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ok uhhh dr ratio with an s/o who is just as intelligent as he is
so when they have their first kiss, the reader gets so nervous that they start mumbling random facts about ancient egypt / etc. :3
Facts Between the Kisses
Summary: In the grand library of the Intelligentsia Guild, Ratio shares a rare moment of vulnerability with you, his equally brilliant partner. After hours of intense discussion, a surprising first kiss leaves you so flustered that you begin rambling about ancient Egyptian medical practices.
Tags: Ratio x Reader, Fluff, Romantic Comedy, Kiss, Nervous Reader, Banter.
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The Intelligentsia Guild's library was vast, a labyrinth of shelves and tomes brimming with knowledge. Ratio sat at one of its ornate desks, the golden owl ornament on his shoulder glinting in the low lamplight. His eyes, framed by his wavy hair, scanned the pages of an ancient manuscript. A faint smirk curled his lips as he heard the approaching footsteps—light, deliberate, and unmistakable.
“Late for our discussion on temporal mechanics, are we?” he said without looking up.
You grinned, stepping into view with a stack of books tucked under your arm. “Only because I was busy proving your theorem on recursive algorithms incomplete. Again.”
Ratio’s smirk deepened. “I expected no less from you. Care to enlighten me?”
You set your books down with a soft thud and leaned forward, gesturing at one of the diagrams in his manuscript. The two of you dove into an intense debate, trading ideas and insights like dueling swords. Your conversations were always this way: sharp, challenging, and utterly exhilarating.
After hours of discourse, the library grew quieter. The steady hum of your voices faded into a companionable silence as you both sat back, basking in the afterglow of shared brilliance.
Ratio’s gaze lingered on you, his expression uncharacteristically soft. “You know, it’s rare to find someone who can keep pace with me,” he said. His tone was casual, but there was an undercurrent of sincerity that made your heart skip a beat.
You laughed nervously, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. “Well, someone has to keep you grounded. Otherwise, your ego might collapse into a singularity.”
He chuckled, a low, melodious sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “Perhaps. But you’re not just an equal—you’re… more.”
The words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken emotion. Before you could respond, Ratio leaned closer, his striking eyes locking onto yours. His confidence was palpable, but there was a hint of hesitation, as if he was stepping into uncharted territory.
“May I?” he murmured, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it.
You nodded, your breath hitching as he closed the distance. His lips brushed against yours, gentle at first, then firmer as the moment deepened. The world seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you in that perfect, fleeting instant.
When you pulled back, your heart was racing, your thoughts a jumbled mess. Instead of saying something romantic or profound, your nerves got the better of you.
“Did you know the ancient Egyptians used honey as an antibacterial ointment?” you blurted out.
Ratio blinked, clearly caught off guard. You clapped a hand over your mouth, mortified, but the corners of his lips twitched into a grin.
“Fascinating,” he said, his tone teasing. “I assume this is your way of processing… overwhelming stimuli?”
You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “I can’t believe I just said that.”
He gently pried your hands away, his smile warm and uncharacteristically tender. “Don’t be embarrassed. It’s endearing.”
You gave him a skeptical look, but his gaze was so earnest that you couldn’t help but relax.
“Besides,” he continued, leaning back with a smug expression, “it’s fitting that our first kiss would be followed by a discussion on ancient medical practices. I wouldn’t expect anything less… unique from you.”
You rolled your eyes, but a smile tugged at your lips. “You’re insufferable.”
“And yet, you adore me.” He reached for your hand, his touch sending a thrill through you. “Shall we continue our discussion? Perhaps this time, you can focus on me instead of ancient Egypt.”
Despite your embarrassment, you found yourself laughing. “Deal. But only if you can keep up.”
Ratio’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “Oh, my dear, I always do.”
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˚.🌺⋆ - RIDEEE THAT C★CK LIKE ITS A PONY !
୨ৎ paring : Sunday, Mydei, Mr Reca, Anaxa, Phainon x fem!reader.
୨ৎ warnings : nsfw/smut, creampie (vaginal), pussy slapping, cow girl, t!t fucking (mydei & Sunday), daddy kink (mr reca), nipple sucking, fingering, sub-ish Anaxa, thigh gripping, biting & others!
