the remains of dessert—that you catch him just looking at you again. No teasing. No smirk. Just watching. Soft, and a little awed.

You shift slightly, suddenly aware of the intimacy stretching between you. "What?" you murmur.

He blinks, as if waking up. Shakes his head, smiling faintly.

"Nothing," he says, voice a little rough. "You’re just—really fucking gorgeous."

It’s so sincere that you don’t even know what to say back. You just look at him, feeling your chest tighten in that dangerous, dangerous way again.

The drive back is quiet—not uncomfortable. Just…full.

Full of things unsaid, full of that warmth that’s been simmering between you both all night.

Gojo parks in front of your place, turning off the engine, but neither of you make a move to get out right away. You just sit there, the hum of the night wrapping around you, the silence speaking louder than words ever could.

He turns in his seat slightly, arm draped over the steering wheel, looking at you with that soft, lopsided smile he reserves only for you now.

"I had a really good time," he says quietly, like it’s a secret meant only for you.

You smile back, feeling something sweet and dangerous unfurl in your chest. "Me too," you murmur, fingers twisting slightly in your lap.

The moment stretches—comfortable, a little electric—and you know you should say goodnight. You should.

So you finally reach for the door handle, pulling it open—And then, without thinking, you turn back.

Leaning in quick, before you can psych yourself out, you press a soft kiss to his cheek.

It’s light, barely a brush, but Gojo freezes like you’ve just electrocuted him.

You don’t wait for his reaction. Your face burning, you practically stumble out of the car, slamming the door shut behind you with a muttered, "Goodnight!"

Through the window, you catch a glimpse of him: Wide-eyed, stunned, a hand lifted dazedly to his cheek like he can't believe what just happened.

And then he laughs—a breathless, giddy sound that you swear you can hear even as you rush up the steps to your door, heart hammering like crazy.

Inside the car, Satoru slumps back against the seat, grinning so hard his cheeks hurt. "God," he mutters to himself, still touching the spot where you kissed him, "I’m so fucked."

You’re lying in bed when your phone buzzes in your hand. Heart still racing from that impulsive kiss you planted on his cheek, you scramble to pick it up, thumbs fumbling.

[gojo 💙]: next time, you’re not getting away with just a kiss on the cheek.

You nearly drop your phone.

Oh. Oh.

Your stomach flips. Your face burns. And even though you want to play it cool, you can’t fight the smile tugging at your lips. You bite your lip, thumbs hovering over the keyboard before finally typing back:

[you]: is that a threat, satoru?

The reply comes almost instantly, like he was waiting for you:

[gojo 💙]: no baby, that’s a promise.

You stare at the screen, heart hammering against your ribs.

Baby. God, you’re so done for.

And like he hasn’t already made you melt enough tonight, he sends another message:

[gojo 💙]: get some sleep, pretty

You bury your face into your pillow with a squeal, kicking your feet into the mattress. You type back quickly before you lose your nerve:

[you]: goodnight, satoru. try not to miss me too much.

And a few seconds later:

[gojo 💙]: too late.

[you]: careful, satoru. you're sounding real desperate rn.

You barely have time to smirk before he hits you with:

[gojo 💙]: desperate?

[gojo 💙]: for you? always.

And like he knows you’re losing it, he sends one more:

[gojo 💙]: sleep tight, gorgeous.

[gojo 💙]: dream of me.

[gojo 💙]: i'll definitely be dreaming of you. (and if i wake up hard, it's your fault btw)

You scream into your pillow.

Your hands tremble as you type your final text:

[you]: sweet dreams, toru <3

[you]: maybe next time you won’t have to just dream ;)

And the moment you send it, you shut your phone off and toss it across the bed because there’s absolutely no way you’re surviving if he replies. (He does. Five seconds later.)

[gojo 💙]: fucking hell.

Satoru’s still staring at your last text. Eyes wide. Mouth parted.

maybe next time you won’t have to just dream

He drops his phone onto the bed with a dull thud, dragging both hands down his face.

"Goddammit," he breathes, tipping his head back against the headboard.

You’re gonna kill him. You’re actually gonna kill him.

He sits there for a good minute, struggling to breathe normally, heart hammering against his ribs, cock already half-hard just from that one text. (Just from a text. He's so far gone it's not even funny.)

"Pull it together, Gojo," he mutters, raking a hand through his messy hair.

But the moment he squeezes his eyes shut, it’s you he sees—smiling up at him all coy, leaning in close, whispering things in that pretty voice you have, like you knew exactly what kind of mess you were leaving him in.

You did. You knew exactly what you were doing.

He groans, thunking his head back harder against the headboard, biting down a low, frustrated sound as your words loop endlessly in his brain.

You’re driving him insane.

Before he can talk himself out of it, he shoves his sleep shorts down just enough and wraps a hand around his cock, cursing under his breath when he realizes how hard he already is.

It’s wrong. He knows it’s wrong—you haven’t even properly kissed yet. But god, you're just so, so perfect. So effortlessly beautiful.

He squeezes his eyes shut tighter, his hand moving slowly, pretending it’s you instead—your hand wrapped around him, your body pressed close, your breath ghosting over his ear as you whisper all the filthy things he can barely even let himself imagine.

"Fuck," he hisses through his teeth, hips bucking up into his fist, desperate for more.

He can’t help it.

You’re in his head. You’re under his skin. And he’s not even sure he wants to be saved.

His thighs tense, muscles flexing as he fists himself harder, chasing that high like a man starved. The sound of his breath—harsh and broken—fills the room. Your name nearly falls from his lips like a prayer.

And when he finally comes, it’s with a soft, bitten-off moan, warmth spilling over his knuckles.

His mind blanks for a long, dizzy second—nothing but the feeling of you filling every corner of him.

He collapses back against the pillows, breathless. Staring at the ceiling like he’s just been fucking wrecked. Sweaty. Panting. His hand sticky and his soul halfway out of his body.

He drags a hand down his face again, groaning. "...I'm so fucking screwed," Satoru mutters to himself, glaring uselessly at the ceiling like it’s personally responsible for his downfall.

The sunlight’s barely filtering through his blinds when Satoru stirs awake, messy hair flattened against his forehead, phone slipping from his chest with a quiet thunk onto the mattress.

Groaning, he blindly pats around for it, eyes still crusted shut from sleep.

When he finally blinks them open, he sees the last thing he remembers: your text. The text that ruined his entire night.

He slaps a hand over his face and drags it down slowly, mumbling, “I’m going to hell.”

But because he’s an idiot—an idiot in love—he still unlocks his phone, thumbs hovering nervously over the screen.

He needs to text you. Needs to act normal. Needs to pretend he didn’t almost cry last night over how fucking good it felt imagining you touching him.

He taps out a message, agonizing over every word:

[you]: good morning :) hope you slept well!

He stares at it for a second longer, wondering if he sounds too eager, then panics and deletes the smiley. Then retypes it. Then deletes it again.

Then sends it without the emoji because God forbid he looks like he’s about to propose or something.

He tosses his phone down and flops back against his pillows, staring up at the ceiling like it holds the answers to his sins.

Not even ten seconds pass before his phone buzzes. Heart slamming against his ribs, he fumbles to read it:

[sweetheart 💖]: you too, toru. sweet dreams? ;)

He physically chokes. Coughs. Slaps his own chest like he’s trying to restart his heart.

“Sweet dreams—?” he sputters aloud, horrified, voice cracking. “SWEET—?”

The images from last night flash vividly in his mind: your lips, your breathy giggles, your hands sneaking lower—

He shoves his face into a pillow and screams.

When he finally peeks out, shame swirling in his gut, he types back with trembling hands:

[you]: sweetest dreams ever. totally normal. nothing weird about them at all.

And then he turns his phone face-down. Because he cannot. He cannot see what you’re going to reply.

He’s so down bad it's physically painful.

You stare at your phone, biting your lip to hold back a grin.

Totally normal. Nothing weird about them at all.

Sure, Satoru. Sure.

You kick your feet a little under your blanket, giddy, heart thumping like crazy. You know exactly what you’re doing. You know exactly what you’re doing to him.

And you’re not done yet. You let him stew in his own panic for a few minutes—just to watch him suffer—before tapping out a reply:

[you]: sounds like someone’s overcompensating… ;)

You hit send and immediately burst into laughter, flopping back into your pillows. You can practically imagine him screaming into his hands right now, scrambling to figure out what to say without incriminating himself even more.

And because you’re a menace, you follow it up:

[you]: it’s okay, toru. you can dream about me whenever you want <3

There. You’ve officially ruined his whole morning.

You toss your phone aside and stretch, feeling like you just hit a home run. But then your phone buzzes again—multiple times—and you grab it, giggling.

First, from Satoru:

[toru 💙]: you’re evil. pure evil. i’m never sleeping again.

And then another, right after:

[toru 💙]: coffee today? my treat. i need to see your evil little face or i’m going to combust.

You roll over onto your stomach, kicking your legs up behind you, cheeks aching from smiling so hard.

Maybe you are evil. But god, it’s so fun when he’s this easy to tease.

You tap out your reply, heart light:

[you]: only if you promise not to die before you get here.

It doesn’t even take ten minutes before there’s a knock at your door. You blink in surprise—you hadn’t even changed yet.

Another knock, this time a little quicker, a little eager.

You pad over and crack the door open—and there he is.

Satoru, all messy hair, rumpled shirt, soft smile. Holding two coffees in his hands.

And looking at you like you hung the moon.

"Hi," he says, almost shyly. "Brought you a coffee."

You blink at him.

He fidgets, rocking on his heels. "I, uh... thought maybe we could, y'know, hang out a little. If you’re not busy."

Your heart melts a little at how hopeful he sounds.

"You’re impossible," you tease, swinging the door wider.

"And you're stuck with me," he chirps, stepping inside like he belongs there.

You take one of the coffees from him, fingers brushing, and he beams like you’ve just given him the greatest honor.

"Thanks," you say, smiling into your cup. "Even though you didn’t have to."

"I wanted to," he says simply, plopping onto your couch with zero hesitation. (And he leaves way too little space for you, thigh already brushing yours.)

You sit down beside him, your shoulders bumping. He hums under his breath, swinging his legs a little like a kid who’s gotten his favorite candy.

For a minute, it’s just the two of you, sipping coffee, the silence warm and comfortable.

And then, out of nowhere, he leans his head dramatically onto your shoulder.

You freeze for a second, heart skipping.

He sighs—loudly—against you. "You’re not gonna kick me out, right?"

You laugh, nudging him with your elbow. "Not if you behave."

"That’s asking for a lot," he grins, tilting his head up to look at you. His smile’s a little mischievous, a little boyish.

You roll your eyes, trying to hide your blush behind your coffee cup.

And because he’s shameless—and he knows he’s winning—he adds, voice low and teasing: "Maybe if you give me another goodbye kiss?"

You almost spill your coffee.

He sees it—the way your fingers fumble, the way your face flushes—and smirks.

"C'mon," he teases, nudging your knee with his. "Wasn't that bad of an idea, was it?"

You narrow your eyes at him, trying—failing—to fight your smile. "You," you say, poking his chest, "are way too full of yourself."

"And yet..." Satoru leans in, slow, eyes locked on yours. His voice drops to a whisper. "...you're not moving away."

Your breath catches. Because he's right—you’re not. If anything, you're leaning in too.

For a moment, neither of you says anything. The room feels too quiet, too charged. You can hear his breathing, slow and steady, can feel the heat radiating off of him.

Satoru’s gaze drops to your mouth—and lingers there. "Can I?" he murmurs, so soft you almost don’t catch it.

Your heart thuds loud in your chest. You nod.

That’s all he needs.

Slowly, achingly slowly, he closes the gap, giving you every chance to pull away—but you don’t. You tilt your chin up, meeting him halfway.

When his lips finally brush yours, it’s gentle—barely a kiss, more like a breath, a promise.

You sigh against him, and that tiny sound seems to undo him. He tilts his head, deepening the kiss just slightly, just enough to taste you. His hand comes up to cradle your cheek, thumb brushing over your skin so tenderly it makes your chest ache.

You kiss him back, slow and sweet, fingers curling into the soft fabric of his shirt.

It drags out—neither of you in any rush, savoring every second.

He kisses you like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he stops. And you kiss him like you’ve been waiting forever for this moment.

When you finally, reluctantly, pull apart, you're both breathless. He presses his forehead against yours, grinning like an idiot. "So..." he whispers, voice a little hoarse. "Can I stay a little longer?"

You pretend to think about it, biting your lip to hide your smile. "Maybe," you tease. "If you behave."

He groans, flopping dramatically onto your couch again, tugging you down with him so you land half-on top of him, laughing.

"Not a chance," he says happily.

You're warm against him, tucked into his side, your head resting on his shoulder like you belonged there. And for a moment, Satoru feels like the luckiest man alive.

Until his brain—traitorous, evil, rotten—reminds him.

Reminds him of how he spent last night fucking his fist like a deranged lunatic, thinking about you. Reminds him that you have no idea just how far gone he already is.

A quiet, horrified voice in his head: I'm a monster.

His throat goes dry.His hands twitch awkwardly where they rest on your waist, unsure if he should even be touching you like this—until you shift, just slightly, peeking up at him with this sleepy little smile.

And just like that, every coherent thought leaves him. All that's left is you.

"You're comfy," you mumble against him, snuggling closer.

Satoru lets out a weak, broken little laugh, hiding his burning face against your hair.

If you only knew. If you only knew what you did to him.

He doesn't know how long he sits there with you tucked into him, drinking in your warmth. He could stay like this forever, he thinks. Hell, he wants to.

But then his phone buzzes.

He barely registers it, ignoring it at first. Until it buzzes again. And again.

He groans, reluctant, fishing it out of his pocket while you shift sleepily against him. The screen flashes: a reminder for his evening tutoring session he totally, utterly forgot about. He slumps.

"Something wrong?" you ask, voice soft, blinking up at him.

"I gotta go," he mutters like he's being forced into exile.

You bite back a smile, stretching lazily. "Duty calls?"

"Yeah." He pouts, actually pouts. "Stupid duty."

You laugh under your breath, and it's so unfair how easily you knock the air out of his lungs without even trying.

He stands reluctantly, dragging his feet like a kid leaving recess early.

"Hey," you call out. "Aren’t you forgetting something?"

He turns around and blinks at you, confusion flickering across his face—but then you smile. Soft. Warm. Something just for him.

You step close, tiptoe a little to reach him. And Satoru swears, swears, his heart stumbles in his chest when you press a gentle kiss to his lips.

It's feather-light. Barely there. Sweet enough to make his knees almost buckle.

And when you pull back, a cheeky glint in your eye, he's just standing there. Frozen. Speechless. The stupidest grin pulling at his mouth.

"See you later, ’Toru," you say lightly, nudging him toward the door.

And all he can manage—voice cracking slightly, heart hammering out of his chest—is a dazed "Y-Yeah. Later."

You shut the door behind him with a little wave, and he stands there for a good ten seconds before he finally remembers how to move.

Class feels different today.

You’re hyper-aware of everything.

The way Satoru brushes his knee against yours under the table, all casual-like. The way his pinky keeps nudging yours on the desk until finally, finally, you relent and let your fingers curl around his. The way he keeps sneaking glances at you out of the corner of his eye—and every time you catch him, he just smiles, like he’s getting away with something.

It’s infuriating. It’s adorable. It’s Satoru.

You pretend to focus on the lecture. Really, you do. But it’s hard when you can feel the warmth of his hand ghosting over your thigh under the table, a barely-there touch that sends your heart skittering against your ribs.

By the time the professor starts wrapping up class, you’re halfway to combusting.

"Don’t forget," she says, tapping the whiteboard, "project updates are due next week."

You scribble the deadline in your notes, but Satoru’s already turning toward you, practically bouncing in his seat.

"Hey," he says, voice pitched low enough that only you can hear. "How about we work on it at my place today?"

You blink, startled. "Your place?"

He grins, bright and boyish. "Yeah! First time for everything, right?"

The way he says it—light, teasing, almost a little shy—makes something flutter wildly in your chest.

"It’ll be chill," he continues. "We can grab some snacks, order takeout, maybe actually get stuff done this time—"

You narrow your eyes at him, suspicious. "Are you actually suggesting a productive study session or trying to lure me into a trap?"

He gasps, hand clutching dramatically at his chest. "Me? Lure you? I’m offended." Then he drops the act, leaning in close, that mischievous spark lighting up his eyes. "But if you happen to end up in my lap or something, y’know... destiny."

You shove him lightly, cheeks warming. "God, you’re insufferable."

"Face it—you love this," he says, nudging your shoulder with his.

You roll your eyes so hard it’s a miracle they don’t fall out of your head. Still...you find yourself smiling.

"Fine," you say, packing up your stuff. "But we’re actually working this time."

He pumps a fist in victory. "Yes! Bring that sexy brain of yours, princess. We’re gonna kill this project."

You throw a crumpled sticky note at him. He catches it midair, flashing a grin that practically glows.

You’re home, lounging on your bed, phone in hand.

The texting starts innocent enough.

[you]: what should I bring?

[toru 💙]: just that pretty little self of yours

You roll your eyes, biting back a smile.

[you]: be serious

[toru 💙]: i am. i’m dead serious. maybe a notebook too though lol

You roll your eyes, thumbs hovering over your screen. Before you can type anything else, another message pops up:

[toru 💙]: also… try not to look too pretty

[toru 💙]: kinda hard to focus when you’re around

You blink at the screen, heart skipping a beat. The sudden boldness makes you squirm a little under your covers.

Before you can even react, a third text follows:

[toru 💙]: here’s my address

A pinned location pops up. Followed by—

[toru 💙]: hurry over please

You stare at the messages, warmth blooming in your chest (and spreading lower, if you were honest).

You should probably be nervous. You should definitely be more cautious.

But all you do is grin, toss your phone onto the bed, and start getting ready.

You barely knock once before the door swings open.

And there he is.

Black tank top clinging to his chest, basketball shorts slung so low it should be illegal. Lean muscles on full display. Sleep-mussed white hair falling over his forehead.

You actually forget how to breathe. Your brain just... shuts down.

Satoru’s mouth twitches into a knowing smirk. He leans lazily against the doorframe, crossing his arms — muscles flexing, because of course they do — and tips his head at you.

“Well, well," he drawls, amusement dripping from every word. "Didn’t think you’d be that easy to stun."

You blink — once, twice — scrambling to find your voice. "I’m not stunned," you blurt out, way too fast to be convincing.

"Mhm," he hums, that smug little grin widening. "Sure. You just like standing on people's porches looking like you forgot your own name?"

You shove past him with a flustered scoff, cheeks burning. But you can feel his eyes trailing after you, slow and satisfied, as he shuts the door behind you.

"You didn’t tell me the dress code was..." you flounder, gesturing vaguely at his entire existence, "thirst trap casual."

"Aw, you think I’m a thirst trap?" he coos, stepping dangerously close — close enough that you have to tilt your head back to look at him properly.

"I think you’re an asshole," you snap — except your voice comes out all breathy, completely ruining the effect.

Satoru chuckles — a low, rich sound that vibrates all the way through you. "You can be honest, y'know. It's just us here." He leans down, dropping his voice into a whisper, "You like what you see."

You make a strangled noise in your throat and whirl around, pretending to inspect the living room like it's the most fascinating thing you’ve ever seen. "Where’s your project stuff?" you demand, heart thundering against your ribs.

"Wow," he says behind you, tone all fake-hurt. "Use me for my brain and ditch me for my abs. Brutal."

"You have a brain?" you retort, finally finding a shred of composure.

He laughs again — easy, bright — and brushes past you, the barest graze of his arm against yours sending your nerves into a frenzy.

"Come on, nerd," he calls over his shoulder, tossing a wink at you that almost knocks you off your feet. "Project’s not gonna finish itself."

You huff, yanking your notebook out of your bag to try and hide the stupid, giddy smile pulling at your lips.