୨ৎ note : banner art is a doujinshi and you can find it on X from : sakuranotomoru !! also this is not proof read & dunno if it’s ooc.
𖤐 SUNDAY
The flickering candlelight cast an alluring glow over the room, where the scent of incense intertwined with the heavy atmosphere of desire. You found yourself on your knees before Sunday, his presence both intoxicating and commanding. His eyes, sharp and focused, glimmered with a mix of mischief and hunger as he watched you, the anticipation thickening the air around you.
“Look at you, so eager to please,” he said, a smirk playing on his lips. “Why don’t you show me just how devoted you are?”
You shivered at his words, feeling your heart race. Slowly, you climbed onto his lap, positioning yourself above his waiting cock. The moment you sank down, a gasp escaped your lips as you felt him stretch you wide, filling you completely. The delicious pressure made your breath hitch, your body trembling in response to the heat radiating between you.
“God, your pussy feels amazing,” he groaned, hands gripping your waist as he guided you to ride him. You began to move, each thrust sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. The sensation of his cock sliding in and out, combined with the way your walls clung to him, had you moaning softly.
Sunday leaned forward, his wings fluttering, his hands sliding up to your tits, squeezing them as he watched you bounce on his cock. “Your tits are perfect,” he groaned, pulling your soft flesh together around his shaft. The sight of his cock disappearing between your breasts drove him wild. He thrust forward, using your tits to pleasure himself, and you let out a breathy moan, the feeling of his cock gliding against your soft skin sending sparks of pleasure through you.
“Just like that, baby,” he encouraged, his voice low and gravelly. “I love how your body responds to me.” He thrust harder, each movement eliciting desperate sounds from you as you felt the heat build within.
As he continued to thrust, you could feel the sweat glistening on your skin, the intensity of the moment heightening with each passing second. You looked up at him, your doe eyes filled with lust, and he met your gaze with a predatory glint. “You have the cutest fucked—up face,” he chuckled, driving his cock deeper into the warm embrace of your tits.
The pleasure was overwhelming, and you could feel the wetness pooling between your legs, your pussy cream and pink with desire. “Please,” you whimpered, desperate for more.
“More, huh?” Sunday teased, pulling back and releasing your breasts with a wet sound that echoed in the room. “I think you need to earn it.”
Without hesitation, he shifted you onto your back, positioning himself between your legs. He didn’t waste any time; in one swift movement, he buried his cock deep inside your pussy, filling you to the brim. The stretch was exquisite, and you gasped, the intensity of his thrusts sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body.
“You take me so well,” he praised, his voice thick with lust. “Look at you, so full of me.” Each thrust was rough, almost punishing, but the thrill of being dominated by him only heightened your desire.
You could feel the pressure building in your core as he thrust deeper, your body responding eagerly to his every move. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the air, a testament to the raw energy between you.
“Do you like that?” Sunday taunted, his breath hot against your ear as he leaned in closer, his movements relentless. “Tell me how much you love it.”
“I love it! I—I love your cock,” you gasped, your words spilling from your lips as you surrendered to the pleasure. “Please don’t stop!”
He grinned, a wicked smile that sent a thrill down your spine. “I won’t, not until you’re completely wrecked.” His pace quickened, and you could feel the heat building within you, your body tightening around him as you approached the edge.
With each thrust, he pushed you closer to ecstasy, the sensations blurring into a heady mix of pleasure and pain. You felt your own climax building, desperate and wild, and you could hardly breathe as you got lost in the moment.
“Look at you,” he panted, his voice low and gravelly. “So fucked out and needy. I’m going to make you cum all over my cock.”
And just like that, with a few more powerful thrusts, you shattered around him, waves of pleasure crashing over you as you cried out his name. The sensation of your walls tightening around him pushed him over the edge, and with a final thrust, he filled you with his cum, the heat spilling deep inside you.
As you both came down from the high, Sunday looked at you, breathless and satisfied. “You were incredible,” he said, a smirk still playing on his lips as he pulled out, the slickness between your legs evidence of your wild encounter.