You’re just barely settled on the couch, notebook balanced on your lap, when Satoru stretches — arms over his head, tank top riding up dangerously — and says, “Actually... we’ll have more space in my room."

You blink at him, heart skipping a beat. "Your room?" you repeat, raising an eyebrow.

He flashes a wide, shit-eating grin. "Yeah. Bigger desk. Better lighting."

You narrow your eyes, pretending to be skeptical. "Oh? Already trying to get me in bed?"

Satoru stops dead in his tracks — but only for half a second. Then he tosses a look over his shoulder, cocky and wicked. "Don’t give me ideas," he says, voice low and playful.

Your cheeks burn so hot you’re surprised you don’t spontaneously combust. But you’re stubborn — so you just huff and follow him anyway, ignoring the smug little chuckle he lets out as he leads you down the hall. And then you step into his room — and freeze.

Because it’s... it’s not what you expect. Sure, it’s a little messy — loose clothes on a chair, half-done laundry — but what really grabs your attention is the shelf. More specifically: the shelf packed with colorful little figures. Posters. Framed prints. All of it instantly recognizable.

"...Is that—" you start, pointing.

"Digimon," Satoru says immediately, like he's bracing himself for judgment.

You stare. You blink. And then — you laugh. Loud, bright, uncontrollable.

He groans, dragging a hand down his face. "I knew it. I knew you were gonna make fun of me."

You grin at him, unrepentant. "You? Cool, confident, six-foot-whatever Gojo Satoru... secret Digimon stan? Oh, this is gold."

"It’s not secret," he grumbles, crossing his arms like a petulant kid. "Digimon’s fucking awesome. Better than Pokémon. Better story arcs, deeper characters—"

"You sound so defensive," you giggle, stepping closer to inspect a particularly adorable stuffed Agumon perched on his bed.

He steps up beside you, bumping your shoulder lightly with his and picks up the plushie to toss it somewhere else. "You're lucky you're cute," he mutters, mock-threatening, "or I’d kick you out right now."

You bite back a smile, feeling that fluttery, giddy warmth bloom in your chest again. Because for all his teasing, all his cocky bravado — there’s something painfully endearing about how unapologetically himself he is. No hiding. No shame. Just... Satoru.

"You’re such a nerd," you say fondly.

Satoru smirks, eyes glinting mischievously. "Yeah? Still think I’m a thirst trap though?"

You sputter, flustered all over again — and he cackles, so pleased with himself it’s criminal.

God. You are so screwed.

You perch awkwardly on the edge of his bed, notebook in your lap again, pretending you’re not hyper-aware of how huge his bed is, how close he is, how the mattress dips slightly under his weight when he flops down next to you.

"Alright," he says, stretching lazily, flashing a sliver of toned stomach again. "Serious time. Project planning. Let's go."

You nod, throat a little dry. "Serious," you echo, flipping open the notebook. "No distractions."

"None whatsoever," he agrees solemnly.

You start brainstorming, scribbling notes in the margins, muttering ideas under your breath. For a few minutes, everything’s fine. Normal. Until you feel it — the slight brush of his knee against yours. At first, you think it’s an accident. You shift slightly to the side.

But then it happens again. And again.

And then — Satoru leans closer, peering over your shoulder, his breath warm against your cheek. His hand rests casually on the bed behind you, fingers curling ever so slightly around the edge of your shirt.

You pretend to ignore it. Pretend so hard it almost works.

But then he hums low in his throat — a thoughtful, lazy little sound — and lets his hand slide up, fingers brushing lightly against your lower back, and your entire body tenses.

"'Toru..." you murmur, trying for stern, but it comes out way too breathy. You don’t even look at him — you can’t — because you already know what you’ll find: those blue eyes, lazy and half-lidded, the ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips.

"Focus," you manage, tapping the notebook for emphasis.

He leans in, so close his nose almost brushes your temple, and murmurs in a voice so low it makes your stomach flip:

"You make it hard to."

His hand is bold now — fingers tracing slow, idle patterns over the dip of your waist, so gentle it leaves a trail of fire in its wake. Your breath stutters in your throat. You feel your heart hammer against your ribs.

You finally — finally — dare a glance at him.

And he’s looking at you like he’s starving.

For you.

The tension is a physical thing now, heavy and thick in the air between you. You swear you can hear the blood rushing in your ears.

"...You're unbelievable," you whisper, the notebook slipping from your fingers.

His smirk deepens, shameless. "You like it."

God help you — you do.

You scramble, trying desperately to recover your sanity, to remember why you’re even here in the first place. The project. The project, dammit.

You slap your palm over the notebook, pushing it toward him. "W-We should really— really focus," you stammer, voice wobbling embarrassingly.

He just grins, slow and easy, that grin that makes you forget your own name.

"I am focused," he says, voice dropping into that low, teasing rasp. "Focused on you."

And before you can react, he shifts — the bed dipping under his weight as he gently crowds into your space.

Your breath catches.

He cages you in with a hand planted firm beside your hip, his other hand curling loosely around your wrist like he’s giving you the option to pull away — like he’s daring you to.

You don’t. You can’t.

You’re frozen, wide-eyed, heart thudding like crazy.

His forehead presses lightly to yours, and you feel the whisper of his breath against your lips.

"You drive me crazy, y'know that?" he murmurs, voice impossibly soft. Every word vibrates through you.

You open your mouth — to say what, you’re not sure — but no sound comes out. You’re too busy trying not to melt.

And then he moves. Sudden but gentle, he presses you down against the mattress, his body hovering above yours, careful not to crush you.

Your hands instinctively fly up to his chest — oh, God his chest — and you feel the steady pound of his heartbeat under your palms.

He’s close now, so close you can see every detail of his face — the slight pink flush on his cheeks, the playful crinkle at the corners of his eyes, the way his pupils are blown wide with something between affection and hunger.

"You’re so cute when you're flustered," he teases, and you want to hate him for it, you really do.

But you don’t. You can't.

Instead, you fist your hands in the soft fabric of his shirt and squeeze your eyes shut, trying to will your racing pulse back to normal.

He chuckles, low and smug. Then — so lightly you almost think you imagined it — he brushes his nose along the side of your jaw, breathing you in.

"You’re killing me," he whispers.

You whimper — actual, real, humiliating whimper — and he grins.

But he doesn’t kiss you. Not yet.

He just stays there, letting the tension thicken, letting you squirm, savoring it.

It’s agony. It’s perfect.

You feel it — the exact moment his lips almost touch yours.

It’s a whisper of a moment, barely-there, the ghost of contact that makes your whole body tense up in anticipation.

He’s so close. So close you can taste the heat radiating off him, the sweet, addictive scent of his cologne, the lazy tilt of his grin as he leans in—

And that’s when you snap out of it.

At the very last second, you slip a hand between your bodies, planting your palm firmly against his chest to stop him.

His eyes fly open, confused, slightly wild.

You smile — sweet, smug — up at him.

"Uh-uh," you say, your voice still a little breathless but steady enough to make him narrow his eyes suspiciously. "Project first."

The sheer betrayal on his face.

"You've gotta be kidding me," he groans, dropping his forehead dramatically onto your shoulder like you just mortally wounded him. "I was so close, baby, c'mon—"

You cackle. Gojo finds it beautiful.

He lifts his head, leveling you with the most pathetic pout you’ve ever seen. "You're evil," he accuses.

You just wiggle your eyebrows at him, smirking. "Should've thought about that before trying to seduce me in broad daylight, Gojo."

He collapses beside you with a dramatic huff, flopping back against the bed like his soul has been snatched from his body.

"It’s almost 7. Unbelievable," he mutters. "This is harassment. I should sue."

You reach over, patting his chest twice, condescending and sweet. "There, there."

He turns his head, glaring at you — but the slight twitch of his lips gives him away.

"You owe me later," he says, pointing a finger at you like a solemn oath.

You hum, pretending to think it over, before shooting him a wicked little grin. "We'll see if you're good."

His groan is loud enough to rattle the bed.

You're absolutely thriving.

You’re trying so hard to focus. You really are. Project notes scattered across the bed, laptop open, a half-written paragraph blinking at you like it's taunting your lack of progress.

And then—

"Break time!" Satoru declares, already tugging you off the bed by your wrist before you can even protest.

You stumble after him, laughing breathlessly. "Satoru, we barely got anything done!"

"Exactly why we need a break," he grins, dragging you toward the kitchen like a man on a mission. "You’ll thank me later."

You roll your eyes but let him haul you along, too curious (and maybe a little too charmed) to resist.

He lets go of your hand once you reach the kitchen and dramatically cracks his knuckles, looking far too proud of himself.

"Watch and learn, sweetheart," he says, shooting you a wink. "You're in the presence of greatness."

You snort, crossing your arms and leaning against the counter. "Oh yeah? You gonna burn the house down, master chef?"

He gasps — actually gasps — clutching his chest like you mortally wounded him. "You wound me."

You just laugh, watching as he rummages through the fridge with entirely too much flair, pulling out random ingredients and setting them on the counter.

"You're literally just making instant ramen," you point out dryly, but there's a smile tugging at your lips.

"Gourmet instant ramen," he corrects, wagging a finger at you. "With egg. And scallions. And a lil’ bit of love."

He tosses you another wink and you lose it, doubling over in silent laughter.

You lean back against the counter, arms folded, trying — and failing — to look unimpressed as he hums to himself, clattering pots around. He’s in a black tank top and low-hanging shorts, muscles flexing casually with every movement, hair messy from dragging his hands through it.

And it’s... distracting. Way too distracting.

Especially when he starts cracking an egg one-handed like a cocky asshole.

"Show-off," you mutter under your breath.

"Don’t act like you’re not impressed," he sing-songs, peeking at you from under snowy lashes, smug as hell.

You flip him off lazily. He just grins wider.

The kitchen fills with the scent of broth and spices, steam curling in the air. He moves with this effortless, chaotic sort of confidence — a little reckless, a little messy — but somehow everything comes together perfectly.

When he turns to you again, ramen bowl in hand, he looks so goddamn pleased with himself you want to laugh.

"See?" he says, stepping closer. "I'm basically husband material."

You tilt your head, raising a brow. "You make instant noodles and think you deserve a ring?"

"Handmade. Special edition. Enhanced with love." He winks, holding up the bowl like an offering. "You should be honored."

And even though you roll your eyes, you can't help the smile tugging at your lips — can't help the way your stomach flips stupidly as he steps even closer, towering over you with that lazy, confident grin.

You set the now-empty bowl down on the counter, nudging him with your elbow. "Since you whipped up such a gourmet meal, I guess the least I can do is the dishes."

Satoru leans back against the counter, grinning so wide it's almost embarrassing. "You spoil me."

You roll your eyes but start gathering up the dishes anyway, rinsing them under the tap. The warm water and simple task are oddly comforting, your movements easy, natural.

And from behind you, you can feel it — his gaze, warm and heavy, drinking you in like he's memorizing this moment.

Before you can even finish rinsing the second bowl, you feel him — long arms sliding around your waist, pulling you back into him, chest pressed against your back.

You huff a soft laugh, not bothering to fight it. "Needy much?"

He just hums, nose nudging into the crook of your neck, his hair tickling your skin. "You smell good," he mumbles, voice low and content.

"Why, thank you," you say, but it’s half a smile.

"I could get used to this," he murmurs, squeezing you a little tighter.

You finish up the dishes like that — his arms around you, his weight solid and comforting at your back, his soft little praises murmured into your ear in between.

"You're pretty," he says at one point, completely unprompted. "So pretty I don't know how I'm supposed to concentrate when you're around."

You duck your head, smiling to yourself, feeling your cheeks burn.

When you finally dry your hands and turn around to face him, he's already looking down at you with stars in his eyes, a little breathless like he can't believe you're real.

You loop your arms around his neck without thinking, tugging him a little closer, and he leans into it easily, lazily, like he's been waiting for this exact moment. "Can I kiss you yet?" he asks, grinning like an idiot, voice all hopeful and teasing.

You laugh, soft and fond, brushing your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. "Sure, loverboy."

And he doesn't waste a second — swooping down to finally, finally claim your lips in a kiss that's sweet and warm and a little clumsy with excitement, like he just can’t hold it in anymore.

The moment your lips meet, it’s like something clicks into place.

At first, it’s a gentle brush of mouths, shy and smiling. He kisses you once, then twice, like he can’t get enough, like he’s trying to memorize the shape of your mouth. But then you tilt your head just a little, arms tightening around his neck, and he groans — a low, helpless sound that rumbles against your chest.

And just like that, the kiss deepens.

His hands, which had been resting innocently at your waist, slide down — gripping your hips with a little more urgency, pulling you flush against him. You gasp softly into his mouth, and he takes full advantage, slotting his mouth over yours in a way that leaves your knees just barely holding you up. You feel it when his fingers flex, pressing you closer, when his body shudders lightly against yours.

God, he’s starving for you. You can feel it in the way he kisses — slow but hungry, like he’s been waiting for this, aching for it.

When he pulls back for just a breath, his forehead presses to yours, and his voice is ragged, wrecked. "You’re gonna kill me," he whispers, before diving back in, more desperate this time.

You whimper into his mouth without meaning to, clutching at the front of his shirt, feeling the heat of him seeping into your palms.

Satoru groans again, hands sliding up your sides, thumbs brushing just under the hem of your shirt, skin to skin.

It’s not rushed. It’s not frantic. It’s slow — simmering — like he’s savoring every second, like he wants this moment to stretch on forever.

And it’s only when his teeth gently tug at your bottom lip — when your breathing turns shallow and desperate against each other — that you finally, finally break away.

Both of you stand there for a second, breathing hard, faces flushed.

You feel dizzy. He looks completely wrecked.

You’re both breathless when you pull apart, foreheads resting together, lips tingling.

Satoru’s hands are still on your waist, holding you close like he’s not ready to let go. You can feel the way his chest rises and falls against yours — shallow, like he’s trying to calm himself down.

He gives a short, breathy laugh. “Jesus,” he mutters. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

You smile, dazed. “Pretty sure that’s mutual.”

There’s a beat of silence — heavy with everything unsaid — before he leans in again.

Hungrier. Rougher. Like he’s been holding back all night and can’t anymore. His mouth moves over yours with unfiltered need, hands pulling you closer like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.

You make a soft noise into his mouth, and it only spurs him on. The way he kisses you — it’s not perfect. It’s messy and fast and desperate, teeth catching on your lower lip, hands gripping tight like he’s scared you’ll slip away.

Your fingers wind into the fabric of his tank top, pulling him even closer until you’re practically wrapped around him.

He breaks the kiss just barely, lips brushing yours as he breathes out, “Tell me if it’s too much.”

You shake your head. “It’s not. I—” You swallow. “I want this. You.”

His expression softens for a split second before that heat comes rushing back. His mouth is back on yours, slower this time but no less intense — like he’s trying to memorize how you taste.

When his hand slips under your shirt and settles on the small of your back, warm and firm, you shiver.

He kisses you like he means it. Like he feels it.

And when you finally pull back again, breathless and flushed, he just smiles — eyes glassy, voice low.

“You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

You barely have time to catch your breath before he’s kissing you again.

No warning, no hesitation — just the searing press of his mouth against yours like he’s starving for it. Like he needs more. And you give in without thinking, letting him pull you closer until there’s not a sliver of space left between your bodies.

His hands are on your waist, fingers tightening like he’s trying to anchor himself. And when your hands slide up his chest, over those broad shoulders, he groans into your mouth — low and wrecked.

It’s dizzying, the way he kisses you. Every time you think he’ll stop, he comes back for more — messier, deeper, rougher. Your fingers tangle in his hair as his lips trail down to your jaw, then your neck, slow and hot and reverent.

And then suddenly, he pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes.

His voice is breathless, raw. “Hold on.”

Before you can ask what he means, he lifts you — effortlessly, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. You let out a startled gasp, arms wrapping around his neck as he carries you through the apartment. Your heart’s hammering so hard you’re sure he can feel it.

He’s grinning now, cocky and breathless all at once. “I warned you I’m husband material.”

“Shut up,” you mutter against his neck, flustered beyond reason.

But there’s no hiding the way your legs tighten around his waist.

He nudges his bedroom door open with his foot, stepping inside, and the second you’re both in, he sets you down gently. And just like that, he’s on you again — kissing you like he’s waited his whole life for this.

His mouth is still on yours when he shifts forward, slowly pressing you back until your knees hit the edge of the bed. You stumble slightly, gripping his arms for balance—and the second your weight tips back, he goes with you.

The two of you collapse onto the mattress in a tangled mess of limbs and breathless laughter, but he’s quick to recover. Quick to pin you there beneath him, hands braced on either side of your head, his hips snug between your thighs.

He looks down at you like he’s never seen anything more beautiful.

And then that glint returns—dangerous and wicked and so unlike the stammering nerd you met on day one.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he breathes, voice low and rough in your ear.

You shiver.

His lips find the side of your neck again, and this time they don’t linger—they devour. Hot, open-mouthed kisses that make your back arch, that pull quiet, helpless sounds from your throat. His hands wander too, slow at first, fingertips tracing the curve of your waist, your hips, every line and dip he can find.

You reach for him, needing more—but he grabs your wrists, pins them gently above your head with one hand.

“Nuh-uh,” he smirks. “I’m in charge now.”

You’re just about to sass him when he dips down again, this time trailing kisses down your collarbone. Then lower. He peppers slow, aching kisses across your chest, teasing the hem of your top with his free hand.

And then he sits up, straddling your hips, eyes practically burning.

“Can I tell you a secret?” he asks, and it’s a loaded question.

You nod.

He leans down, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “I jacked off to the thought of you the other night.”

Your breath catches—your whole body burns.

“After that text you sent,” he goes on, voice like velvet laced with sin. “You have no idea what you did to me. I read it once and couldn’t stop imagining it. You—whispering in my ear like that, all sweet and smug and filthy.”

He moves again, kisses dragging hot and slow down the slope of your neck, and then your chest, until he’s tugging your shirt up and over your head.

“I was in bed,” he murmurs. “One hand on my phone. The other…” He lets the implication hang, but his hand slips down your thigh, then up again, teasing, until your breath comes in sharp gasps.

“I was thinking about you,” he says. “About your voice. About what you’d look like straddling me, telling me what you wanted while I fucked up into you so slow.”

Your hips buck at that—and god, the smirk that pulls at his lips should be illegal.

He starts undressing you slowly, worshipping, like every piece he reveals is a treasure. “I need you,” he breathes, forehead pressed to yours. His voice is hoarse, eyes searching yours like he needs you to understand.

The kiss that follows is devastating—open-mouthed and hungry, a collision of breath and teeth and need. You’re clawing at his clothes like they personally offended you, yanking at the hem of his shirt with fumbling fingers and a frustrated groan.

“Off,” you hiss against his lips.

He laughs, breathless, tugging it over his head and tossing it aside, revealing smooth skin and defined muscle, the dip of his waist disappearing into those loose shorts you suddenly despise.

You push at them with impatient hands, and he grins—cocky, flushed, wrecked and loving every second of it. “Desperate, huh?” he teases, voice still husky from the kiss.

“You’re one to talk,” you shoot back, dragging your nails down his sides. “You’re not exactly subtle, loverboy.”

He’s all hands again then—roaming your body, trailing heat in their wake as he presses you down into the bed, lips never far from your skin. Every motion is frantic and reverent all at once, like he’s starving but determined to savor every inch of you.

You push at his chest gently, and he lets you, eyebrows raised in surprise as his back hits the mattress.

“Oh?” he breathes, propping himself up on his elbows. “Taking control now?”

“Didn’t you say I killed you the other night?” you murmur, crawling between his legs with a sly smile. “Figured I should finish the job.”