You lay there, completely spent, feeling the remnants of pleasure coursing through your body, knowing this was just the beginning of your divine desires with Sunday.
As the pleasure subsided and the heat of the moment began to settle, you remained sprawled on the floor, your body still tingling with the aftereffects of his powerful thrusts. Sunday, still looming over you, was far from finished. He grinned down at you, his eyes glinting with mischief, and the sight sent a thrill through your core once more.
“Not done yet, sweet girl,” he said, his voice a low rumble. He grabbed your waist and pulled you back against him, his hands finding your skirt and tugging it up, exposing your bare thighs. “You’re so beautiful like this, all flustered and fucked out.”
Your doe eyes were wide and teary, reflecting the intensity of the pleasure you’d just experienced. “Please, Sunday,” you whimpered, your voice soft and desperate. “I need more.”
“Good,” he smiled, his grip tightening around your waist as he positioned you back on your knees. “I want to see those perfect tits wrapped around my cock again.”
With that, he guided you back down, placing your breasts together as he lined himself up. The heat of his cock against your skin made your heart race. “Wrap them around me,” he instructed, and you obeyed, squeezing your soft flesh together.
Sunday thrust forward, sliding his cock between your breasts, the friction sending electric jolts of pleasure through you. You moaned, your eyes rolling back as he picked up a steady rhythm, his cock gliding between your tits with a lewd, squelching sound. “Just like that,” he encouraged, his voice thick with lust. “You’re so fuckin’ good at this.”
You could feel the slickness of his pre-cum coating your skin, mixing with the heat radiating from your body. The sensation of his cock sliding between your tits made your cheeks flush, and you could hardly keep your eyes open as he pounded into you. Each thrust made your body jolt, and you felt the pressure building again, your body aching for release.
“Look at you, all teary-eyed and desperate,” Sunday said with a smirk, his gaze locked on your face. “You love this, don’t you?”
“Y—yes,” you stammered, your breath hitching as you felt your arousal pooling between your legs again. “I love it!”
“Such a good little slut,” he praised, and the words made you clench around nothing, desperate for more. “Keep those pretty eyes on me.”
You complied, your eyes wide and glistening as you watched him use your tits. The way he dominated you, the sight of his cock slipping between your soft flesh, and the sound of skin meeting skin sent you spiraling. You could feel the heat radiating from your body, and every thrust brought you closer to the edge once again.
“Let’s make a mess, shall we?” he said with a wicked grin, and you nodded, your heart racing at the promise in his words.
With a few more powerful thrusts, he pulled back just enough to watch the sight of his cock glistening with your essence. “Now, I want you to lick it off,” he commanded, his voice dripping with authority.
As he slid out, you leaned forward, your tongue darting out to catch every drop of his cum. The salty taste mixed with the sweetness of your own arousal, and you savored it, feeling utterly debased but completely satisfied.
“Good girl,” he said, his voice low and gravelly, watching you intently as you cleaned his cock. “Now, let’s finish this.”
He positioned himself behind you once more, his hands gripping your hips as he lined up for another round. You could feel the heat of his body against yours, the anticipation making your heart race. “This time, I want to feel you all around me,” he growled.
You squeezed your eyes shut, plump lips parting as another weak moan left you. Sunday’s fingers curled around your jaw, forcing you to look at him. His grip was firm—possessive. “Open your eyes.”
You did. Big, glossy, tear-streaked eyes met sharp yellow eyes. His smirk widened.
With that, he plunged back inside your aching pussy, the sensation causing your breath to hitch once again. The raw intensity of his thrusts had you gasping, your body responding eagerly to the dominance he exerted over you.
“Just like that,” he encouraged, thrusting deep and hard, every stroke hitting your sweet spot. You were lost in the haze of pleasure, your body trembling as you neared the edge once again.
“Look at those pretty eyes tearing up,” he taunted, his voice filled with lust. “You love this, don’t you? Being completely at my mercy?”
“Y—Yes! Please, don’t stop!” you begged, your voice barely above a whisper as your walls tightened around him, urging him deeper.