His eyes darken immediately—heat blooming in them so fast it’s dizzying. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

You do—because the second your hands slide up his thighs, he’s already sucking in a breath, already biting back a groan. His abs tense under your touch, his head tipping back as he watches you through lidded eyes, gaze glazed over with anticipation.

“You been thinking about this, ’Toru?” you ask softly, dragging your nails lightly along the waistband of his shorts.

He swallows thickly. “Every night.”

And when you finally tug his waistband down, your breath catches.

He's thick, long and heavy, flushed a pretty pink at the tip, and already straining toward you like he’s been waiting for this moment forever. Your mouth parts without thinking. You don’t even realize you’re staring until he lets out a shaky, nervous laugh. Your hands wrap around him and his hips instinctively buck upwards.

“Fuckfuckfuckfuck,” he mutters, voice gravelly.

He’s already gone—chest rising and falling in short, sharp breaths. His hands clutch the sheets when you lean in, letting your tongue flick across the swollen head, tasting him.

“Oh fuck—”

You take your time. You don’t give him all of it, not yet. You swirl your tongue around the tip, teasing the slit until he hisses between clenched teeth. He jolts when you lick a slow stripe along the underside, right at the base where it’s most sensitive, your fingers cradling him, gentle and thorough.

He groans—loud and raw—and you feel his hands fist the sheets tighter.

“You’re killing me,” he pants, head tipping back, voice nearly wrecked.

And still, you don’t rush. You bob your head slowly, steadily, sinking down deeper with each pass until his abs tighten and he moans—loud, desperate. You feel him twitch on your tongue, hear the soft, breathy curse that falls from his lips as you wrap your hand around him and roll your wrist just right. You squeeze his balls and he nearly sobs.

You glance up through your lashes, and the sight of him—head tossed back, jaw clenched, face flushed, his entire body shaking with restraint—is seared into your memory.

You don’t take your eyes off him, not even as you hollow your cheeks and take him deeper. He’s so close—you can feel it in the way his thighs tense, the way his breath stutters, the broken sound he makes when you moan around him.

“Fuck—baby, I’m gonna—”

You don’t stop. You want it. Want to see him fall apart. And he does, with a choked groan that rips out of his chest as he spills into your mouth, hot and thick. His hand flies to your hair, not to pull you away—but to keep you there, his hips giving the slightest jerk as he rides it out. You swallow it all only pulling off when he starts to twitch. And when you finally draw back, lips slick and chin damp, he looks completely undone.

“Holy shit,” he breathes, dazed.

You just smile sweetly and wipe the corner of your mouth with your thumb.

He’s still catching his breath when you go to pull back fully, smug and satisfied. “Mm-hm,” he hums, voice rough and curling with mischief. His hand catches your wrist, firm but gentle. “My turn, sweetheart.”

You blink. “Oh?”

Before you can tease him back, he moves—effortlessly. One arm wraps around your waist, the other plants on the bed, and in a single fluid motion he’s pulling you up, flipping you like you weigh nothing and settling you inches away from his face. You squeak—actually squeak—as your knees plant on either side of his head.

“Satoru—”

“Shh.” He grins, that ridiculous confident smirk plastered across his flushed face. “Sit, baby. Be good for me.”

He gives your ass a squeeze, encouraging, eyes gleaming up at you. You hesitate for half a second and he adds, voice dipped low and sinfully sweet,

“You got to have your fun.”

Then he pulls you down.

His mouth is on you immediately—hot and unrelenting. Tongue flicking, lips sealing around your clit as he groans like you taste better than anything he’s ever had. His hands grip your thighs, fingers digging into soft flesh, holding you there like he’s starving and you’re the feast. And when your hips twitch, instinctively trying to lift off—he drags you right back down.

“Oh no, sweetheart,” he murmurs against you, voice muffled and vibrating through your core, “I said sit.”

You’re braced against the headboard now, knees shaking, thighs clenched tight around his head as you grind down—slow at first, then faster, chasing that high with ragged breath and trembling limbs.

He’s not just letting you. He’s encouraging it.

Big hands grope your ass, fingers digging in, guiding you against his mouth like he wants you to lose it. His tongue moves with practiced precision, sucking and flicking, drawing soft whimpers and broken gasps from your lips as your body arches.

You glance down again and the sight nearly finishes you—his eyes half-lidded and dazed, cheeks flushed, hair a total mess from how many times you’ve tugged on it.

He looks wrecked. But he’s moaning like he’s in heaven. Like this is exactly where he wants to be.

And then he says it—muffled, half-choked, voice thick with lust and absolutely feral. “So fucking sweet.”

You grind harder, hips rolling, and he groans into you.

He doesn’t care if he can’t breathe. Doesn’t care if he’s dizzy. Doesn’t care if you’re seconds from suffocating him. He’s already decided this is how he wants to go out.

Buried between your thighs, mouth full of you, hands holding you down like you’re sacred.

And when you finally break—back arching, eyes fluttering shut, thighs clamping around his head as your orgasm crashes through you—he doesn’t stop. Not for a second.

He rides it out with you, tongue still moving, swallowing every sound you make.

When he finally lets go you collapse beside him, completely spent, your body still trembling in the aftermath. Your cheek presses into the pillow, breath catching in your throat as you try to come back to yourself. Satoru shifts next to you, propping himself up on one elbow. He brushes your hair back gently, eyes soft, and asks quietly,

“You okay?”

You nod, still catching your breath. “Yeah. Just—holy shit.”

He huffs a small laugh and leans down to kiss your shoulder, warm and unhurried. “Good.”

You feel him watching you for a second longer, like he’s making sure you’re really alright. You stretch out, boneless and warm, assuming this is the part where you both wind down.

But then his hand slides down your back.

You feel him shift behind you, and when you glance over your shoulder, his expression’s changed. Still gentle—but focused. Hungrier.

“You done?” he asks softly, voice right at your ear now.

You blink. “I… thought we were.”

He smiles, and it’s a little crooked, a little smug—but not cocky. Just him.

“Not even close.”

Before you can respond, his hands are on your hips, guiding you forward. You let him, moving onto your knees again, bracing your hands against the headboard as the mattress shifts beneath you. He settles behind you slowly, fingers trailing up your sides. The air changes—more intimate now, more intense.

“You okay like this?” he murmurs.

You nod.

“Good.” He kisses the back of your neck. “Hold on to something.”

He settles behind you again, one hand steady on your hip, the other guiding himself down. You feel the slow drag of him through your folds—warm, thick, and deliberate. You suck in a breath, hips twitching slightly. But he doesn’t press in. Just rocks forward enough to slide himself through you again. And again.

Your fingers curl tighter around the headboard. “…Satoru,” you breathe.

“Mhm?” His voice is low, calm. Way too calm for what he’s doing.

You try to push back into him, but he keeps you where he wants you—just a firm, gentle grip at your hip keeping you still.

He’s quiet for a moment. You glance over your shoulder and catch the look on his face: focused, a little tense, clearly feeling it—but taking his time anyway.

“You’re doing that on purpose,” you mutter.

A breath of a laugh leaves him. “Yeah. Kind of.”

Your forehead drops forward. “’Toru…”

He groans softly—just a little, like he’s trying not to—but doesn’t stop. Just drags himself over you again, slower now. “God, you feel good,” he mutters. “I just… give me a second.”

You shift again, needy and frustrated, and he finally stills behind you, tip resting right where you want him. You both freeze.

“…You okay?” he asks quietly.

You nod, exhaling hard. “Please.”

There’s a beat. And then he leans forward, lips brushing your shoulder, voice quiet and serious against your skin. “Yeah. I got you. Just spread ‘em a bit for me… yeah, that’s it.”

He eases in with that first, deep stroke—slow enough to feel every inch of him push through your walls. The stretch burns just a little, but the heat in your core blooms even hotter. He’s thick, heavy, and you feel every vein drag along your inner walls, textured and pulsing, making your whole body clench around him without thinking.

Behind you, Satoru groans—low and raw, like it’s dragging out of his chest. “God… you feel unreal,” he mutters, breath shaky.

He holds still once he’s fully inside, his hips pressed against the swell of your ass, his hand flexing on your waist like he’s trying not to move too fast. His cock twitches inside you and you gasp at how full you feel—your body stretched and throbbing around him, nerves lighting up from the inside out.

“Okay?” he murmurs, lips brushing the back of your shoulder.

You nod, voice barely there. “Yeah. Just—fuck, Satoru.”

He pulls out slow, almost all the way, and you feel every ridge of him drag against your soaked walls. Then he sinks back in with a soft grunt, and you swear you feel him throb again—your body squeezing around him on instinct.

The pace he sets is slow but deep, grinding into you just right, the friction steady and maddening. Your thighs are trembling already, your hands gripping the headboard like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

Every time he pushes in, his cock presses against that spongy spot deep inside you, and every time he pulls out, it’s this slow, deliberate scrape that leaves you gasping. There’s no space left between you—just wet heat and tension, pressure building with every stroke.

And then—his hand moves. Slides down from your waist, slipping between your legs, fingers finding your clit with no hesitation. The first pass is light, almost teasing.

You jolt. “Satoru—!”

“I got you,” he says quietly, like a promise. His thumb circles you, slow and tight, while his other hand braces your hip steady against him. And all the while, he keeps fucking into you—deeper now, rhythm starting to slip, strokes a little rougher, his breath coming harder against your skin.

“You feel so good around me,” he murmurs, thumb pressing down just a little harder. “So warm. So tight. You keep squeezing me like that, baby—fuck.”

Your whole body is shaking now, moaning helplessly as his fingers keep working your clit, dragging you closer and closer to the edge. Every stroke is slick, deep, devastating. You can hear the wet sounds of him sliding in and out of you, the soft slap of skin, his strained breathing—your own whimpers growing louder with every thrust.

The pressure builds sharp and fast, your body locking up as your orgasm crashes toward you—

And Satoru’s still going. Still thumbing your clit, still grinding his cock into you like he can’t get enough.

Your body tightens around him without warning, breath catching as the pleasure crests—sharp, blinding, unstoppable. You cry out, head dropping as your orgasm rips through you, muscles clenching so hard around his cock that it knocks the air out of both of you.

“Oh my—fuck, that’s it—” Satoru groans, stuttering inside you as your walls flutter and squeeze around him.

You’re still shaking, coming down from the high, when he slows—lets you ride it out, then carefully pulls out, the sudden emptiness making you gasp. You barely have time to blink before he’s flipping you onto your back like you weigh nothing.

He spreads your thighs open, throws your legs over his shoulders, and lines himself up again with a low, strained breath. His eyes meet yours—still soft, but blown wide, jaw tight with restraint. There’s nothing teasing left in him now.

He doesn’t ask this time. Doesn’t wait. He thrusts back in hard—deep—and keeps going.

No more slow buildup. No more holding back. Just relentless, steady drive—his hips snapping into yours over and over, the wet sound of skin meeting skin filling the room.

You gasp, fingers flying to his forearms as he leans over you, caging you in. His pace is brutal now, almost punishing, but it never stops feeling good—the angle perfect, the pressure hitting deep with every stroke.

“Satoru—” you sob, voice cracking.

He groans through gritted teeth, muscles tense, hips moving like he’s possessed. “You’re so—fucking—tight.”

You can barely think. Your legs tremble over his shoulders, body arching with every thrust, your orgasm still making aftershocks ripple through you.

He reaches down between you again, hand slipping to your clit like it’s second nature—his thumb moving in tight, fast circles that make your back arch off the bed. “You gonna give me another one?” he pants, voice rough and shaking. “Come on, sweetheart—I know you can.”

You don’t even answer. You can’t. The pressure’s already building again—too fast, too much, your body barely holding on as he keeps fucking into you like he’s been waiting for this all night.

You feel him twitch inside you, hear his breathing hitch—but he still doesn’t come. He’s chasing you again, driving into you like your pleasure is the only thing that matters.

You don’t know how he keeps going like this. His pace is ruthless, hips pistoning into you like he’s been starving for it—but it’s the focus that kills you. He’s watching every twitch in your body, every gasp, every time your walls flutter around him like he’s memorizing it.

Then he shifts—leans in until your knees are almost pinned to your chest, folding you in half under him. The new angle makes you cry out, his cock hitting impossibly deep, your body arching beneath the weight of him. “You feel that?” he breathes, voice rough and close to a growl now. “So deep inside you, baby. Just like this.”

And then—his mouth is on your chest. You gasp when he takes your nipple between his lips, tongue circling, sucking slow and steady while his hips never stop. The hot pull of his mouth makes your toes curl, especially when his free hand moves to palm your other breast—thumb brushing over the sensitive peak, fingers squeezing just enough to make you whimper.

It’s too much. You’re overstimulated—his cock still driving into you, thumb still tight and unrelenting on your clit, his mouth sucking, teasing, biting gently down before soothing with his tongue.

Pleasure spikes sharp and fast, and it’s not building—it’s crashing. Your entire body locks up as the heat inside you explodes again, white-hot and shattering, a sob wrenching out of your throat. “Fuck—Satoru—!” Your cunt clenches tight around him, waves of pleasure ripping through you, and he feels it. You feel him falter, his rhythm breaking as he groans like you’ve just knocked the wind out of him.

“Shit—fuck—fuck, I’m—,” he doesn’t even finish the sentence before he’s coming too, hips jerking as he spills inside you with a choked moan. You can feel him pulsing deep inside, every twitch of his cock matching the aftershocks still tearing through you.

He holds you tight through it, arms wrapped around your back, forehead pressed to your shoulder as you both shake through the comedown—nothing but breathless curses filling the room.

You don’t even realize your eyes have fluttered shut until you feel him shift, just a gentle repositioning of his weight as he carefully pulls out—slow, like he doesn’t want to hurt you. You wince, breath catching at the sting, and immediately his voice is there, low and warm in your ear. “Hey, you with me?”

You nod faintly, your body boneless, brain melted, heart still pounding. He kisses your shoulder—once, twice—and gently lowers your legs from where they’re still draped over him, massaging your thighs like he knows they’re trembling.

“Okay,” he murmurs. “I’ll be right back, yeah? Don’t move.”

You can’t even laugh at that. He gets up anyway, grabbing the closest towel and heading to the bathroom, still totally naked, completely unbothered. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror across the room—hair a mess, chest flushed, thighs shaking—and you groan, flopping back against the sheets.

By the time he returns, you’re still half out of it, and he just smiles, fond and lazy as he nudges your legs apart again. “Easy,” he whispers, wiping you down gently, taking his time like you’re made of glass now. “You did so good for me, baby. So fucking good.”

You sigh as he finishes, and the second he’s done, he tosses the towel and climbs back into bed with you—pulling you against his chest, arms wrapped tight around your waist like he’s anchoring himself. You melt into him, cheek pressed against his collarbone and he grabs your hand, intertwining your fingers, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

A pause. Then—“You’re unreal, you know that?” he murmurs. “I mean, I already knew, but—Jesus.”

You roll your eyes, lips twitching. “You’re just saying that ‘cause I made you come so hard you forgot your own name.”

“Sweetheart,” he says solemnly, “Don’t be mean.”

You laugh—tired, soft—and he smiles at the sound.

Then quieter: “You’re incredible.” He leans in, presses a kiss to your forehead.

You bury your face in his chest, heart warm and too full. “Stop being sweet,” you mumble.

“Never.” He grins.

You don’t say anything for a while. Just breathe—slow and steady—as his hand runs gently along your back, grounding you. The room’s quiet now, save for the soft hum of the city outside the window, and the faint rustle of sheets as you both settle into the aftermath. He shifts just enough to pull the blanket higher over the two of you, tucking you in without saying a word.

Your eyes are heavy, but you blink them open to look at him. He’s already watching you—messy hair, flushed cheeks, the ghost of a smile on his lips like he can’t quite believe you’re real.

“What?” you murmur, voice rough with sleep.

He shrugs a little, eyes soft. “Nothing. Just… you’re kinda perfect, y’know?”

You snort under your breath, too tired to fight it. “Don’t start.”

He chuckles, nose brushing your hair as he tucks you in closer. “I won’t. Promise.”

There’s a pause, just the two of you breathing in sync, his thumb stroking slow circles into your hip. “Stay here tonight,” he whispers.

“But ’Toru… we have class tomorrow.”

He groans dramatically into your skin. “Let’s bunk.”

You snort. “You say that every time.”

“Because it’s the right answer every time.” He lifts his head enough to look at you, hair sticking up in every direction, eyes still heavy-lidded but shamelessly clingy. “C’mon. It’s late. Just stay.”

You hesitate, even though you’re already leaning toward yes. He catches that and nudges his knee between yours, coaxing you closer.

“I’ll set an alarm,” he adds. “You can wear one of my shirts. I’ll even make you coffee in the morning.”

You huff a quiet laugh. “Are you trying to bribe me?”

He shrugs. “Didn’t think I had to.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re already settling in again, your cheek resting over his heartbeat. “Fine,” you murmur. “But if we oversleep, I’m blaming you.”

He hums, content. “That’s fair.”

So you stay like that—comfortable and a little too in love to care about anything. And with Satoru’s arms around you—his breath steady against your skin, his presence anchoring you—you drift off. No words needed. Just safe. Just held.

Perfect.

author's note. whoever started the nerdjo agenda, i owe you my firstborn child

please do not steal, modify, or translate my work.

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yoohyeon · 4 months ago

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I had an interaction with THAT friend and now my brain is going crazy 😭

#I’m this 👌 close of sending a message but I promise I would get better mentally before I talk to her by fear of acting the same way with her #the way that drove her away from me 😭#I know the door was open probably still is but I can’t do that to her if I think I may act the same way #BUT I’M SUFFERING I MISS HER SO MUCH #I know it won’t like before I don’t think we can ever become close again unfortunately but if I can have her back that’s one thing #that will make my life 10 times better even if I have to watch her be happy with someone else you know #I’m glad she’ happy be suffering from that is my own problem and I need to clear that before trying out at a friendship #but god I wish she woke up one day and send even just a hi 😭#but I don’t think she will ever dare do that #girl if you see that no you didn’t okay 👍 😭#cause it feels like whenever I say shit like that she’s online for the only time she is a year 😭 ckndkdmdmd #with this news I may come back more often because I need to calm down 😭😂#alex.txt

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syluses · 2 months ago

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𝄞 bloodhound

𓍯𓂃 hybrid sylus x female reader

(10k wc) ✦ summary: demanding, old, hostile— just a few of the warnings the man at the local shelter gave you before opening its cage. but it doesn’t matter. so long as he can protect you, all else can be forgiven. yet he’s more wolf than dog. more… man than wolf.

✦ content hybrid! sylus, nsfw/smut, hints of violence (not between mc/sylus), tension, kind of enemies to lovers-? he warms up to mc, knotting & adjusting to it, feral behavior, cunnilingus, slight somnophilia (not detailed), hinted age gap (all parties are 18+), possessive behavior, size difference,

✦ sidenote as by popular demand we have the latest installment of the lads hybrid collection 🙂‍↕️ i apologize in advance bc even as a wolf-man creature i made sylus older, because yall already know i love me a good ol’ fashioned dilf. dont ask me what bro is in dog years just know he’s scruffy! anyways do enjoy this lil thing while u wait for the caleb fic which i am busting my ass for :] 💕 ALSO sorry. he’s not feline this time… >_< this is def not my fav piece but i hope some of the girlies will like this one :] i did work hard on it it’s quite long. i gave it plot but tbh the smut is straight up filthy 😖 ig all we have left to do is hybrid rafayel! but that boy’s gonna have to wait lol :,) i do hav an idea for him tho ;D

With every step, it feels as if the walls of your apartment are closing in on you.

By your feet, at the front door you hardly have the coordination to close- blundering with the lock- lay a bouquet. Scattered. Flowers strew themselves across your hall as you kick the clasped bunch with the tip of your heel and glide from room to room, warily ducking into each one with your hand braced in front of your body, ready to beat and thrash and fight for your life.

In your other hand- a note. Crumpled, now. Shaking between your fingers.