“Then cum for me,” he commanded, his thrusts becoming more frantic, more desperate. The sound of your bodies colliding filled the air, and you could feel the pleasure building higher and higher until you felt completely overwhelmed.
With a final, deep thrust, he filled you once more, and you let go, your body shaking as you came around him. The world around you faded, leaving only the sensation of your release and the heat of his body against yours.
You collapsed against the floor, utterly spent, feeling the aftershocks of pleasure coursing through you as he finally pulled out. There was no aftercare, no gentle words or soothing touches—just the rawness of your encounter hanging in the air.
Sunday looked down at you, a satisfied smirk on his lips. “You’re incredible,” he said, the lust still evident in his gaze. “Let’s do that again sometime.”
𖤐 MYDEI
Mydei’s golden gauntlets are already discarded, rough hands gripping your thighs, fingers digging into soft flesh as he spreads you open before him. His eyes burn, sharp and hungry, tracing over your flushed skin, the way your tits rise and fall with each breath.
“You know what to do,” he murmurs, voice low and commanding, his cock already hard, thick, and leaking against his stomach.
You sink to your knees between his legs, pressing your plush tits together, letting his cock rest heavy between them. His sharp breath makes you smirk, but before you can tease him, he takes control—strong hands pressing your breasts tighter around him as he begins to thrust.
The slick heat of his cock glides between your tits, each slow roll of his hips making the veins along his shaft stand out. Precum smears against your skin, and you flick your tongue out, catching the salty taste when he thrusts high enough. His grip tightens.
“Fuck—” he growls, head tilting back for just a second before his eyes snap down to yours again, molten and unforgiving. “You always look so damn pretty like this.”
You let out a little moan, eyes peering up at him through heavy lashes. He looks like a beast barely restrained, his sharp teeth gritted, his yellow mixed with red hair disheveled. But it’s the way he’s staring at you—like he’s ready to ruin you—that makes your creamy pussy ache, clit pulsing with need.
One of his hands slides down, grips your thigh, his fingers pressing into the softness as he yanks you upward. A gasp leaves you as he pulls you into his lap, his mouth finding the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. Then—his teeth sink in, sharp and claiming.
“Mydei—”
He soothes the bite with his tongue before moving up, kissing over your hips, your stomach, your tits. Then his mouth finds your nipple, sucking hard, his tongue flicking over the sensitive peak until you’re whining, squirming in his grasp. His other hand slides down between your legs, fingers parting your slick folds, pressing against your clit.
“Dripping already,” he murmurs against your skin, teasing. “Needy little thing.”
You don’t get a chance to argue before he’s gripping your hips and guiding you down onto his cock. The stretch steals your breath, the thickness of him pushing deep into your pussy, filling you up inch by inch. Your thighs tremble as he bottoms out, your creamy slick coating his length as he pulls you down hard against him.
“Look at you,” he growls, watching the way your tits bounce as you move. “Taking my cock so fucking well.”
You try to control the pace, rolling your hips in slow circles, but he’s not patient. His hands grip your thighs tighter, holding you still as he thrusts up, filling you to the hilt, making your head tip back with a breathless moan.
“So deep—” you whimper, fingers clawing at his shoulders.
He grins, sharp and wolfish. “Then take it.”
His pace turns brutal, cock driving into your pussy over and over, each thrust hitting deep, sending pleasure pulsing through your core. His hands roam, gripping, kneading, pulling—possessive in every touch. He reaches between you, rubbing messy, desperate circles over your clit, forcing you closer and closer to the edge.
“Mydei—”
He cuts you off with a harsh kiss, swallowing your moans as he fucks you harder, deeper, until you’re trembling, walls clenching tight around him.
“That’s it,” he groans, feeling you flutter around his cock, chasing your release. “Cum for me—soak my cock, you filthy thing.”
And you do—legs shaking, body arching, pleasure crashing through you in thick, dizzying waves. Mydei isn’t far behind, his grip tightening as he buries himself deep, spilling inside you with a rough growl, his breath hot against your skin.