You don’t think he’s gotten inside again- it seems the new home security measures you installed have thrown a wrench in his plans- for the moment, at least (although your spare key is still missing)- but you’re not wholly convinced you’re safe, either.

And to be clear, it’s better to be that than sorry: You’ll check each and every cranny of your little flat if it means reclaiming your peace of mind.

Your life is a different story though, as of late; threatened yet not something quite as simple to take back. Living with bated breath is no way to exist- neither with the perpetual looks thrown over your shoulder on the short trek back from the bus, the seemingly harmless creaks at night hurling you whole feet from your bed.

Because of that fear, you can hardly even bear to look down at the tiny paper in your hand to read it.

I loved that outfit on you yesterday babe. Can you blame me for taking a little from your wardrobe? ♡

Strangely, though, your drawer is just as you left it when you slide it from its framework almost fast enough to pop its screws, fearing the worst.

Clothes- your tee shirts, blouses for work and lacy bras, pencil skirts- fling across your bed, yet nothing is… amiss.

That outfit from yesterday.

With a gasp, you twist around to look at your hamper, and-

Sure enough, the lid is open.

✦

“-get a few new ones a week. Gets hard to keep up with ‘em all. All the personalities and quirks- a lot of them won’t even eat their kibble unless you look the other way.”

The cold brick walls and all the sounds bouncing off them (grunts, woofs, and nails against tile) become humdrum as the worker, waving a hand as he talks- rants, really- leads you through the pound.

The fluorescence lighting the place flares, whirs overhead. Everything about the setting is harsh. Obviously, you’re in no danger- but as you trail alongside him, you feel a sense of foreboding in your gut all the same. Like you’re walking into a dungeon.

The colorless walls swallowing up most of your vision make that silly threat seem an ounce realer.

You swallow, head on a swivel- yet not for fear, but sympathy as you pass an assortment of fenced-off pets. Some track you with a snarl. Some with eyes that plead. Still, they all share the undeniable tinge of distrust.

What an awful place, you think to yourself.

…But coming here had a purpose.

Your heels clip against the scratched floor and echo in rounds, a certain emptiness existing around you that seems misaligned with all the noise and sights.

Dogs in their cages— some upfront, teething at the metal, others: cowed to their corners, lying on thin blankets not quite as worse for wear.

To sum it up- creatures sapped of will. Defeated in life.

A distinct sorrow weighs in your chest, even as the employee happily drones on, a half-eaten tuna sandwich in one hand (the other: gesturing emphatically), hardly paying you any attention. To be fair, you’re giving him very little as well.

“-I mean, some don’t even eat at all. Picky things.”

Picky? You question quietly. Or without hunger? Their appetite for cheap, bagged kibble robbed right along with their appetite for life.

Your nails dent into your palm as you clench it.

It’s hard to get a word in edgewise as the man chatters away, but you manage to pile down your need to be polite for long enough to get in a:

Hey, excuse me, I asked what kind of dog you’d recommend for prot—

Clack, clack… Clack.

You come to a pause, dead-center in the walkway. The dull rhythm of his shoes remains where yours doesn’t.

“Heh. We got one a couple of months back who thinks this place is his own damn gourmet restaur-“

When he notices you’re not arm-to-arm, he, too, stops.

“Ma’am?” He turns.

“That one,” you breathe, just vaguely registering as the worker sidles up to you and glances at the cage you approach. The glint in your eye wins his interest.

For once since you entered the building, he shuts his mouth.

When he looks at ‘that one’ in question— a silver shock of fur, immersed in a shadow against the far wall— his eyes almost bulge from his skull.

A sharp laugh.

“Ah, little lady. Don’t wanna bite off more than you can chew, now. See-“

As he falls back into drivel (albeit, you lend an ear, curious now), you eye the pooch.

He looks a little wilder than the rest, a little more weathered, tucked to the corner of his cage but not quite ‘cowering’- no, he’s a touch too big and threatening for it to seem that way. More like… brooding.

…Yet you wonder all the same if that’s what he feels, too. Scared like most if not all of the others.

Your chest stirs again with that wisp of sadness.

If you could, you’d clip their collars to a leash and walk them all home, cramming them into your apartment with no thought and all heart. For reasons- countless reasons (having to do with your tiny home and even tinier wallet)- that’s not possible.

In a place as cold and unfortunate as this, he’d have every reason to be frightened, you think, but when your eyes soften with pity at him, his own narrow.

Thoughtfully, you blink.

As the worker rattles off his minor crimes around the playpen- and the hole he eats through their budget, what with his size- you can’t help but marvel at him.

Concerningly massive. With thick, silvery fur matted in certain areas, patchy with scars in others, and eyes that glow an unnatural shade of red- you can wholeheartedly say you’ve never seen the breed before. Less dog-like and more wolfish.

It warrants a raise of the brow, just what he’s doing here. Did he have an owner before? Was he abandoned by them? Or… was he just pulled from the street?

And if so, how many elephant-sized tranquilizer darts did it take to haul him here?

“So,” he says, stuffing his hand in his pockets, “Honestly, Ma’am, he’s probably not what you’re lookin’ for.” Giving your clacking heels and airy sundress a once-over, he sighs.

“We do have a Samoyed though- he was brought in just yesterday. Super playful. Great personality. Domesticated. He definitely won’t be here for long. Uh… this one here, though,” he snickers. “He’s unpredictable at the best of times. Growls when ya feed him- then growls some more ‘cause he’s still hungry... tsk,” he glances down at his hand, then. Evidently, there’s no mark there, but you think he’s imagining one that could’ve been.

“He’s on the older side, too. Can’t teach him any new tricks. And… big, as you can see. With his temperament, he’d probably tear a hole in your apartment. You, uh, you got an apartment, you said-?”

Right now, you should be thankful for all his advice- at the very least, relieved his chatter has become more meaningful, relaying all the pooch’s unruly habits. Yet you tune it all out, slightly cocking your head at the beast dog- a movement that, if you’re not imagining things, his scruffy one mirrors.

“He’s…”

“Yep. Like I said-“

“Perfect,” you breathe, falling to a crouch.

The man beside you coughs on his own spit. “What-? Uh, little lady, I seriously don’t think— hey, watch the hands! Don’t stick ‘em through!”

“-How much?”

You manage to pry your gaze from the ominous thing tucked a number of feet into his prison, cloaked and out of the light, to look up at the man. For all of the warnings and, really, defamation made against the animal— to his defense, he doesn’t lunge. Bark. Claw at the bars or slip his snout through to bite the harmless hand you extend in the space there.

No. With a lift of his whiskers, he watches.

Tuna-sandwich blinks. Eyes widening to twice their original size before he scrubs the lower half of his face.

Eventually, he shrugs. Takes a moment to process it.

As he does, you await the price with a hand already dipping inside your purse. I mean, you hope not to spend a small fortune during this outing- but it’s also an investment worth your while. There’s no saying when your stalker will show his face again. If tomorrow he’ll be waiting under your bed or in your closet for your return- hell, right now, the hackles on your neck are raised as if he could be lurking still.

A word relieves you of worries for naught.

“Nothing.”

…Wait- No, that can’t be right. Nothing? The- your future good boy is worth nothing?

“E-Excuse me?”

He sighs, exasperated. “You’d be doing us a favor,” is all he gives as an explanation. “You can have him for free.”

Dumbfounded, snapping your head back to the cage, you’re met with two crimson eyes that look almost hellish as they catch in the shifting fluorescence- and a pass of surprise on its face that appears almost… human.

“But, are you-“

“Haaaaah. Maybe it’s for the better. You’re like his savior, you know,” he comments, sparing a rather indifferent glance to the animal, “he oughta be thankful for you coming in here.”

And there, fucking again- like a blade wedged between your ribs and twisting—

“Too much longer and we would’a had to put him down.”

A squeeze of your heart.

Jaw fluttering shut, that morsel of information wipes the entirety of your hesitance out. Belatedly, you nod, perching your bag above your hip once more, a sense of determination smoothing out your features.

“When can we get him out of this cage?”

You ask without looking his way.

The sound of keys jingling on a ring has the silver-furred creature perking his left ear ever so slightly- a movement you track with curiosity as the beast’s chest swells in. It’s like he understands. Maybe he does. Maybe he’s seen countless people just like you filter in and out, pass him by, and ultimately land on a different pet to jailbreak take home.

“I can get you sorted right now,” he quips, helpful, “Just… You might wanna back up.”

Weirdly enough- and despite knowing you really should be cautious with a veritable beast from the local shelter, scarred to no end and skulking- all the tiptoeing around him is endearing in its own right.

He’s a good boy, you’re sure of it. Misunderstood, probably, like the rest of the poor, trembling things here— just in need of a nice, loving home and maybe a scritch or two behind the ear. And you’re positive, if nothing else, he’ll do plenty a good job at keeping your stalker at bay.

It takes a handful of minutes to loop the rope (not leash: rope) around his neck- yet the worker treats it as a pleasant surprise, muttering something about how he’s just a whit more cooperative today.

“Thank you,” you chime a bit breathlessly. Sure, your main goal in coming here was to find a suitable guard dog, but you can’t deny the excitement that flutters within as the gate closes to a now-empty cage, your new pet springing free.

Anticipation thrums in your chest as you eagerly accept the rope from him- “careful,” a snigger- and—

The ground beneath you all but gives way.

“Oh, sir- one more thing! What’s his name!”

He stops for a moment to turn halfway over his shoulder. Long, overgrown nails skittering across the floor as the leash tugs harshly and you’re rapidly propelled out the front door, into sunlight.

However, you do catch him shrugging.

“No clue.”

✦

A number of days pass. Those days drag by with an eagerness to get to know each other that seems only one-sided- and a caution on his end that borders uncanniness.

You buy him a fluffy dog bed (the biggest you could find; he’s bigger still). Quality food, not the rubbish they fed him at the pound. And you give him your patience; small, gentle smiles that you’re not entirely sure an animal can understand— but when you offer out your hand for him to smell, a sign that you mean no harm, he growls and retreats to his corner. He chooses one part of your tiny apartment to hunker down in and outright glares when you get too close.

This is your house.

This… was your house. Maybe you’ve bitten off more than you can chew. As a week moves on, you concede to your bedroom or the sofa and watch him with resignation as he watches you back- and contemplate if you made the right choice.

Does he seriously hate you that bad? How can you make him understand that you don’t harbor any bad intentions for him-? I mean, aren’t animals supposed to have that preternatural kind of instinct anyway? to spot malice?

What is he spotting in you?

Curled up on the couch, you hang your hand off the arm and release the new brush you’d bought days ago. It’s seeming more and more like a useless purchase, yet after countless attempts to bathe and brush him- all for naught- it’s only now starting to settle.

Work was long. That one coworker was grating on your nerves more than usual and you could’ve sworn you heard a second pair of footfalls trailing yours after the bus back- but you can only look over your shoulder so many times without attracting the attention of people who start to wonder if you’re batshit crazy.

But you're not crazy. That- That psychopath is, and his countless notes and uninvited visits to your apartment while you’re gone are all proofs of that.

But that’s changed, now. If your dog hates you, he’ll hate an intruder even more.

You sigh, holding your head in your hands as you lean forward. Like a flower wilted, folded in on itself, too heavy with its withering to support its own weight. You rub your temples when you grudgingly glance up to the wolf-sized beast sulking in the corner.

He stares, of course; buttery light twinkling in imposing, ruby eyes in a way that almost makes him seem tame. Mellow.

Not quite.

Still, you can’t bring yourself to dislike him, or regret taking him off the pound’s hands— for all his stubbornness, the hostility he barely conceals, you know all too well that fear manifests itself in strange ways. Like when you almost snarled at your deskmate today for leaning over your shoulder again to review your work- the proximity too startling to handle. You’re irate. On alert. Scared. And it’s making you do unreasonable things as a way to calcify your soft skin into a protective shell. You start to think that you must be hard: the climate calls for it.

The mutt that broods behind your armchair is the picture of ominous- big and bad and threatening long before his lip even curls in warning. Everything about him screams see, look at my scars- my sharp teeth and nails. Don’t touch me. Don’t hurt me.

Your heart stirs.

Tiredly, you offer a small smile. “You are perfect, you know,” folding your leg over the other as you pat the open space of the couch beside you. It can fit four to six people if they cram together, but you know he’d take up the three cushions beside you if he sprawled out entirely.

He regards you with a microscopic flick of his ears. “Even if you don’t like me, that doesn’t change what I think about you. If you just let me give you a bath… I’ll let you sit on the couch, deal? I’m sure it’ll be comfier than what you got now,” you offer, gesturing harmlessly to the dog bed that lays unused by the table— for this reason or that, perhaps just as a way to show you he’s completely rejecting you, he’s avoided it.

Yes, he’s just a tatterdamelion, forgotten animal, operating out of instinct and whatever feels right.

Yes, you still had to mask your hurt over it.

You sigh. “I mean, I haven’t even thought of a name for you yet. And I’m sorry, I just…” Trailing off, you give your head a small shake and stand to your feet. In your mind, with no small amount of discontent, you realize you’ve reached a watershed here— one that separates your old, normal life from a sense of great uncertainty that rests on the horizon.

And you’re terribly concerned. And tired. But God forbid you start venting to a dog about it.

“Nevermind. Goodnight, boy,” you wave your doubts off dismissively, deliberately leaving the lamplight on lest he get scared in the dark. Sometimes, you think you see eyes staring back in it, too, so you put no judgement on him.

Pattering with heavy, sock-clad feet down the hall, “Sleep tight. Just tell me if you hear anything at the door-“

A labored sigh.

Nails clacking behind you— and for one awful second you fear the worst: You’ve turned your back to a beast.

Your breath hitches with the realization, yet as you swiftly spin around- half prepared to bolt or at the very least shield your head with your vulnerable, just as fleshy arms- you’re mistaken.

There, he stands, as a massive silhouette against the living room light angling into the narrow, dim hall. He’s like a bull in a china shop- monstrous, sharp claws etching lines into the lacquer of the maple wood floor, his tail sending fur gusting behind him as it falls. You become clear of two things, then:

One) you must sweep, and soon. And two)

He’s tilting his head- in an uncannily shrewd way- towards the ajar bathroom door beside you, and as he noses it open and stares at you, it’s with expectance.

Oh, and then three—

When you don’t respond right away, he steps around you and impatiently nudges you in- headstrong as ever- through the bathroom door with a throaty huff.

✦

He smells of strawberry shortcake. Vastly sweeter than what he really is, you think with a wry but endeared smile, when you extend a slow, ever-cautious hand to pet.

To your surprise, he lets you.

Call it a truce between you both. A comfier place for him to crash at for a little more peace of mind on your end.

With all the dirt and dried muck lathered out from his coat (it took an hour or so, and patience- as he flung water and stubbornly tried to readjust in the small tub- lots of it), you’re given the chance to finally see the beauty of his breed.

Chalky white fur, soft as the cashmere sweater stowed in your closet on standby for the chilly autumn weeks ahead. His hair is long, perhaps overdue for a trim- not that you’re deluded enough to believe he’d allow a groomer anywhere near him- and easily covers most of the scarring underneath.

Convincing him it was safe to let you clip his nails was an even harder task than getting him in the bath- but he… cooperated. In a looser sense of the word.

None of your limbs are missing. That’s a small miracle in itself. You’re thankful for the little breakthroughs with your new pet, even if it feels like you’re walking uphill all the while.

He hops up on the sofa beside you. True to your word, you allow it, the springs dipping beneath you both as he settles.

If the couch fell through the floor and onto the one below in a mist of crumbled drywall, you’d have no right to be surprised. None at all.

Trying not to show a fraction of your joy as he sets his head on your lap lest that deter him, you bite back a grin and rest a hand on his back. You avoid needless contact with his head- you get the feeling that’s a iffier place for him. You’d respect it, of course. Your show of patience has been nothing less than outstanding in the past week. Now that you’re finally making headway with him (and yes— his letting you bathe and sit with him is headway), you’re encouraged.

Besides…

Unpredictable. The forbidding advice of the shelter employee rings in your head.

Ahem.

It’s late.

Tomorrow, you’ve another long day of work and second-guessing your surroundings and the people in them. Whether or not you’ll be attacked in your own home by your persistent ex-boyfriend who couldn’t stop meddling with your life even if it meant saving his own.

The doubt, momentarily, is pushed to the back burner.

You smooth your hands through his velvety fur. A strange layer of peace drapes itself over you, warming your chest like a fleece as his back rises and falls, your quiet breaths punctuating his own heaving ones.

“You’re a good boy, you know,” you murmur contentedly as you lay your head back and drift off. A crimson set of eyes regards you carefully, peering up through fine, snowy lashes.

From the barrel of his chest, he lets out a deep rumble like he understands. You know he doesn’t.

Half awake, you weave your fingers along him, “You are. You are a good boy,” as if it’s come as an epiphany to you- made realer as it’s spoken.

Before you let sleep take you entirely, you murmur with a ghost of a grin, teasing despite knowing it’s ridiculous because your words aren’t coherent to him- just a swooning, soft sound to bitten ears—

“Hey… I could tell you didn’t really like Cookie, or Sweetie, or Dragonfruit, but… what about…”

A moment passes. Barely, you register his snout lifting from your thigh.

“Sylus.”

Before dozing off, you’re fairly certain- for his sake- you’d left the lamp on that night.

…But when you wake the next morning to your alarm blaring in the room over, all that lights the living space is the sun streaming through the blinds.

✦

You blink and autumn is in full throttle.

You blink and you’re trading your thin sleep shorts out for pajama pants and slippers- layering your work blouses with wooly cardigans.

Days leap over one another like cards of a rolodex— yours, on your cubicle desk: filled with doodles of the unruly pooch waiting at home for you. Idling over him is all that you can do to ease your mind as anxiety gnaws through.

You worry for him when he’s home alone. Not because you heed the warnings you were once given- ‘he’ll tear a hole in your walls’- but because you care for him, and with that brings the inexplicable want to see him as soon as possible.

Of course, he can’t speak, but he shows in his own way that he misses you too when you’re gone.

Once your shift ends, you do as you did the day before. You quickly take the jacket off your wheely chair and gather your things, waving to the select few coworkers who don’t make you want to rip your hair from the root.

Perhaps if you’re quick enough, you’ll even make it off the bus, to your complex, before the sun sets. You appreciate fall for its colors. Not for the darkness it brings far too early to be comfortable with.

Every alley appears with teeth, in those eerily quiet moments when you make the short trek back home. Cars purr beside you on the congested roads, and despite cursing traffic on the ride to your stop, you’re grateful for it now.

At least more people are out; potential buffers to stave off your crazy ex from putting his hands on you…

Potential witnesses if he does.

Damnit. Damnit damnit damnit. Every evening you can’t help but wish you could just- take Sylus with you to work. But for so many reasons that’s just not possible.

Stuffing your hands in your pockets, you breathe out a fine mist and pick up the pace.

You can’t escape dusk from falling- but you can take advantage of the early moments of it right before night comes swinging.

You nervously glance up to the sky, a fiery swatch of orange sat under starry blue, and tell yourself it’s fine.

…It’s fine- and yet you swear on all things holy you can hear boots pacing behind yours—

A gasp. You turn around and get ready to rip your pepper pray from the scabbard that is your pocket- for naught. Emptiness greets you. Sneering and quiet. In the distance, deeper into the city, a car honks. Where you are now though, you’re more or less alone.

You wet your lip where it’s dented from biting. You turn around, and press back on.

It’s okay. You’re almost home. Just a bit further. Within ten minutes you’ll be crooning to your ‘puppy’ and itching behind his ear while he rigidly thumps his tail, closing his eyes indifferently as if he wasn’t hurrying to the door as soon as he heard the lock.