The air is thick with heat, your bodies still tangled together, his cock still buried deep inside your soaked, creamy pussy. His hands, still gripping your thighs, loosen slightly, smoothing over the marks he’s left behind.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs, voice softer now, though the hunger never truly fades from his eyes. “You were made to take me.”
And you know, from the way his fingers trail lower again, that he’s not nearly finished with you yet.
Your breath comes in shallow pants, body still trembling from the aftershocks of your orgasm. Mydei’s hands are warm on your thighs, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh as he steadies you on his lap. His cock twitches inside your creamy pussy, still thick, still hard, the heat of him a constant reminder that he’s far from done with you.
He lifts the hem of your skirt, fingers sliding over the fabric with a dark chuckle. “So short,” he murmurs, dragging the material up higher until it’s fully bunched around your waist. “You really came to me dressed like this? With your tits spilling out, your little skirt barely covering your ass?” His voice is teasing, but there’s an edge to it—something possessive, something dangerous.
You whimper as he tugs you forward, pressing your chest to his face, his mouth latching onto your nipple again. His tongue flicks, sharp teeth grazing sensitive skin before he sucks hard, leaving another mark. His hands slide down, gripping the backs of your thighs, pressing you flush against him.
“N—No not like that,” Your voice is barely more than a gasp as he shifts beneath you, hips rolling up, his cock stretching you all over again.
He pulls back, breath hot against your skin. “What?” he taunts, voice rough. “Too much?”
You shake your head, doe eyes wide, already lost in the feel of him. His grip tightens, fingers bruising as he drags you down again, forcing you to take him even deeper. The stretch is overwhelming, his cock grinding against your sweet spot, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through your body.
“Good,” he breathes, hands sliding up your waist before gripping the sides of your skirt, using it to yank you down harder. “Because I’m not fucking done with you.”
His movements are rough, unforgiving. Your tits bounce with each thrust, his gaze locked onto them, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. His fingers trail down between your legs, rubbing your clit in tight circles, making you jerk against him.
“Still so fucking wet,” he groans. “You love this, don’t you? Letting me fuck you stupid in this little skirt?”
You can only nod, your head tilting back, moans spilling from your lips as pleasure coils deep in your belly. He keeps up his relentless pace, driving his cock into your soaked pussy, his fingers working your clit until you’re shaking, thighs trembling against his sides.
“Cum for me again,” he demands, voice rough, his free hand gripping your thigh hard enough to leave marks. “Make a fuckin’ mess.”
The pleasure snaps, your walls clenching around his cock as another orgasm crashes over you, white-hot and all-consuming. Your nails dig into his shoulders, body jerking as the pleasure pulses through you.
Mydei groans, thrusting up once, twice more before burying himself deep, spilling inside you with a sharp growl. His grip on your thighs tightens, keeping you in place as he fills you to the brim, heat pooling deep inside you.
For a moment, the only sound in the room is your ragged breathing, the scent of sweat and sex heavy in the air. His hands smooth over your thighs now, more reverent than before, thumbs tracing over the marks he’s left behind.
His lips find your jaw, pressing a lazy, lingering kiss there. “Next time,” he murmurs, voice still thick with hunger, “I’m ripping this skirt off.”
𖤐 MR RECA
You straddled Reca’s lap, your thighs burning from how long you'd been riding him, but the pleasure made it impossible to stop. His hands gripped your hips tightly, guiding your movements as you bounced on his cock, feeling every inch stretch you open again and again.
“That's it, sweetheart,” Reca groaned, his voice thick with arousal. “Taking me so well—like you were made for this.”
The praise sent heat rushing through your body, making your walls squeeze around him. He hissed, his grip tightening, nails digging into your soft flesh as he forced you down harder. The way he filled you was intoxicating, the deep, slow drag of his cock hitting all the right spots inside you. Every thrust sent pleasure sparking up your spine, leaving you dizzy and desperate for more.
You braced yourself against his chest, fingers digging into the fabric of his uniform. “Daddy—feels so good,” you whimpered, grinding down against him, chasing that coil of heat tightening in your stomach.
Reca let out a low, satisfied chuckle, his golden eyes locked onto your flushed face. “Yeah? You love being stuffed full of Daddy’s cock?” His voice was rough, dripping with possession. One of his hands slid up to cup your breast, his thumb flicking over your hardened nipple, making you whine. “Look at you—so greedy for me.”
You nodded frantically, lost in the pleasure, your hips moving faster. The lewd sounds of your bodies meeting filled the air, slick and messy. Every bounce had his cock rubbing against that sweet, sensitive spot inside you, sending waves of pleasure crashing over you.
“Fuck—gonna cum,” you gasped, your nails dragging down his chest.
Reca groaned, his hands flying to your waist, holding you in place as he thrust up into you, hard and deep. The sudden force sent you over the edge, pleasure exploding through you as your walls clenched down around him. Your cries filled the room, your body trembling as you came undone in his arms.
“Good girl,” Reca growled, his movements growing erratic. He buried himself deep inside you with a final thrust, his cock pulsing as he spilled inside you, filling you with his warmth. He held you there, pressed flush against him, as his cum dripped from where you were still stretched around him.
You shuddered, feeling completely wrecked, your body weak and pliant in his grasp. Reca exhaled, his lips ghosting over your temple before pulling you close, his hands stroking over your sweat—slicked skin.
“You’re staying like this for a while,” he murmured, his voice still thick with lust. “Can’t waste a drop, sweetheart.”
Your cheeks burned, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to complain. Not when being full of him felt this good.
Your body trembled as you remained seated on Reca’s lap, his cock still buried deep inside you, keeping his cum right where he wanted it. Your breath was uneven, your skin slick with sweat, but the need pooling low in your stomach refused to fade.
You shifted slightly, feeling the stretch of him still inside you, the warmth of his release leaking out around his cock. A soft whimper slipped from your lips, and Reca’s hands, still resting on your waist, tensed. His golden eyes flicked up to yours, amusement curling at the edges of his gaze.
“Already getting needy again?” he murmured, his voice rough but undeniably smug. His fingers traced slow, teasing circles along your hips before gripping them tighter. “Didn’t get fucked hard enough, sweetheart?”
You bit your lip, a shiver running through you at his tone. “I just—” Your voice came out breathy, wrecked. You squirmed against him, chasing any friction you could get, feeling your overstimulated body spark back to life. “Daddy, I still want more…”
Reca exhaled sharply, his grip tightening, and before you could say anything else, he pulled you down, forcing you to take his cock deeper. The sensation made you whine, your body jolting at the sudden pressure inside you.
“You’re insatiable,” he muttered, his lips ghosting over your ear before he nipped at the skin. “So desperate for me to fill you up again?” His hands trailed down to your thighs, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he forced you to grind against him.
The slow, torturous roll of your hips had you gasping, your body clenching around him, desperate for more. “Please,” you whimpered, your voice small, needy. “Want you to fuck me again, Daddy. Please.”
Reca groaned, his self-control snapping as he suddenly flipped you onto your back, keeping your legs spread wide around his waist. He loomed over you, red eyes dark with desire, his cock still deep inside you.
“You’re gonna take everything I give you,” he growled, pulling out slowly before slamming back in, the force making you arch off the bed. “Since my needy little thing can’t go a second without being stuffed full.”
A sharp cry left your lips as he set a brutal pace, each thrust hitting so deep it left you gasping for air. The slick sounds of your bodies meeting, the mess between your legs, and the low, possessive groans spilling from Reca’s lips filled the room.
Your nails clawed at his shoulders, tears pricking at your eyes from the overwhelming pleasure. “F-Fuck—Daddy—”
“Shh, sweetheart,” he cooed mockingly, his pace never slowing. “You wanted this, didn’t you? Begging me like a desperate little thing—now take it.”
Your body was on fire, every nerve lit up, the coil in your stomach twisting tighter with every thrust. You felt yourself teetering on the edge, your walls squeezing around him desperately.
Reca groaned, his thrusts growing rougher, more erratic. “Gonna cum for me again?” His voice was all dark amusement, knowing you were already falling apart beneath him.