Yes, that’s right. In ten minutes- on the dot (you know because you’re toying with your watch to calm yourself)- you’ll be slipping off your jacket and refilling his water bowl, tossing him scraps as you prepare a nice steak dinner in celebration of your weekend commencing. The fancy wine you’ll pair with it is to help wash it all down and pretend you’re financially better off than you are. Not to help your nerves.

…Even Sylus, the creature who doesn’t understand you even if sometimes it seems he unexplainably does, would be hard-pressed to believe such a feeble lie.

Clack. Clack. Clack.

Your heels. A dull, monotonous rhythm against pavement, one you relish now because it fills the crisp, silent air.

Then-

Tap tap tap.

Your heels- “Hey baby, wait up- where ya going?”- with the sound of another and the bone-chilling revelation that every suspicion you had was grounded—

You don’t even turn around. You don’t reason with, stick up the bird to, or even hastily shout a fuck off, creep, over your shoulder because you’re not sure you have the luxury to.

By the sounds of it, he’s already close.

“Oh no you don’t. Come on, baby, just let me fuckin’ talk to you!”

-Closer and gaining still.

Fear rattles through you. It goes from zero to one hundred in a breath- yet how to breathe becomes a distant memory as your lungs still. The pulse in your throat drums, and suddenly your cardigan isn’t enough to save you from the ice eating you from the inside out- a cold sweat already forming at your nape.

You’re in such a panic you even forget about the spray in your pocket- the assortment of makeshift blades (keys, pens that grow knives when you click them) tucked in your purse. You have a small arsenal in there. Yet your mind spins.

“Stop-! I haven’t even been able to visit you lately because of that fucking asshole- since when you’d get a new boyfriend, baby? Do you really not care about me anymore? I just wanna talk!”

No. No no no- and new boyfriend? What-? All thought is dashed from your brain, his hollers becoming static. No, just ignore him, it doesn’t matter what nonsense he spouts to try and get you back- you won’t so much as glance behind you. After all he’s done to hurt and twist and outright disgrace you and your home, you don’t think he deserves it.

You break into a sprint. The concrete path pushes beneath you. You feel like you’re running in a dream, you’re so terrified- but you do run. You run like hell. You run like a girl.

You fiddle for the key in your purse, shaking as the door opens and you slam it behind you. His hand almost gets stuck in it, the knob jiggling loudly just a millisecond after you lock it.

As the reality of what could’ve been settles, you’re horrified. Cold in the face.

Sylus is there, leaping over to reach you. You wonder if the fury you catch in his wide ruby eyes is your imagination or reality; if he has the inexplicable knowing- based on your frazzled state or the noise- that something is terribly wrong.

“Sylus-“

You breathe with relief, but you don’t linger. You skitter past to the kitchen for a weapon- a real, proper one. A snarl rips from his throat as you leave him behind you, shouts sounding in the hallway behind your door. He barks at it. Ferocious and lupine. Surely not the make of a dog, of a pet meant for four walls and a roof— no, it’s a separate beast entirely.

Hostile, unpredictable, growly- dangerous. Oh, you’ve no choice but to hope all the labels on his package are true. That he’ll rip your ex-boyfriend a new one if he finds a way in.

Hyperventilating, limbs like jelly, you stagger over. In the short span of time it takes you to turn out the kitchen and down the corridor, you contemplate either opening the door and saying go boy, go— or simply staying back to ‘defend.’

You turn the corner and blanche.

Someone’s in your house- not the creeping, painfully familiar face, however, no- and he’s naked.

And then, everything you’d been working so hard to build with your froward pet over the months, the foundation of trust and patience, the hard-earned truce made between you both… As red eyes flash at you in warning, a hand taking the shaking knife from your own before he opens the door— it all shifts.

The bottom falls through.

The man opens the door, and perhaps you should be thankful that he takes the squabble outside because you’re sure that the blood spraying from your ex-boyfriend’s nose as it breaks would be impossible to scrub from your walls.

✦

“Relax,” he grouses with a tsk, “I’m not gonna bite.”

With split knuckles, a long leg crossed over the other where he sits on your couch, canines just a little too sharp as they catch in the lamplight- that’s hard to believe.

The blade he’d taken from your hands lies on the cushion beside him, and while you don’t make a grab for it, you think he sees the way you eye it- and the knife block in the kitchen- as you clench your fist to keep yourself from fainting while you gawk.

“Y-You’re not my dog.”

One of his brows lifts with amusement- or challenge, perhaps- as you deny the truth laid out before you. It’s impossible. Of course it’s impossible. He-

That can’t be Sylus.

For a moment you believe he’ll agree. Nod his head and say, no, I’m not your dog- I’m a person; because that’s certainly how he looks. But he doesn’t.

“I simply changed forms,” he explains. “Not who I am to you.”

With nothing else to say- no real rebuttal- you can only flounder. “N-No. You’re not Sylus.”

That pulls a soft huff from him, “Oh, kitten,” he grins a tenuous grin, “I’m wounded. And here I thought your kindness had no takebacks. You gave me that name, didn’t you? Sylus.” He sighs, a heavy, affected sound- like this is no more than a theater play to him as he adjusts on your sofa.

“I guess I’ll just have to settle for something else, then… Is Dragonfruit still up for grabs?”

D-Dragonfruit? How does he…

The way he looks at you then, with a lift of his chin as he angles his brow in provocation, a smirk only touching half his mouth- makes you freeze. The little hairs on your nape rise.

…Yet he’s just as scarred as your pet, with the silver hair and the gemstone eyes— massive, over six foot tall and muscular- and the air about him is… familiar. Too much to be comfortable with.

“Y-You’re not-“

Before you can splutter out another denial, he sighs and drops the bravado. He spares the weapon beside him a dismissive glance, stretching one arm across the back of the couch.

“Look, if you don’t believe me, that’s your choice. I won’t try to convince you,” he states, “I’ll just let my actions speak for themselves in the course of the next few days.”

…What? The next few days? Does he plan to stay? What- no. No no no! This mysterious, albeit helpful stranger (helpful in the way that he shook your persistent ex from your doorstep- through violent means, of course) can’t seriously think you’ll just let him crash at your place after feeding you such a ridiculous lie. He’s not your dog. He’s- he’s not some werewolf that can shapeshift on a whim- those only exist in fairytales and teenage romance novels.

Not in your tiny apartment.

“N-No. You- you’re crazy. You have to leave. You have to! I’ll- I’ll call the cops!”

Not-Sylus seems unfazed. Perhaps even a little offended at your bluffing: the vehemence is there. But the certainty is not.

Sure, the department wasn’t having your stalker drama- but an intrusion you’re actually witnessing like this can’t be easily ignored. If your crappy ex ends up snitching (you doubt it, what with his involvement)- all the more evidence, right?

He all but rolls his eyes, saying like it’s obvious, perhaps even with a mite of amusement, “I’m on your side, kitten. Don’t get all…” he looks you up and down, and you hate the flutter of your heart that’s more than just fearful— it’s self-conscious. “Hissy now.”

You punch out a scoff of disbelief. “You’re some stranger in my house! Look- I appreciate what you did, okay? I really do,” you start. You have to pause in between to take a breath because God knows you mean the words you say- you’re just inwardly afraid that the fix was only quick, not permanent, and with the sudden disappearance of your dog? Good luck protecting yourself now. Fuck, you don’t even know where he went- maybe he booked it out through the door when you were too distracted by the chaos to notice.

But then… why the hell would he leave? He- He’s never done that until now!

You rub your face and stare at him. The fear lends itself to a distant echo the more you realize you’re no longer in immediate danger. The guy is an unwelcome (and flashy, literally) intruder, yes, one your pooch would waste no time in maiming, but he’s not an active threat... You just have to figure out how to get him to leave.

“But my dog is a dog. Not a human. Not… you.” That you even have to say it out loud is ridiculous.

Even if, the longer you stare, the more you begin to believe it.

The scarred skin, the unmistakable, red eyes, and the somewhat bitten ears- his body weathered from what you suspect to be years of tussling in underground fights (evidently: winning them, not without the cost though)…

And that arrogant little air he carries with him, the one that first endeared you so.

Sylus, it all says.

But no. No- this is insane. Months of being stalked and living like a bug under a microscope have made you worse for wear. Impaired your judgment.

He draws you back to the present with his rumbling voice. “Your dog is more than just some animal,” he huffs. “Don’t tell me after all you’ve experienced with the stalker that you’re… frightened of this side of me? Really? Of all things?” His chuckle is as rich as it is short as he shakes his head.

Frightened? No… that becomes a more distant word. You’re more so stunned than anything else right now as the pieces start to fall in alignment with each other.

“Well, how about this,” he offers at your silence, waving his hand. “Let the week pass. By the end of it, you can decide for yourself if I’m real or truly just a figment of your imagination, sweetheart… You…” he lowers his gaze, then. Uncertain, almost.

“You can even decide if you want me to stay.”

He rubs nothing between his fingers, glancing up again with a pointed brow. “Deal?”

And if you say no? If, on the off chance you’re wrong and you kick him right back to the curb- to a sorry life of abandonment and bloody illegal brawls and God knows what else?

Your mouth wavers. “I- I don’t believe it.”

You do believe it. But it’s crazy.

He almost snorts. “You’d better start. But with that pest taken care of now… I think you’ll catch on quite fast,” he grins. “I’m here for you, kitten. Isn’t that what you wanted me for? Protection? Don’t tell me once I serve my use you’ll throw me out?” He laughs. But then he sighs right after, pursing his lips and looking down to his lap where he makes no effort to adjust the thin blanket that covers his nakedness as it nearly slips.

Headstrong. Cocksure. Bored with his surroundings in a way only mature folk really tend to be. The sage advice of that employee flashes in your mind— ‘he’s on the older side, so naturally he’s a bit grumpy, snippy’; really, you shouldn’t gasp at his temperament but with your current situation it’s a little hard not to when he clips out-

“So? Do we have a deal or not?”

And, well, what’s the harm in giving him your couch for one night?

Or several.

✦

A wintry chill pricks up your neck. Along your arms. Down your limbs where they bundle beneath the covers- to the tips of your toes as you respond with a shiver.

It rattles you in tandem with pleasure.

Upon waking, a few things blitz through your mind too fast to catch. For one, you’ve woken before your alarm- meaning you’ll be miserable in the minutes or hours of consciousness before it actually does go off. Secondly, the bed feels heavier.

…As do your bones.

Third— Sylus is not on the couch like he’s been for the past few months. He’s with you, in the comfort of your own bed, and as the wooly blanket slips down your upper half- leaving you to the cold air- it reveals to you a head between your thighs.

Pried open. One held up for a soft kiss while the other is pinned down— both wet. Sticky with- with you.

You gasp. “Sylus-“

You’ve no time to even rub the sleep from your eyes, big weathered hands anchoring you in place, because he lifts his head from his plate for a millisecond when you try to stop him and does something he hasn’t for months.

He snarls.

“Quiet. I’m eating.”

Protective. Territorial. That isn’t your pussy he eats from, lapping fervently at it as if it wasn’t just a number of hours ago you were hand-feeding him steak cubes from the cutting tray— no, it’s his.

He blocks your hand from interfering when it slips beneath the cover. So when that doesn’t work, you attempt to clamp your legs shut (quavering, you realize, on either side of his lupine face). All your efforts- bogged by sleep and the simple fact that he was leagues stronger- are for naught.

‘Good try’, his eyes seem to tease, though, glittering devilishly at you as his tongue flicks your clit. And then, when you hesitantly lie back and rest a hand in his hair- ‘that’s it, kitten.’

“Good girl,” he practically purrs.

He’s got a big appetite. You’ve known that.

Not as much as you do right now.

“Sylus, wait wait wait,” you moan. Life has thrown so much your way, especially in the past year or so, but you never went belly-up for it. You fought and resisted and squared up.

But right now, half of you almost wants to take him lying down- let him take his fill of you and then pin you down to take some more. Let him have his way with you, whatever that may entail.

But you- You have work tomorrow, and- and responsibilities—

“Hush,” he goes, voice muffled, having some preternatural ability to tell just what you’re thinking. He drifts a hand up your belly to splay over the valley of your breast. Your heart thumps beneath his callous palm like a metronome. Like a ticking clock, counting down the seconds or hours before you need to get up and get ready. Start a day in which you leave home, leave Sylus, and spend the rest of it longing to get back.

“Just take the day off.”

Grudgingly, you lie your head back. It’s… not a great idea, but as your rationale clouds, it seems like your best one.

“O-Okay.”

As a hot, long tongue stripes up your pussy and then his other hand, the one he used to comfort you in his own weird way, slinks downward again- the ceiling becomes too boring to bear.

So you glance down.

He’s handsome as all get out. Really, a couple months ago when he first appeared to you as a human, that was all you could think as days passed and you became grossly aware that you were sharing a confined space with a man. That you had been all along— and your prancing around the apartment half-naked was just one of the countless spectacles he’d seen.

He never pounced, though. Never lunged. Never bit you like a dog or hurt you like a man, even when every bit of his crude exterior screamed hazardous. He was a good boy. And you don’t care what form he takes; he took you as you are, didn’t he? When you were scared of your own shadow and a little snippy because of it. He let you hold the leash to his heart and snarled at anything that came too close- protected you against your piece of crap ex without prompting. Turned your fear into a mellow thing.

Warmth prods at your heart. Loosens your legs up where they clench around his head.

That day at the pound turns in your memory like a spindle.

You could’ve lost him. He- He could’ve been gone forever hadn’t you showed.

…But you did show. For the shitty time you’d been having, Sylus was your one silver lining. You were there for each other as a shoulder to lean on and a hand to hold.

Your fingers tug gently on his scalp. Fruity shampoo breathes out from the blanket when you flip it over his head to allow him better access. Nerves eat you from the inside out. You’ve seen the looks, the hungering glances and felt the fingertips that linger in seemingly innocent touches:

Finally experiencing the culmination of his quiet longing is a whole different game, though.

Slurps ring out from your thighs. Your sighing, candied words- spoken in that ridiculous tone reserved only for him- make his ears perk atop his head.

“Good boy,” you breathe. “Y-You’re perfect.”

He rewards your obedience with a finger, thick and delightful. You gasp and arch your back into his hands- or, his one hand- a throaty moan rippling from his open mouth. The several little muscles in his face go lax when you coyly guide him deeper into your cunt and he melts.

“You taste delicious,” he whispers. “Sweet girl. I can-“ a deep, shivering inhale. Not from you- from him. “I can smell how much you want it…. You’re soaked.”

You mewl his name and almost reach full relaxation ‘til you glance back down and, with the covers off, spot where his other hand disappears. He’s naked- not in the boxer briefs and sweatpants you’d bid him goodnight in- and holds his fat, upright cock in his hand.

And his hand is big. Can dwarf every part of you with its hold.

His cock is somehow bigger.

Your heart leaps from your chest as he eyes you. He’s daunting. Every bit intimidating and then some- especially as you realize he won’t be just content with kitten licking your pussy, delicious as it is, and ending the intimate moment right afterward.

Dogs will always take the bowl if you slide them one: and then look to you later for seconds.

Point is- he’s insatiable.

You shiver as raunchy images flash in your brain— rough fingers pinning back your thighs as he rams inside you, setting a relentless pace as he bites and sucks and claims.

In your imagination, he doesn’t pull out when he comes.

…What really takes your breath is the engorged knot at the base of him, though, flushed an impatient red. Fattening by the second.

Cum- not pre- dribbles from the tip. For how long he’s been at this, you don’t know.

“Sylus-!” You mean to shriek it, but you can only manage a whispering scream. “Wait, wait, wait! what do you have in your hand-!“

A grin plays at his lips. Crooked, recalcitrant.

Challenging.

He’s hardly lucid, what with the delicious heat emanating from the slick lips he stuffs a second finger in, to acknowledge your question, so it’s surprising when he pulls back a centimeter to make an answer. Lust grips him tight— the need to fuck and take and mount— but that concerned, cute little bump in your brow is one he wants to smooth.

It’s the least he can do.

“Take a guess,” he sussurates, licking slowly up your inner thigh. Torturing you. “It’ll be in yours soon though, kitten, so get ready.”

Your eyes bulge from your skull.

His response: a low chuckle paired with a moan.

From that point on, even as he suckles expertly at your puffy clit, working you to a sniveling mess as you scream on his fingers, you’re focused entirely on what he’s doing below the blanket. He palms at himself- it’s all he can do to relieve the ache as he wrestles with his fraying self-control- massaging his balls and knot as they throb.

When he withdraws his digits from you, eyes drooping at the cream coating his knuckles before fluttering back at the taste of it— you lie back down and gulp.

Taking work off today is a good idea. You can already think of a few excuses. Not being able to walk properly is one of them. Being unable to get out of bed… Feeling so sore and feverish after he’s fucked you into pyrexia that you can’t even move an inch without being reminded of it.

He straightens. The cover slips off him entirely and he’s tall. Hulking. Painting you in his shadow- but the moonlight brings out the sheer hunger on his face, and you alight with warmth all over again.

You hope he’s primed you. You pray he’s done good to prepare you for what’s to come. Because oh, it’s coming. You know that.

“Now,” he heaves, dragging your legs either side of him as he kneels. You can tell he’s not well off, trying to muster a cocksure grin but failing as he perspires at the temple. “To the good part.”

You frown at that, almost- a pang of hurt weaving through the haze of desire and the smell of your musk on his fingers as he licks them clean again, ever thorough. He notes the flicker of your brow with a thoughtful pause and then a sigh, shaking his head as he grabs your jaw and angles his front down.

He chuckles, and you experience a singular flash of softness when he goes, “Oh, so sensitive… Don’t pout. I thoroughly enjoyed the opening too, kitten.”

You’re shaking. Insides molten with the pure want for him to just- to just do something already. There’s no opportunity to come down from your high because you feel his cock bob against your tummy as he sets himself up, and you burn anew.

Oh, you love him. You really do. He’s endearing in all the places he shouldn’t be. He’s charming and strong and willing to fight for you. So you don’t care if he’s a little old and slow on the uptake when it comes to new tricks- territorial and intimidating. He’s yours.

Eyes half open, you lift your hands to trail from his pecs to his firm, scarred belly. With a hiss, he trembles. Catches your wrists and tuts at you a second later, saying, “It’s better to keep those at your side. Once you get me going, I won’t be easy to stop.”

And you’d be half tempted to tease him some more, you know, but fuck if he isn’t massive. And fuck if you aren’t a little scared for it.

So you clutch the sheets as he drives himself inside with a grunt, and settle below him. You trust he’ll take care of you.

The entrance is, at first, surprisingly smooth, what with the natural lube you’ve provided for him. You let him lift your ass and bend you into a bow-shaped thing so he can hit deeper- and that’s when there’s some turbulence.

Your fingers curl into the cotton fabric. You brace and wait for the sting to subside. When you realize your eyes are clamped shut, though, you open them to see his expression and pall at the sight of him.

He’s gorgeous. Even when he looks like he’s ready to sneeze- brow scrunched and jaw slack as he dragoons himself inside, tormentingly slow- he’s nothing less than charming through your lens. But you’re thankful for the time he gives you to adjust because you need it.

Frankly, if he intends to put his knot inside— and he fucking won’t, there’s just no way— the walls of your pussy need the patience on his end.

For several seconds, Sylus does not breathe. You’re sizzling hot; when he eventually bottoms out, he can’t tell where he starts and you end- all he knows is that it’s gooey and warm and so fucking tight his balls throb. He deliquesces between your thighs. You welcome him, your body like a landing pad.

He supposes, right then, you’ve always been very hospitable.

Sylus curses. “Ngh, you’re tight... Loosen up,” he presses his forehead to yours and hisses out through his teeth. His eyes glitter like rhodolite in the dark. Reverent hands run down your side and clasp your hip. With your slick still coating his lips- tangy sweet, you find, as he presses them to yours- you realize he’s worshipful. The moonlight pouring in the blinds makes his silhouette glow a true blue.