You could only sob in response, nodding frantically as the pleasure became too much to bear. Your orgasm slammed into you, your entire body tensing as your walls clenched around his cock, milking him for everything he had.
“Fuck—” Reca cursed, burying himself deep one last time as he came, his warmth spilling inside you again. His grip on you was bruising, his cock pulsing as he filled you to the brim.
For a moment, all you could do was lay there, panting, your body trembling from the aftershocks of pleasure. Your skin was hot, slick with sweat, and your thighs ached from how hard he’d fucked you—but the dull, lingering throb of need refused to fade.
You could still feel him inside you, still thick, still warm, keeping his cum right where he wanted it. The way he filled you, the way his cock twitched ever so slightly, sent another wave of heat pooling low in your belly. Your breath hitched, your fingers twitching against his shoulders as the ache inside you pulsed back to life.
Reca noticed. He always noticed.
Red eyes flicked down to you, sharp, knowing. His lips curled in amusement, his hands still possessively gripping your waist. “You’re not satisfied yet, are you?” His voice was low, smug, but laced with something darker—something hungry.
You squirmed beneath him, feeling the mess between your thighs, feeling how his cock, still buried deep, made you feel so full. You whined softly, a little embarrassed by how much you still wanted him, but you couldn't stop the way your hips rolled against him, your body chasing friction.
Reca groaned, his grip tightening, his patience slipping. “Greedy little thing,” he muttered, leaning in, his breath warm against your lips. “You were just wrecked on my cock, and you’re still squirming like a needy little slut?”
A shiver ran through you at his words, and you whimpered, your nails dragging over his arms. “I c-can’t help it,” you whispered, your voice wrecked, desperate. “I need more, Daddy.”
His eyes darkened, and before you could blink, he had you pinned completely beneath him, his chest pressing against yours, his cock sliding just a little deeper. The stretch, the fullness, made you gasp, your body arching up into him.
“You’re insatiable,” he growled, his hand sliding down to your swollen clit, rubbing slow, teasing circles that made your thighs tremble. “So fucking desperate to be used again, aren’t you?”
You moaned, nodding frantically, every nerve alight with overstimulation and raw need. “Please, Daddy,” you begged, your voice breathy, pleading. “I can take it. Want you to use me—want you to fill me again.”
Reca let out a low, dangerous chuckle, his fingers tightening around your throat just enough to make your breath hitch. “Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured, rolling his hips, grinding his cock deeper, making you whine. “I’m not stopping until you break.”
And then he started fucking you again.
Brutal. Relentless. Giving you exactly what you begged for.
𖤐 ANAXA
The air was thick with anticipation as you found yourself straddling Anaxa, your heart racing with excitement. His hands gripped your waist firmly, fingers digging into your soft skin as you slowly lowered yourself onto his cock. The heat radiating from him sent shivers down your spine, and you could feel every inch of him as you sank down, gasping at the fullness.
“You feel amazing,” he breathed, his voice a mix of awe and desire, as you began to move, rolling your hips in a slow rhythm. The way his eyes darkened with pleasure urged you to pick up the pace. You loved seeing that vulnerable side of him, the way he bit his lip, fighting to maintain his composure.
With each thrust, you felt the delicious pressure building within you, your clit brushing against him just right, heightening the pleasure. You leaned forward, pressing your tits against his chest, the sensation sending sparks through your body. Anaxa’s hands roamed over your curves, squeezing your breasts, each tug eliciting soft moans from your lips.
“Ride me harder,” he commanded, the edge of dominance creeping into his tone, igniting a fire deep within you. You complied, your body instinctively responding to his words as you quickened your pace, each movement drawing you closer to ecstasy.
Anaxa’s breath hitched, and his grip tightened as he matched your rhythm, thrusting upward to meet you. The sounds of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mingling with your shared moans, creating a symphony of pleasure that echoed around you.
“Fuck, yes,” he groaned, his eyes locked onto yours, filled with both need and a hint of submission. You reveled in the sight of him lost in the moment, completely at your mercy. The power shifted between you, and you loved every second of it.