“You’re perfect,” he murmurs, swiping over your bottom lip with his tongue. “Sweet, and soft. And a very good girl. I’ve got your back. You know that, don’t you?” Then, he draws his hips back and—

Your little bed judders. But the squeak that sounds out is yours as he ruts back inside and your labia brushes with his knot.

He won’t put it inside. He won’t. You’re sure of it. Mutts only do that when they’re mating. Mutts only do that. Sylus is- is so much more than that, and….

“Mmm,” an uncontrollable moan escapes you as he begins to move, like really move, and your eyes roll.

With some difficulty, he continues. “You’re naive. Plucking something like me from its cage. But I admire your bravery, kitten, so— f- uck— let me just show you, hm? How far my loyalty goes?”

Void of words, you nod.

The reindeer-patterned bedsheets aren’t enough. Your hands leave them in favor of Sylus, grasping around his back so tight your fingertips can make out the raised scars there. Planes of muscle flexing with divots with every thrust forward.

Offhandedly, he hits that sweet spot inside you. Your nails dig in by accident, and you say his name, stringing out the syllables in a delightful, dizzying mewl.

The floodgates- they burst open. Something in him gives.

He rams forward, abandoning his restraint altogether as his furry, salt-and-peppered tail whacks the mattress beneath you. That fat swell below his cock teases at your sweltering hole with every pump inside, and Sylus burrows his nose into your sweaty neck to whimper.

You’ve never heard such a noise escape him before. Huffs, grumbles, long, exaggerated sighs he makes whenever he finds a nice spot to lay down (usually on you), as if he pays the rent around here— but never that.

He whines, words strained, “Think you can take my knot? Hah… Nod your head for me, kitten- because I don’t think that I can stop it. I can’t wait any longer. I need you to…” he shudders, “take it.”

One moment you’re nervously glancing down to monitor him- and the next he’s nudging your head back with his nose before crashing his lips to yours. Your eyes widen when he flips you over, presses his chest to your back, and thrusts inside with vigor.

With the new angle, you stretch around him with a mewl, but every bone in your body locks when his hips slam flush to your ass and—

His knot pops inside with a gasp.

Throwing your hands to the strong ones he latches around your midriff, you wail. He clings to you like a limpet, his thighs trembling behind yours as he moans endlessly in your ear. Pointed teeth graze at the nape of your neck. He doesn’t bite- but amidst the warp of pain and a pleasure so intense it gives you vertigo, you distantly realize that he probably wants to.

He holds himself off. Breath hitching as his pelvis claps into you. Euphoria rolls across him, shocks him like a static bolt, every fiber of his being awash with it as his jaw falls open and he succumbs to you.

When he comes, it’s so hard his ears ring.

The walls of your pussy become less hospitable, then, clenching around him so tight as you both cum that for a moment, he can’t even say a word to ease you. He aches inside you- you can feel it. The girth of him twitching as your heat swallows him up with a spasm. His knot takes all thought from your brain. Stuffed inside your poor hole, tumid and veiny.

You feel him coalesce with you, too. Eagerly rutting his seed inside (ensuring it sticks, you realize when he drops a finger to your folds, checking for leakage), releasing rope after rope of hot cum as you go limp and take it.

You offer up a choked mewl when he kisses at your spine, brushing your hair aside just to access your neck where he licks and sucks. You trust Sylus not to get carried away with a bite if he did, to lose out to what he’s been taught.

Evidently, he doesn’t trust himself.

Your fingers dig into his thick, scarred forearm and he sighs behind you- a long, feeble sound. He’s barely able to keep himself draped over you- let alone support your own position beneath him, what with the soup you’ve made of his brain- but he manages.

Silence sprawls out as you attempt to steady your breaths. All that comes in between it is the occasional, wet squelch and the gusting inhales he takes at the column of your neck.

“It… hurts. So good…” he hisses after several beats. Only marginally brought back to reality, you flutter your eyes open and offer a yip back. “You’re doing so well, though… Just-“ He twitches inside you, then, throbbing like a second pulse point, his cock undulating in your walls, greedily taking up all the space.

“Fuck. Stay still, sweet girl,” he grunts, harebrained. His eyes crinkle and close. “I want it all inside. Don’t wanna see so much as a drop escape that perfect, tight pussy. Hah- you hear me?”

“Y-Yes,” you quiver back. Speaking is too difficult, you realize a second later, shoving your open mouth into the pillow as you pant for air.

Yet, you can’t help but ask with a slur, “Sylus- when- when will it be over?”

He moans, right in your ear. Goosebumps run up your naked body- all that clothes you.

“It’s too big,” you cry.

“No,” he quips. “It’s just right.”

As if on cue, your cunt gives another squeeze around him, milking him for all he’s worth. In response, he bows his forehead into the crook your shoulder and jaw make to bury a whine, and your mind spins when you register his balls, hanging fat against your ass, lurching. And oh, you’re spilling, you can feel it, beginning to ooze profusely from your puffy lips even as he keeps it plugged; really, even if Sylus wanted to separate from you (he doesn’t), he couldn’t.

There’s nothing in him that wants the distance. The idea of self-autonomy. The idea of independence. No- he’s all yours.

“We’ll wait it out,” he breathes. Coasting a hand along your belly in an effort to placate you. He knows it can’t be easy for you. But the world— that stupid, irksome ex-boyfriend of yours— needs to understand where your heart belongs. There’s no better way to show that than to demonstrate it first with the body.

And you—

(Bitten by his branding kiss, supple skin covered with the divots of his teeth, your belly full of his veritable seed-)

Well. Nobody should look at you, he decides in his spirit right then, and come to any other conclusion but the one that you’re his.

Unmistakably, irrevocably, his.

“It’ll subside soon enough,” he soothes with a peck to your throat, a surprisingly chaste move. He loops his arms around your waist again and carefully- mindful not to exacerbate the heady ache- maneuvers on his side, pulling your back to his front. He whispers at your ear, “So long as you don’t move or stir me up, we’ll be fine.”

Yet, a set of canines brush at your jugular, and again- there’s that inkling, this time in better clarity, that passes your conscience. You know he wants to bite. To mark. To claim. You know it and have the vague idea of all it entails, yet he… won’t.

With a frown, cursing as you turn ever so slightly and his fat knot shifts inside you, you hazily meet his eyes.

His are practically glowing, laying heavy on you. Charting across your face the moment they make contact, observing every brief flicker of your expression to try and assign a feeling— happiness, he hopes, contentedness— to it. His lashes totter and you burn with shame when a lewd suck rings between your legs, his cock wet all the way down to the slight plush of his abdomen.

You don’t mean to pout, “why won’t you-“

“Not yet, Kitten,” he scolds. Trying to swallow down a pit of self-consciousness in your throat, you murmur, “What, do you not want me?” Sylus huffs as if offended. His eyes drag from your lips to your searching eyes.

“Really, kitten? …What, should I give you an equally stupid answer?”

Oh, you’d tug his tail if you had the luxury of moving right now-

“Of course I want you. Can’t you tell?” He sighs, then, burrowing his nose into your neck almost to hide. His ears droop along his head, donning a relaxed look.

“So. Did you like it..?”

“Y-Yeah…” you murmur, carefully looping a hand back to stroke behind his fuzzy ears. “But, I just… I thought you’d really do it, I thought you’d really tie us together-“

He chuckles richly. “We’re already tied together, kitten,” peppering another kiss below your jaw, licking appreciatively at the sweat that clings to soft skin. “I’ve belonged to you for some time now, haven’t I?”

Your heart skips a beat when you realize he’s right.

“I- I guess so. Yeah.”

“So no more whining,” he lifts his chin to sample your lips, this time- his knot still throbbing white-hot and insistently inside you (albeit the ache is lessening)- eyes lidded as he conveys his affections.

“I’ll do it when we’re both ready. When…” He pauses to swallow.

In that short frame of time before he next speaks, you’re drawn to all his scarring. The faded ligature marks around his neck, the seemingly permanent gnashes along his body (which was a touch too lean before you familiarized him with good food). The nip taken from one of the ears sat atop his silvery, mussed locks. In that moment, you don’t see the misshapen, loveless thing he was beaten into— but rather the softness he worked to regain for you.

“When I know it’s manageable.”

If he feels unsure of himself- whether he can remain… civil, for lack of a better word, amidst the fervent haze that a mark would bring about— then you suppose you could wait for a bit longer.

“Okay,” you murmur with a faint, understanding smile, caressing one half of his face dotingly. You tilt your head slightly to plant a firm, benevolent kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“But you’ll always be a good boy to me, okay? I trust you. I told you before- you’re perfect-“ Rather roughly, he noses your head back into the pillow, readjusting his iron hold around you as he grumbles into your hair.

“…Hush. Now close your eyes and go back to bed. I’ll tell you when it’s ready to pull out.”

𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒔, 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔, + 𝒓𝒆𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒅 ♡

#sylus #sylus love and deepspace #sylus smut #love and deepspace smut #lads #lads smut #sylus x reader smut #sylus x mc #sylus x you #sylus x reader #sylus qin #hybrid #syluses #‧₊ 🍰.┊𝒄𝒂𝒌𝒆𝑓𝑖𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 #i feel like i hate this #but at the same time…#hard to hate sylus knot idk

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the-librarby · 13 days ago

Text

HOME EARLY

- SIMON RILEY (COD)

18+ MDNI.

Simon is overwhelmed by the urge to breed his wife.

Umm ovulation hit, and it’s clearly apparent here. Good luck and happy reading.

You think it’s your imagination when you hear the front door creek open. It’s almost four am, and the wind is making every wall in the house shake so you dismiss it and try to go back to sleep.

But then there’s a thud from the living room. You shoot up in bed and rush to flick the lamp on, listening out for any other sounds. Cautiously you reach for the metal baseball bat beside your bed and slowly step down the hallway into the living room where you heard the noises. When you get closer, there’s a weird shuffling of clothes rubbing together, with the bat now high in your hands you peek around the corner and see hulking figure by the doorway. It doesn’t seem to move, busy looking down at something in their hands before placing it on the entry way table.

Their calm and careful movements make you sigh a breath of relief. You flick on the floor lamp around the corner, alerting your husband into looking your way as you lower the baseball bat.

“Jesus Simon, you scared me,” you mutter, propping the bat up against the wall.

Simon drops his keys down alongside his phone, “Sorry darlin’ didn’t mean to wake you,”

You eyes widen when you catch full sight of his face, there’s blood crusted all down the side that seems to connect from his cheek to his split lip. You rush over to take a closer look, “What happened?”

He moves out of your worrying grasp by tilting his head away and grabbing your outstretched hands, “Nothin’” he mutters, “Perp’ got scrappy with a knife, had to disarm him. Looks worse than it is,”

You frown trying to look closely at the wound in the dim lighting, “Let me clean it,” Simon is already shaking his head not wanting to make a big deal of it but you won’t let him brush you off, “Let me clean it, Simon. It won’t take long, who knows what was on that knife, could get infected.”

Simon looks down at your determined gaze and sighs, already defeated. Your stubbornness matched his easily on a good day, not that anyone ever believed little Simon’s wife could be capable of that. He’s learnt to just give in when it came to you wanting to take care of him.

“Whatever you want love,” he says softly, letting go of your hands.

“Wait for me in the bathroom.” you reply, stepping out of his way.

Simon does as he’s asked and walks across the lounge room, he’s just about to round the corner when he sees the bar leaning against the wall. All he can do is smirk at the sight of it before disappearing into the bedroom. He’d got you that bat out of protection, and at first you had laughed when he tried to teach you how to use it, calling him paranoid because of his work. All he knows is now he would never want to be on the answering end of one of your swings.

He flicks the switch on to your ensuite bathroom, allowing the warm light fill the small space. Your home was on the smaller side of cozy, being this close to the city meant you couldn’t afford to have a bigger space, but each day Simon was working towards saving up for a bigger place in the suburbs. A place big enough to have little ones running around, the idea is what got him up everyday for work.

He flips the lid of the toilet down and sits on it waiting for you to walk in. He looks down at his hands to see dried dirt and blood under his nails, as well as his wedding ring which glints softly under the lighting. He should have showered at work but it was just one of those nights where he couldn’t wait to get back to you. He was having a lot more of those nights lately, the thrill of chasing criminals just wasn’t his biggest priority anymore.

When you walk in you see Simon hunched over the toilet waiting for you, he watches as you turn the bathroom tap on to wash your hands, “Should take your uniform off.” you suggest.

He hums and begins to unbutton it without question, by the time you fish out the first aid kit from under the bathroom sink he’s already hung it over the shower door leaving him in his white undershirt.

You nod your head in the direction of his top, “Lose the top too,”

He raises an eyebrow at your little smirk but assents, “Yes ma’am.”

You let out a small appreciative hum as he slips it off, carelessly letting it hang from the bathroom counter. With an antiseptic wipe in hand, you step in between his outstretched legs and reach for his chin. Simon tilts his head pliantly in your hold and lets you gently wipe away the crusted blood on his cheek and jaw. Absentmindedly he rests his hands on your bare thighs and feels up and down.

“You’re home early,” you comment, focusing as you get closer to the open cut on his cheek.

Simon grunts when the antiseptic touches the open site, “Yeah, slow night,”

You raise an eyebrow, “That’s the third slow night this week, scarin’ all the criminals off or something?”

He wishes, it would be his biggest dream to rid of all the scum in this city if it meant you could walk freely without any danger.

When he doesn’t reply you frown and tilt his chin up with your pointer finger until he meets your gaze, “Seriously, what’s up with you Simon? You’ve been off all week,”

His arms circle your thighs protectively and pull you closer, “Can’t a man just miss his wife?”

You smile sweetly and thread your fingers through his hair to sweep it off his forehead, “That’s it? Nothing else is going on?”

He shakes his head, “You’re the only thing on my mind, love.”

You roll your eyes at his sappy comment and lean over to reach for another antiseptic wipe. Due to limited mobility with Simon’s arms wrapped around your legs you have to grip one of his shoulders and stretch your arm to grab it. You tear the corner open with your teeth and drop the package into the small waste bin before wrapping the wipe around your finger. The cut on his lip doesn’t look as bad, and it’s already starting to scab. So you carefully dab around the edges with the upmost concentration, when you get too close to the open wound Simon hisses and pulls back.

You mumble a small apology but grab ahold of his chin to keep him still, “Almost done, stop moving,”

“Fuckin’ hurts,” he mutters.

You look at him incredulously, but it quickly melts away when you see the small smirk on his face, “You’re such a baby,” you whisper, leaning down to kiss the side of his mouth, “Thought policemen were meant to be tougher than this,”

He tightens his arms around your thighs and squeezes hard in a flex of his strength. You grip his shoulders as you begin to lose balance but he doesn’t seem to care as he rests his chin on your stomach to look up at you, “Can be tough if that’s what you want,”

You pat his shoulder, “Alright sweetheart, no need to prove yourself,”

“Not enjoying the lip you’re givin’ me, love,” he retorts.

You smile condescendingly, “Gonna do something about it?”

Without warning Simon stands from his seat, lifting you up with him. You laugh and grab his shoulders for support before wrapping your legs around his waist. He takes a step before turning to face the bathroom mirror and drops you on the counter, his hands rest either side of your thighs as he leans close into your space.

Even covered in cuts and bruises you can help but admire how handsome he is. You lean back against the bathroom mirror and run your hands from his shoulders down to his chest, the healthy fat that covers his muscles makes a certain part of your brain purr.

Simon notices immediately and drags you closer until your hips are pressed against his, “Somethin’ you like?”

You look up at him lazily, hands still caressing his chest, “Just admiring the view.”

With his hands still gripping your thighs he leans down to kiss you against the mirror. When his lips meet yours you try to be gentle as to not disturb the cut, but he dismisses all your worries of hurting him when he leans in harder. You can only gasp against his lips when his hand reaches under your shirt—his really—and slip beneath your panties.

“Simon—” you start, pulling away to rest against the mirror when his finger teases at your folds.

He shushes you and presses his lips against yours again leaving you no choice but to let him do as he pleases. It’s a gentle tease at first, he’s more occupied with the way his tongue finds yours than the lazy caress of his finger against your clit. You grab his shoulders for anchorage before dragging your fingers up into his hair at the nape of his neck. His finger is joint by another, both pressed together as rub circles around your clit more earnestly.

You can’t help the way you involuntarily bite down on his lip at the sudden burst of pleasure that spikes up your spine. Simon hisses and pulls away, when you realise what you’ve done you immediately start apologises, “Sorry,” you gasp, holding the sides of his face, “Sorry Simon, are you okay?”

Simon zeros in on the way his blood dots your bottom lip, turning it a rosy red. It’s barely anything but it’s enough to make his cock twitch, “You’re killing me, sweetheart,”

You huff, swiping your thumb under the fresh blood that has beaded on his lip unbeknownst to the thoughts that are running through his head, “I didn’t bite that hard,”

You place your hands on his shoulders before he can kiss you again, “We should clean tha—”

“No,” he couldn’t think of anything worse than separating from you right now.

You look at him questionably, “Just so it can heal properly Si—”

“No,” he says more authoritatively, rubbing your clit with renewed vigour just to convince you.

Your head thunks back against the mirror as you let out a moan. You sink your nails into his shoulders and clench your eyes closed as you focus on the pleasure slowly building within your core. When he leans in this time you let him, instead of a kiss like you were expecting, you feel Simon’s tongue swipe across your bottom lip. With a hooded gaze you look at him suspiciously, only to see his pupils have dilated and his breathing has turned more ragged. Rather than commenting on it you tug him closer and kiss him messily, uncaring of the way his bloodied lip tastes.

It elicits a groan out of him and a reward for you as his middle finger slips further down and curls up inside. You gasp, opening panting against Simon’s mouth as he makes quick work of fingering you just the way you like without all the teasing.

“Fuck, Simon—” you moan, clawing your nails down his biceps, “More, please, more,”

Simon grunts, gripping your thigh with his free hand while the other complies with your demands and sinks another finger in. Having you blissed out against the bathroom, with just his fingers alone strokes the egotistical part of his mind— he was responsible for bringing you pleasure, for making you happy. He was such a good husband, and he would be an even better father. A vision of you with your belly swollen and your tits heavy against his palm sent such violent pleasure down his spine that he almost came in his pants at the thought. He has to grip his cock, hard, until it’s stifled to a weak twitch so he can collect his thoughts.

You’re still blissfully unaware, rolling your hips against his fingers until your clit bumps against his palm, completely taking control over your own pleasure. Simon only watches as you bring yourself to the edge, jaw slightly slack as you move with unrestrained inhibition.

“I want a baby,” he announces.

Your eyes fly open, moment completely shattered as your orgasm recedes. You drop your full weight against the counter, hands propping you up by your sides, “What?”

Simon licks his lips, slowly withdrawing his fingers from your cunt, “I want a baby,” he says more clearly.

You pant softly, trying to catch your breath, “Where is this coming from?”

His hands come forward to hike your shirt up, slowly caressing your hips, “Can’t stop thinking about it,” he says cautiously, scanning your eyes for any sense of worry, “I want to take care of you—”

“You do take care of me—”

“And our baby,” he finishes.

At your pause he continues, “Do you not want this?”

You frown, licking your lips in thought, “I do,” you respond tentatively, “I just didn’t think you were ready, I know your job means a lot to you,”

He shakes his head, “Not anymore,”

You sit up properly and carefully cup the side of his face, “Is this why you’ve been coming home early?”

He turns instantly to kiss the palm of your hand, his wordless response says it all. You can’t help but huff and smile at the display, of course there was a reason. There’s always a reason behind Simon’s actions.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” You whisper.

He looks at you from the corner of his eye before leading a trail of kisses down you wrist, “Didn’t know how to tell you,”

You laugh, “Well you had no problem telling me now, what changed?”

One of his hands reaches down to rub at your stomach, “I was imagining it,”

You bite your lip and try to laugh it off, but his movements send a shiver down your spine, “Imagining what?”

Simon looks at you more earnestly now as he rubs all around your stomach and hips with his massive hands, “How beautiful you’d look with a swollen belly, carrying our child,” he looks down at you as his hands slide under your shirt to cup your breasts, “How nicely these will fill out towards the end of it,”

You gasp at the rough squeeze of his hands, it makes you throb and circle your legs around his waist. At your response, he grabs your waist and pulls you impossibly closer, you wrap your arms around his neck for balance and stare into his eyes. His gaze is steady, and unflinching, there was no room for doubt.

“You really want this?” You ask.

“Yes,”

You smile and cradle the side of his face, rubbing your thumb over his cheekbone, “Okay,”

“Okay,” He nods. “Now?”

You balk at his eagerness “Now? I’m on the pill, Simon, it won’t work now,”

Your reluctance doesn’t deter him as he leads a trail of kisses down your neck, “Not even if I fill you up?”

Lord help you, the idea is consuming him already. You look up at the ceiling as he pulls the neckline of your shift to continue his trial across your collarbone, “That would kinda defeat the purpose of birth control,”

He pauses, “But it’s not one hundred percent accurate,”

You sigh, “No, it’s not one hundred percent accurate,”

He smirks smugly, “Then I have a chance,”

“A slim chan—” you try to say before he cuts you off with a kiss. It’s urgent, and messy and excited. In his hurry to get the ball rolling he yanks at the old sleep shirt you wearing too hard causing a hole to tear through it.

“Simon!” You gasp, staring down at it, “This is my favourite top to sleep in,”

“Sorry darlin’,” it’s an empty apologise to get on your good side as he lifts the shirt off your head, “I’ll make it up to you,”

You huff as you let the shirt fall away to the bathroom floor, “How?” You challenge.

Simon licks his lips as he stares at your exposed chest, “By filling you up real nice,”

You refuse to acknowledge the way that sends a shiver down your spine, “That’s not really making up to me if it’s something you also want,”

Simon hums, you’re right. It’s completely selfish, he does want this— a lot. So much so, that he doesn’t even defend himself as he reaches for the waistband of your panties, “I’ll spoil you once you’re pregnant,” he promises, pulling your fabric down your legs until they’re all the way off.

He leans forward and latches on to one of your nipples, you gasp and squirm when his teeth tease around the sensitive edge of it until he pulls away, “No missus of mine will lift a finger when she’s carrying our child.”

You moan, arching your back off the mirror to avoid the cold glass pressing against you. Simon continues his path over to your other breast, taking your nipple into his mouth while his hand takes care of the other. You reach for the zipper of his pants, doing your best to remove them without getting distracted.

Simon gives you a hand by shoving his pants and underwear down in one go once you’ve managed to unbutton them. His cock is flushed and aching, it throbs once against his abdomen before you take it in your hand and give it a leisurely pump. He groans and thrusts his hips into your hand as you continue your pace. It’s not long before he lets out a warning grunt, twitching and leaking within your palm, making the slide nice and wet. His forehead rests against your shoulder completely taken over by the way your fingers circle around the sensitive head of his cock taking him closer to the edge. You can tell by his shallow breathing that he’s almost there, so you give him one last flick of your wrist before squeezing the base of his cock cutting off any impending orgasm. He grips your thighs, hard, and clenches his eyes closed at the pleasure coming to a painful halt.

“That’s fucking karma,” you whisper into his ear.

He groans and drops a kiss against your shoulder before straightening up, “No more fucking around.” he states, hooking your legs over his arms so he has a nice view of your dripping cunt.

With one of his hands he guides his cock forward, rubbing the head of it through your wet folds. You lean back with your hands propped against the counter as you watch. When the head of his cock catches, he slides all the way home, stretching you wide open. You hiss at the sting, even after all this time you’re still unused to the way he’s able to stretch you so far.

“S’fuckin’ tight,” he grunts, barely restraining himself from holding still. “How have I still not broken this cunt in?”

You clench your eyes closed waiting for the sting to pass, “Too big,”

He rubs his thumb soothingly up and down your inner thigh, “You can take it love.”

When the pain recedes you let out a deep exhale and rest against the bathroom mirror. Simon takes that has his sign to give a shallow thrust, slowly taking his time until you’re completely falling apart on his cock. Every punch forward sends a breath out of you forcing you to breathe in short pants. He grips your hips and pulls you forward on each thrust sending him as deep as he can in this position.

“Simon,” you moan. “M’close.”

He only grunts in acknowledgment at your warning. You can’t help but reach down with your fingers to circle your own clit, Simon is immediately drawn in watching the way you move against him to get yourself off. It’s not long until you’re clenching tight around him, dragging him down with you into your first orgasm. You rest against the mirror of the bathroom, taking heaving breaths as you try to collect yourself. Simon is still holding your hips with his cock inside you as he does the same.

“Gotta go again,” he mutters.

“Huh? What did you say?” You pant.

Weakly he thrusts forwards to test the waters, you cunt immediately spasms around him in overstimulation. “S’not enough love, I need to fill you,”

“Simon—” you huff as he straightens up, making his cock shift, “We can try again later,” you press your hand against his abdomen when he tries to thrust back in, “I don’t think I have another one in me,”

“Course you do,” he assures, reaching up to tuck your hair behind your ears, “Just one more, and I’ll be satisfied. You can do that for me can’t you?”

You whine when he thrusts forward against your wishes. It aches, and you’re exhausted, but with each gentle thrust the twitching of your thighs slowly starts to fade. Simon hoists you up into his arms, walking you into the bedroom, all while still inside your cunt to ensure his seed doesn’t leak out— he’s got to get the most out of this after all.

Carefully he lays you down on the bed, its soft surface is incomparably better compared to the hard counter. You sigh in instant relief and shut your eyes, Simon won’t let you rest though. With one leg propped over his shoulder, holding you nice and open he grinds down into you. He barely even thrusts out as he focuses on driving as deep as he can into your cervix.

“Fuck!” You shout, holding your lower abdomen. You can feel every inch of him going impossibly deeper.

“I’m gonna make that belly swell,” he slurs, “You’ll have no choice but to have my child,”

“Simon—fuck—come on,” you whine, begging for him to finish inside you.

“Almost there doll,” he groans.

“Want your baby,” you moan, gripping onto one of his hips to pull him closer, “C’mon Simon, you’ll give it to me won’t you? Don’t back out on me now,”

It’s a ragged breath he breathes out in response to your comments, “Need you to take care of me— take care of us, you’re the only one who can do it,”

He clenches his eyes closed and slams into you one last time as he comes again. You’re starting to feel uncomfortably full with both his seed and cock still straining against your hole. You start to feel boneless as sleep washes over you, Simon will take care of everything as always so you feel no need to stay awake.

Until you feel your world tilt as you flip over. When you open your eyes you’re already on your stomach, knees sunk into the mattress with Simon lined up behind you.

“No,” you cry, angling your hips away, “Simon, no more baby, that’s enough,”

Simon is mesmerised by the way his come is starting to leak out of you. Before it can drip onto the sheets, he plugs it up crudely with his thumb, using his other free hand to hold your wriggling hips in place.

“One more sweetheart,” he promises, “Just one more, and that’s it,”

Jesus what the fuck did you sign up for? He’s completely taken over by his own self image of you, pregnant and barefoot that he can’t even see how wrung out you are. You’re completely exhausted, sore, and full. But all he’s seeing is how much more you can take. With his thumb still plugging your hole, he leans over your back to whisper in your ear.

“You agreed with me earlier,” he states, “this is what we have to do, I need to fill you up with as much as I can,”

You pout slumping your shoulders against the mattress, “I’m sore, Simon, I can’t do it again,”

He lays gentle kisses against your shoulder, “You’re gonna look so beautiful with my child,” he repeats, “I’ll take care of everything, including these,” he reaches down to hold your tits in his hands, pinching both nipples with his thumb and forefinger, “When they get full. I’ll do it all for you,”

You moan weakly, jutting your hips back against his pelvis where his cock is already hard and waiting. Without waiting for a verbal response he lines himself up with your already soaked entrance, and slides back in. It’s easy now, you’ve moulded yourself against the shape of him after multiple rounds and the way his come drips out around the sides of his cock makes it a wet slide. All you can do is grip the sheets beneath you and cry every so often at a particularly harsh thrust that makes you even more sore. You must have your wires crossed because eventually the soreness builds into pleasure, and soon enough you’re meeting his thrusts halfway hoping your clit will smack against balls for some extra stimulation.

“That’s it,” he groans, gripping your ass tighter as he pulls you back against him, “Last one, darlin’ make sure you catch all of it,”

“Put it in me,” you slur, “All of it Simon.”

As if hearing your prayers Simon reaches down to rub your clit, immediately sending you over the edge one last time. Your thighs squeeze shut around his hand, and milk him of one last orgasm. You moan at the past pitiful ropes that fill you up, if you don’t get pregnant this time. You’re sure once you’re off the pill you’ll get pregnant next time.

Simon makes sure to push every drop in as deep as he can before finally pulling out. You moan in relief, slumping against the mattress entirely fucked out and at your limit. When he touches your thigh, you bat his hand away.

“Get the fuc’off me,” you mutter, “Fuckin’ manic,”

He chuckles and leans down to kiss your cheek, “I love you,”

You cringe as you feel his come start to leak out of you, “Love you too.”

#simon riley x you #simon riley fanfic #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #simon riley smut #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #cod x you #cod x reader

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ebodebo · 19 days ago

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shoot to kill mini series | vol. l guard dog

creepy ex bf

imagine your ex-boyfriend being so annoying, spamming your phone, and randomly showing up at your apartment, begging you to give him yet another chance.

at first, you felt pity for the guy.

even thought of letting him in a couple of times.

you didn't, but the guilt that gnawed at your throat nearly became too much to bare.

your hand drifted eerily close to the handle as you heard his pleas through your door.

the only thing that made you come back to reality was the pounding of a broom stick on the floor beneath, shouting for the man to shut the fuck up.

that was some days ago, but now, instead of feeling pity or guilt, you’re starting to feel just plain creeped out.

scared he might act on impulse and break into your apartment in the depths of the night.

you're sleeping has taken a plummet, even with a knife by your bed, nothing seems to coax you into relaxation.

that is, until you have the brilliant idea to go next door to your tall, scary, military neighbor, who goes by simon.

you don't know his last name; hell you barely knew his first.

the only reason you knew it was because you heard some girl he brought home moan it through your thin connecting walls.

you felt guilty as you pulled out your small vibrator, goading your sweet release as you heard him groan and curse with every harsh thrust.

even the guilt that swirled in your stomach couldn’t take away the guttural effects he was having on your body, even from so far away.

you ducked your head, avoiding his gaze from then on, until one day, while having trouble unlocking your apartment door, he trudged to your door after examining you for a moment, gently scooting you away and fixing it right before your eyes.

you claimed he was a magician.

he chuckled, deep and gruff, before his name fell off his tongue in greeting, making your thighs clench together.

you hurriedly introduced yourself, before rushing into your apartment, shutting the door behind you, and sinking onto the ground with a deep sigh and hot skin.

pathetic, really.

but, he didn't mind.

he thought you were cute—odd but cute—and you brought him cookies the next day as a thank you, so how could he think ill of you?

so if anyone could help you, it was simon.

“hey, neighbor,” you greet him when he opens the door. he is wearing a simple black long sleeve shirt and dark cargo pants.

he nods towards you. “hello.”

you smile brightly at him, somewhat forgetting your dilemma.

he tilts his head to the side, quipping a brow. “any particular reason you’re here?” he asks, voice rough as always.

you rock on your heels, fidgeting with your fingers. “i need your help.”

he leans against the doorframe. “go on.”

“i’m sure you’ve heard that guy that comes around,” you start, watching his squinted eyes.

“who hasn’t? that bastard is always here,” he says gruffly.

“he’s my ex,” you admit, cringing.

simon stiffens, eyes opening wider slightly.

“he’s, uh… become an issue. he won’t leave me alone, and i’m scared he’s going to break into my apartment while i’m sleeping,” you say, shaking your head, the tension in your voice evident.

“he’s not going to do that,” he shrugs.

your eyes widen at his dismissal, feeling slightly hurt. “how do you know?”

he turns to grab a backpack off a hook beside him. “because i’ll be there. won’t let him through the door,” he casually mutters as he steps out of his apartment, closing it behind him.

you feel a flutter in your stomach at his taking on the role of your protector so quickly—no enticement necessary.

“i really appreciate it, simon.” your voice is full of gratitude.

“don’t mention it, sweetheart,” he shakes his head, heading towards your door. “key?” he asks, reaching for your painted key hanging around your neck.

you hurriedly lean forward, mind completely fogging at the endearment.

his lip quips as he tugs the key up and over your head to unlock the door.

once he unlocks the door, he pushes the door wide open, stepping aside for you to go in first.

“and they say chivalry is dead,” you can’t help but joke as you slip in, a teasing glint in your eye.

he matches your humorous smile with one of his own. “do they? hadn’t heard that,” he murmurs, closing the door as he steps in.

you spin your head away from his gaze, opting to stare at a lonesome flower pot with a dumb grin on your face.

the next two hours are spent lazing until you find yourself on the cushion right next to simon on the couch as he occasionally glanced at the door, while you picked and prodded at reality show stars on the television screen.

But you and simon both stiffen when you hear the familiar hard knock on the front door, followed by a strained male voice pleading.

you look at simon who's already stalking over to the door; you uncross your legs and walk behind him.

with annoyance, simon pulls open the door, and you see your ex’s face whiten and his body sag at the sight. “can we help you?” simon gruffs, cocking a brow at his pathetic demeanor.

your ex stammers, stumbling over his words as he looks between you and simon. “who the fuck are you?” your ex demands, though not daring to try and overpower simon because simon easily has fifty pounds and eight inches over him.

simon crosses his arms over his chest, his biceps bulging bigger as he does so. “you should lose this address,” he urges, voice so gruff and commanding it sends shivers down your spine. “i don’t take too kindly to guys stalking my girlfriend,” he says with an ease that makes you lick your drying lips.

“girlfriend?” your ex chokes out, unable to comprehend what he is hearing.

“that’s what i said, isn’t it?” simon almost sounds disinterested.

your ex’s eyes wander to you. “you're dating this guy?” he almost sounds hurt.

you shift under his gaze, feeling awkward.

“don't talk to her. talk to me,” simon interjected, feeling your unease.

“you can’t—you aren’t dating,” your ex begins, narrowing his eyes. “you’re just doing this to make me jealous, aren’t you?” there is venom behind his words that pisses simon off.

simon’s lips flatline, and just as you go to speak, simon turns his head, hand coming to cup your jaw to kiss you deeply, possessively.

your ex releases a short breath as the sight.

simon’s tongue moves across to skim your teeth, making you whine into his mouth, as his fingers tangle in your hair for deeper contact.

you release a shallow whimper of protest as simon pulls back, enjoying the sight of your ex so shell-shocked.

simon tilts his head forward, looking into his eyes intently. “this is my girl, and if i find out you’ve been botherin’ her, i’ll make you a dead man. you hear me?” his voice is so lethal it makes you squirm, but in a completely different way than your ex.

your ex’s eyes look like saucers as he nods his head fervently.

“good choice. now leave,” simon instructs.

without another word, your ex spins on his heels, looking like a hurt lamb as he leaves the complex.

simon lets out a dry laugh as he shuts the door behind him.

“thank you,” you murmur.

he gives you a brief smile, gesturing for you to sit back on the couch. you both go back to lazing around, now watching some cooking show you put on.

later that night, he insisted on setting up shop in your living room for the night… or just the next two!

it’s really not a big deal.

he just wouldn’t be able to continue on if something happened to his cute neighbor!

that’s all.

you’re so sweet and still shaken up by the interaction that you let him stay the night.

…and the next one.

…and the one after that.

you’re starting to think he never really counted on staying just one night.

you don’t say anything, but after the second week passes and simon is still around, you find yourself reeling as you start to see his socks and shirts tucked nicely in your drawers.

his coffee mug now kisses yours in the cabinet, and some magnets of the countries he’s visited cling to the fridge.

there isn’t a crevice in your apartment that simon hasn’t explored, or left a piece of himself in.

you should have known better than to invite simon into the same place he had fantasized about for the past six months.

the very place where he listened to your sweet moans, so loud, so tempting.

every. single. night.

he kicked his friends out of his place every time he heard your vibrator start up, so that they couldn’t listen to your breathy whines and so he could sneak away to his room, where your thin walls meet, to tug away at his cock imagining it was you stroking him until he came all over his hand and sheets.

such a sweet girl, you are.

letting a dog into your home to roam free, unaware of the way he watched you with a slobbering tongue and a primal hunger.

oh, sweetheart, you never stood a chance.

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reignpage · 27 days ago

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Is Two Really Better Than One?

Summary: in which Nanami's wife gets hit with a curse and he comes home to two wives, not one... Warnings: smut, married couple/established relationship, f!reader, threesome, dom!nanami, mention of being used as a sex toy, cunnilingus, penetrative sex, spanking, paizuri, spitting, doggy, dual ride/double cowgirl position, cum eating, fingering, dirty talk, degradation, praise kink, slight size kink, slight yuri action, voyeurism/exhibitionism?, totally inaccurate use of the curse science or whatever, not proofread - like literally not at all sowwy Word Count: 4.6k

Nanami is flabbergasted.

When he came back home after a long hard day’s work, he was impatiently waiting for his wife’s loving embrace and reviving kiss. There’s a routine you two follow and he upholds it like a knight pledging allegiance to the crown – arrive home at 6pm, you greet him, he takes a shower and changes into comfortable clothes whilst you prepare dinner, and then you dine together. He expected you to be at the front door with an excited grin and open arms, just as you did yesterday and the day before that.

What he wasn’t expecting, however, was two wives waiting for him.

“Ken! Make her go away,” you scream.

The other you snarls, “No, you go away.”

Apparently, you’ve been hit by a spirit splitting curse – it fragmented your soul into perfect halves. There is no ‘original wife,’ just two different parts of the same woman he loves. At least, that was how Shoko explained it on the phone. How long the effects will last is indeterminable, though Nanami’s simply glad it’s a harmless consequence and not something more disastrous.

“I want her ugly ass gone, Kento,” you growl.

And other you shrieks. “Excuse me? I am literally you. If I’m ugly, so are you, idiot.”

“Yeah? Well, somehow, I’m just prettier, so suck it.”

Sitting in the living room, he loosens his tie and stares up at the ceiling. He supposes it really was just too much to ask to have peace and quiet in his life, to be able to catch up on some rest and sleep, and have dinner with his wife, his only wife. Right now, the two of you are smacking throw pillows at each other’s faces, exchanging limp blows over his body, and insulting one another.

This animosity is unfounded. She is you and you are her. You are both his wife, with the exact same body, personality, past, hopes and dreams. And yet you’re at each other’s throats like there is a long feud between your warring families. Nanami sighs again. “Please, stop fighting. Let’s just get on with our evening and wait for the effects to subside.”

Both of you press close to him, taking a side each. You cling to his arm, cradling his bicep between your breasts, seeping warmth into his skin through his work shirt. Nanami clears his throat. You smell nice – always do – but right now, the scent of you is engulfing him from all sides. Other you pokes his chest.

With an accusatory tone, you question, “Why aren’t you pushing her away, Kento?”

He leaves a kiss on your head, hoping to soothe your irritation. “I could never push away my wife, darling. I’d sooner die.”

“But I’m your wife.”

“No, I’m his wife.”

Nanami wraps his arms around the both of you, rubbing comforting circles on your backs; if he doesn’t do something, he might just come out of this with no wife. “You are both my wives. Just as beautiful as the other and just as ferocious. So, there’s no need to fight, alright?”

“Oh my god, what if we’re stuck like this forever? I can’t share you, Ken! I won’t. And! What if you start to like her more than me? I’ll kill myself.”

Gaze softening, he holds you tight. “That won’t happen, my love. It just wouldn’t. I’m confident things will go back to normal soon enough and you’ll be whole again. That’s our biggest concern, not ‘who will I prefer.’ That’s a silly thought; I love you in all the possible shapes and forms you come in. I could never choose just one side of you to love, it’s simply impossible.”

A moment of silence passes.

“He is such a sweet talker, isn’t he?” You ask yourself.

You reply with a chortle. “The absolute sweetest. Thank god we put up with his grumpy ass before he fell for us.”

His heart swells. To watch you two get along fills him with so much pride and he can’t quite explain it. Perhaps it’s because he loves your smile, the way your cheeks get so plump with the force of it. Maybe it’s because he knows how long you’ve struggled to reconcile with the need to love yourself, truly, and how you find it torturous to confront yourself and see all those flaws he thinks creates your perfect soul.

Maybe it’s simply because he loves you so much; there’s no need to question it.

“Ugh, get your hands off my husband!”

“No, you get your hands off my husband.”

And Nanami sighs again.

On and off, you two keep bickering, momentarily being quieted by his hushed commands to behave before starting up again shortly after. Slowly losing the will to fight, he accepts his indefinite reality. His house might never know peace again and he might never truly clock off work even once he returns home. It seems, outside of the office, he also has to manage stubborn individuals and rising tension.

Still, it’s not so bad, he thinks. Having two of you is a blessing; he’s always encouraging you to eat more with the rationale of wanting more of you to love, after all.

But, his reasoning at this moment isn’t so pure.

The feeling of your plush bodies in his grasp is distracting. Two sets of your breasts are bouncing against his sides and in his face with every move you both make. Hands rove all over his body, staking their claim, and teasing the skin underneath his clothes. Nails scrape against his thighs, digging in when you try to control your anger, using him as the punching bag. He needs to keep his cool, to maintain control so he can ease your worries and dispel trouble at any time. But damn it if it isn’t taking a lot of effort to stand his ground.

“Ken,” one of you whispers in his ear, lips brushing the shell, “you’re hard…”

Looking down, he comes face to face with solid evidence of your observation. How embarrassing – his wife was hurt and is facing an indubitably anxiety-provoking situation whereby she might never recover as whole from again, and despite that, he’s aroused. What kind of man is he?

What kind of terrible husband would be so self-centred?

“We can help… if you’d like.”

The kind that’d be married to you, apparently.

Speechless, Nanami can do nothing but sit back and let his wife unbuckle his belt whilst the other unzips his trousers. One has a look of complete glee when she finds his hard cock already leaking and the other sports a focused expression, working her hand up and down his length. You really are his wife, split or not. No one could ever touch him so seductively, so enticingly, already threatening to shake his entire foundation with simple grazes.

He should stop you both, should establish boundaries and get on with dinner. Instead of giving into baser instincts, he should lead by example and ensure your safety and wellbeing by being patient. But…how can he when your velvety palms play with his balls, fascinated by the weight of them?

“Come here, sweetheart,” he mutters, losing all grip on reason. He discards his glasses. “Come give Kento a kiss.”

Two heads rush to his face. They collide with a bang. Hissing, you throw aggravated looks at each other. “He meant me.”

“Uh, no, he meant me.”

Tutting, he cradles both of your faces and brings one up to his lips. He lays a kiss where you bumped your head and then another to your mouth. Slowly and gently, he indulges in your taste, swallowing your breathy moans and teasing your tongue with his. Then, parting ways, he pushes your head down, eager to feel those juicy lips wrap around his throbbing cock.

He meets your gaze. “You too, love.”

Mirroring the ministrations, he loses himself in the steamy kiss, groaning into your mouth when the you that’s licking his cock from the base to the very tip slides her wet tongue on the slit. Fuck, he needs more. He needs to feel you.

A hand of his slides down your body, groping a breast, tweaking the nipple, before it ventures further down to between your legs. You’re soaked. Pussy lips swollen, he wastes no time in working two calloused digits inside. Wet, tight, and hot, he can’t get enough of how your cunt clenches around him.

“Ah, Ken! So good. Thank you!”

The wife that’s drooling on his balls pouts. “Me too, Ken. Make me feel good too, please.”

He smiles. “My sweet wives, always so polite. Tilt your hips this way, darling, show me your pretty pussy. That’s it. And you, sweetheart, let me kiss your beautiful breasts.”

Now, both of his hands are being thoroughly coated in your wetness, squelching their way inside your pulsing canals. Mouth full of your breast, sucking and flicking your hard nipple, he lets himself be consumed by your scent, your warmth, your softness, and the wondrous sounds of your barely subdued whimpers and squeals.

Being weighed down by your body, the reminder of your love and need for him, of which reflects his own for you, is the purest form of bliss he never would have thought he was deserving of. There is nothing more rewarding than drawing out your pleasure, than curling his fingers in just right against that gummy spot inside you that pushes out even more sloppy juices, and washing away your fears and worries.

In this moment, as both of your hips are grinding down onto his hands, he wishes there was another of him. He can meet all your needs at once, overwhelm you with his body and drive you crazy. Then, there’d be no need to be jealous or possessive. Though…Nanami has a dark realisation that perhaps the sight of a cock that isn’t really his pushing its way inside your body would drive him to madness and not the pleasurable kind.

“Fuck, Ken! I’m gonna–”

“Cum!”

You orgasm at the same time as your other half, juices flying and soaking the sofa underneath your bodies. Speckles land on his creased trousers, drowning his hands and dribbling juices down his wrists. Nanami throbs, cock jolting in the cold air.

Slumped over his body, one of your heads perks up. “Hey, uglier me, wanna give him a boob job together?”

“I’m ignoring that insult, bitch, but yeah, whatever.” You roll your eyes and then land a peck on Nanami’s cheek, giving him a wink.

Getting down onto your knees, you force his legs to spread wide to accommodate yourselves. A little frazzled at seeing you two collude and leave him out of the decision making process, no word of complaint can manifest before he throws his head back, unable to stand the sight of impish joy all over your irresistible eyes doubled as you watch his cock bob once and twice.

“Ugh, isn’t his dick so pretty?”

The kitten licks you leave on his frenulum are your answer. Then, you both wrap your breasts around his cock, nipples kissing each other and his sharp intake of breath elicits giggles. Up and down, you rub his heated length with your supple breasts. His fingers thread through your hair, unable to keep his hands off you.

“Is it good, Ken? Do you like it?”

Nanami groans. “Y-yes, it feels amazing, sweetheart. You’re so good to me…always so good to your husband, aren’t you?”

Giggling again, you two exchange grins, feeling mighty proud of yourself, he supposes. And he knows he can cum just like this, that his cum will spurt all over your faces and breasts. It’ll coat your plump lips and you’ll be able to taste his salty spend. Lightheaded, he gasps for air, intent to get his bearings, to not let you two have your way with him, but then you surprise him one more time.

Lips locked, you two make a big show of moaning into each other’s mouths, tongue twisting together in an obscene display that has his heart thumping faster and faster until he’s sure he’s losing his mind.

You might never stop surprising him no matter how long he’s loved you.

He can’t take it anymore. The smell of your sweetness, the evidence of your euphoria coating his skin, the doughy blanket of your breasts around his cock is driving him insane. He needs you and he needs you now. In agile haste, he stands and takes his clothes off all while you both watch.

“I-I need to be inside you, darlings.” There isn’t enough space on the sofa for what he wants. So, with a grunt, he lifts you two and carries your bodies up, biting back a smile when you squeal and giggle, into the bedroom. You both bounce into each other’s embrace when he drops you off on the mattress. “Strip.”

Clumsily, you remove every article of clothing. Your arms get caught in your shirt and your panties get tangled around your ankles. “Ugh, Ken, help.”

“I’m here. I’m here.” He helps you two out, wrangling your clothes off. “There we go, honey. Upsi-daisy.”

Though he might never admit how pleased he gets when he’s needed, he’s sure you know. There’s no way you don’t. You feel the evidence of it when he pins you to the kitchen counter to fetch the plate you’re reaching for and you surely see the way his eyes darken as you place a foot on his lap, wordlessly asking him to clasp your heels on for you.

As soon as your clothes are off, he pounces – sloppily swallowing your wet moans, he devours you and then the other you, swapping and switching till he gets frustrated and gasps for air.

“Oh, sweetheart. I love you so much. All of you. In every life, in every time. Always.” You’re lying so prettily for him. Whatever he has done to deserve you today, he hopes he’ll do it again and again so he may never part from you, not even in death. His hands don’t know where to stay, exploring, groping and squeezing and pinching wherever they please. There’s so much of you he wants to feel at once and it’s like an urge he can’t fight. The need to be with you, to please you, to immerse himself in your essence wholeheartedly is choking him up, calling forth tears in his eyes. “God, if only you could see yourself from my eyes.”

“Ken, I love when you get all emotional, I swear, but please just fuck me already.”

He gulps. “Yes, love. I will.”

“No, wait, fuck me first.”

“Wait your fricking turn, oh my god.”

Another fight breaks out.

Nails are out, hands are flying, hair is being pulled. Kento huffs. He’s trying to get in between you two without using force, without accidentally hurting you, and just as he’s about to pull you apart, a resounding SLAP!echoes. It’s a grating noise that steals his breath. In a flash, he’s got you behind him and you pinned to the bed.

“No.” Nanami growls. Breathing hard, he shakes off the sudden anger coursing through his veins. Wide eyed, you just watch him release his punishing hold on your neck that he didn’t even realise he had on you. The scolding fire in him doesn't disappear. “No one hurts my wife. Not even you. Understand?”

You nod frantically.

“Good. You know I hate to punish you but you won’t disagree when I say you need to be reminded of the rules, would you?” You shake your head. “Use your big girl words.”

“I need to be punished, Ken. I need to be reminded of the rules.”

Satisfied, he leans back on his haunches and beckons the other you to his front. There’s a mark on your cheek and it makes his chest squeeze painfully. “Oh, look what you’ve done to your pretty face. My darling wife and her penchant for violence. You’re going to give me more grey hairs.”

“I hope so; you’ll be a silver fox. Yum.”

A fruitless frustration builds inside – it’s akin to that cuteness aggression you claim overcomes you often, he thinks. Well, he won’t deny himself any longer. He tugs your neck and kisses you. It’s rough, it’s messy, it’s sloppy. And he does it all while keeping his eyes on the you that’s in near tears. “Why don’t you -hah- show my wife how to be a good girl? Show her the reward you deserve.”

“Okay, Ken.”

Leaning back into his firm, sturdy body, you hiss as the threatening stretch of his fat cockhead pushes through the tight ring of muscles at your entrance. Slowly but surely, he’s worming his way into your pulsing cunt. Nanami grunts when he finally bottoms out, balls constricting with the labour of keeping his cum in his balls and not in your pussy prematurely. This is all far too much for him. To be thrusting into you, holding you upright by your arms as you watch his cock shine with your juices, is an insane fantasy he never even dreamed of, but it is his reality and he damn sure will make the most of it.

“Ngh, tell my wife h-how you’re feeling, sweetheart.”

Breathless, you try to talk despite the delirium-inducing pleasure he’s ramming into your tight cunt. “G-good. I feel good. Ken’s so big a-and I’m feeling so full. Fuck, Ken, fuck me harder.”

The sound of skin slapping, the squelching of your pussy, and the heady moans and grunts are all going straight to his head. Overstimulated, he clutches your breast for a tether, grounded by the weight and the softness. His pace quickens. “Like this? Hmm? You like this, darling?”

“Yes, Ken! Fuck, I’m close. More, Kento. Fuck me more.”

Over your shoulder, he watches you writhe and squirm on the bed, a hand squeezing your breast the way he is and fingers pumping inside your needy cunt at the pace his cock is working its way into your other half. Impatient, you whine. “Hurry, Ken. I want your cock too.”

He licks his lip. Sweaty, eyesight ever so slightly blurry, and growing closer and closer to his climax, urged on by the tight pulsing of your pussy, he continues thrusting inside. “Behave. Can’t you see I’m -ah, fuck- p-pleasuring my wife? Bad girls don’t get to touch, do they? They don’t get to have their cake. And. Eat. It. Ngh. Too!”

To highlight his point, he lets you slip through his grasp. You fall on top of yourself, bouncing breasts pressed tightly against each other. Your face is buried into the crook of your neck, uncaring about how loud your moans are. Nanami finds purchase against your slippery ass and holds it still as he fucks his cock into you, using you as a glorified cock sleeve.

“Give me something. Anything, Ken. Please. Pleasepleaseplease.”

Nanami grunts. “Open up.”

A fat drop of his spit lands with a plop onto your awaiting tongue. You gulp it down eagerly. Your fingers work themselves inside your cunt even faster, unperturbed by the weight of yourself pinning you to the bed, sweaty and shaking. Dare your husband say, you rather like it. His cock pulses.

“Soon, honey. Just be patient, a-alright? And then I’ll -hah- fill you up. Just have to -ngh- make my wife cum first.”

Expert hips grind into your tight pussy, cockhead hissing your g-spot and stretching out your gooey walls again and again. If he had it his way, he’d never leave your cunt, but he has a responsibility to make you both cum. He can’t be selfish.

“Ugh, hurry up, you whore,” you mutter into your ear. Then, he sees your mischievous hand trail down your other’s spine until it descends between your legs. When the moans get louder and the clenching of your pussy steals Nanami’s breath, he can only assume you’ve taken matters into your own hands.

You cum around his cock with a scream.

Hips stuttering, his orgasm soon follows. “Ah, f-fuck! So tight. So fucking good.”

His choked groans are all that can be heard as you lay limp. He too falls to the bed, lying beside your bodies. That had to have been one of the strongest orgasms he had ever had. Never a dull day with you. Just when he thinks he’s got you all figured out, you prove him wrong. What a privilege it is to learn all about you every day for the rest of his life.

“Hey, my turn!”

Brushing back his blond locks, he chuckles to himself as he watches his cock throb back to life. It seems his body has adapted to be sure he can attend to his wife’s needs. Both of them. “Get up here, sweetheart. Take what you want.”

Excited, you shove your other half off and rush to straddle your husband’s hips. You don’t wait; his cock slides inside with ease from your juices. “Oh, god, yessss. Fuck, Ken, I can feel you in my lungs.”

Bracing himself by holding onto your thighs, he can do nothing else against the desperate bouncing of your ass. The pleats inside of your perfect pussy are attempting to wring him dry all over again and Nanami’s abs flex with the building pressure. His cock is still recovering and it’s sensitive but you don’t care. Now, he’s the one being used like a mere toy.

“S-slow down, honey.” He hisses. “Hah, slow -hngh!- d-down.”

“Hmm, shit, Kento. Y-you’ve gotten so big…” Ignoring his pleas, you must be referring to the layer of fat that’s grown on his body, thanks to the delicious food you’ve been cooking for him. Wholly embracing married life by skipping visits to the gym in lieu of staying longer in bed with you, he’s realised that his clothes no longer fit as they did. It’s embarrassing for a man who prided himself in being fit and put together but it gets you so wet and so needy, he doesn’t dare change a thing. “I want to -ah ah ah fuuuuck- drown in you.”

His chuckle is punctuated by the grunts that your incessant bouncing is forcing out of him. “If it’ll make you happy, my love.”

You clench down.

“Ah, don’t -oh fuck- squeeze so tight.” He reaches for your clit, thumbing at it. You yelp, hips bouncing faster. Looking so absolutely beautiful, he can’t keep his eyes off the recoiling breasts in his line of vision. Suddenly, his mouth is suffocated with something hot, wet, and delicious. “Hmmph!”

You’ve sat on his face, leaning forward on his stomach, clearly keen to be involved once more in the fun. Submerged in your scent and taste, he doesn’t hesitate to slurrrrrrp! up your juices. He can taste his cum too and it dribbles down his chin. Cunt wrapped around his cock and another leaking wetness right into his mouth, Nanami swears he’s in heaven, delirious with the devastating gratification of pleasuring his wife. “Ride me faster…my face…my cock…that’s it, dear…doing so -ngh- great for me…my -hah hah- perfect wife.”

Lapping up your juices, he throbs when you squeal on his tongue.

“Is that how I really sound when you eat me out? Ew.”

Other you growls. “And is that what I really look like when I ride you?”

SMACK!

“Don’t t-talk badly about yourself. I won’t have it.”

Rubbing your sore ass, you mumble, “Mmm, sorry, Ken.”

“Yeah, s-sorry.”

Soon, you three work back into a punishing rhythm. Nanami hates to be so strict, but he can’t bear to hear you be so mean to yourself. It makes the hairs on his arms stand. If his eyes aren’t rolling to the back of his head, he’d lecture you about the importance of loving yourself. Again. But he can’t string full sentences together. Not right now. Now when you’re all so close.

Your clit is bumping against his nose whilst his tongue pierces your cunt and he wonders if you can both feel the specific kind of bliss the other is – a cock kissing your g-spot, filling you up, and your pussy being thoroughly ravished by his greedy mouth.

“Yes, Ken, suck my clit…hmm, just like that… yes yes yessss.”

“Fuck, Ken, your cock feels so good. I love it! More more more. I need it.”

Whatever his wife wants, he’ll oblige. Planting his feet, he fucks up into you, jostling your body. You shriek. His pace is relentless, merciless, and they push you further and further until your climax nears. Off balance, your face falls in between other you’s breasts. Whatever you’re doing to those tits he loves so much is making his wife’s eyes roll to the back of her head too.

Nanami’s nearing his end. He needs you to get there first. Always. “Come on, sweetheart. Make me –ah make Kento– proud, won’t you? Let me h-hear, feel a-and taste my darling wife -hah- cum.”

“Yes, Ken!” You both screech.

And soon after, your husband finds himself covered in a flood of your juices.

“FUCK!”

“SHIT!”

“OH GOD!”

Nails dig into his skin, scratching and stinging. The grip you have on his cock tightens until he’s robbed of his breath and forced over, hips pumping up into your scalding cunt. Your moans are muffled between your breasts when his searing cum paints your walls white.

Clinging to each other, the three of you black out.

Minutes or hours later, Nanami is the first to wake. Bones aching just a little, he has a quick flash of thought that maybe he’s getting too old for this curse business. A curse-less day with you is more than enough to zap him of energy all while reviving him simultaneously so would it be so bad to give up the other part of him so he can dedicate his life to all of you?

He groans. His muscles are a little sore with a slight shake to them —the good kind. What a blessing it is to be pushed to his limits with you. Gazing down, he sighs in relief at what he sees.

Finally, the sight that greets him is not anomalous or extraordinary – it’s just his wife, singular and whole, draped naked across his lap and snoring. He’s trying to catch his breath, staring down at your sleeping form. “I’ve -hah- tired you out, huh? Poor thing.”

No doubt you’ll ask him if he enjoyed having two wives to service him later, and he’ll answer honestly as he always does with you; it wasn’t having two wives that he found pleasure in, it’s having two of you. There’s more to touch, to taste, to love. A challenge he wouldn’t ever shy away from.

Just as he wanted, he’s covered in sweat and your juices, owned by you in every way possible. This is how he’d like to spend the rest of his life if he could: attending to your needs and drawing out a grin even in your sleep. He pets your head, a shaky smile on his lips. Your eyes flutter open.

“There’s my beautiful wife. Hi. I’ve missed you, darling.”

Groggily, you ask, “Am I fixed now, Kenny?”

Bringing up your face to his, he skims his nose against the tip of yours. “You were never broken to begin with, my love.”

“That’s sweet…can we go eat? I’m hungry.”

Petting your pussy and seeking out your heat as if his fingers are magnetised to it, he whispers against your lips, “You can take one more round, can’t you, honey? For me? For Kento?”

You both know it won’t stop at just one round.

It never does.

And thank fuck.

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