As the tension reached its peak, you could feel your orgasm approaching, an overwhelming wave of pleasure crashing over you. “I’m close,” you gasped, your movements becoming frantic as you chased your release. Anaxa’s response was immediate, urging you on with breathy encouragement, his desire fueling your own.
With one final thrust, the world around you blurred, and you fell over the edge, pleasure washing through you like a tidal wave. Anaxa followed closely behind, his own moan reverberating in your ears as he filled you, the heat of him spilling over into you.
You collapsed against him, panting heavily, the aftershocks of pleasure still coursing through you. The heat of Anaxa’s body enveloped you, but you weren’t done yet. You pulled back slightly, meeting his gaze, your eyes filled with mischief.
“Did you really think I was done?” you teased, your voice sultry and playful. You began to lift yourself again, your walls clenching around him as you prepared to ride him harder.
Anaxa chuckled, a mixture of surprise and arousal flashing across his face. “You’re insatiable,” he replied, his hands moving to your hips, guiding you.
“Maybe I just like seeing you like this,” you shot back, smirking as you slammed back down onto him, relishing the deep growl that escaped his lips. The way he filled you sent your senses reeling, igniting an even greater hunger within you.
“God, you feel incredible,” he gasped, his eyes darkening with desire. “You’re driving me crazy.”
“Good,” you replied breathlessly, “I want you to lose control.” You began to move faster, riding him with abandon, your body responding to every thrust, every shift of his hips. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed in the room, and you could feel your clit throbbing as you chased another high.
Anaxa’s hands gripped your thighs, fingers digging in as he pushed you down harder, thrusting up into you with fervor. “You’re such a good little rider,” he groaned, his voice strained. “Take it all. Show me how much you want it.”
“I want it all, Anaxa,” you breathed, throwing your head back, lost in the rhythm. “I want you to feel me. I want you to remember this.”
With every movement, you could feel the tension building again, your body coiling tighter as you pushed closer to the edge. You leaned forward, your lips brushing against his ear. “I want to feel you cum inside me. Don’t hold back,” you whispered, your words igniting a primal fire in him.
“Fuck, yes,” he growled, his grip tightening as he thrust up hard, desperation in his movements. You rode him with everything you had, the sound of your moans mixing with his, the room filled with the rawness of your desire.
“I can feel you getting close,” you teased, your breath quickening. “Don’t you dare hold back. I want to feel every drop.”
“Then let’s finish together,” he urged, his voice low and commanding. You nodded, your body moving faster, urgency taking over as you both raced toward that precipice.
“Come for me, Anaxa,” you urged, your voice breathy. “I want to feel you.”
With one final thrust, he shattered, his body tensing as he spilled into you, the warmth washing over you as you cried out, your own orgasm crashing over you in waves. You both rode out the high together, lost in the bliss of the moment, every sound and sensation intensified.
𖤐 PHAINON
The dim light of the room wrapped around you like a silken sheet, casting soft shadows that danced on the walls. You could feel the electric tension in the air, a palpable heat that made your skin tingle. Phainon sat back against the edge of the bed, his intense gaze locked onto you, a wicked smirk playing on his lips. The sight of him, with his strong build and confident demeanor, sent a rush of desire through you, igniting a fire deep within.
With a sultry smile, you slowly approached him, your heels clicking softly against the floor. Each step accentuated your curves, drawing his eyes to your legs, which were showcased perfectly by the strappy heels. As you positioned yourself above him, the hard length of his cock pressed against your thighs, sending a thrill of anticipation coursing through you.
“Please,” you breathed, your voice trembling with need. You could feel the ache pooling in your core, a desperate yearning for more. Phainon’s hands found your waist, his fingers digging in just enough to remind you of his strength, a promise of the pleasure to come.
“Look at you, all needy,” he teased, his voice low and dripping with desire. The way he said it sent shivers down your spine, making you crave him even more.
Ignoring his taunt, you slowly lowered yourself onto his cock, a gasp escaping your lips as he filled you completely. The sensation was overwhelming; your clit brushed against his base, sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body. You felt so full, so alive, the connection between you two electrifying.
You began to ride him, starting slow to savor every moment as you adjusted to his size. Your hips moved with a deliberate rhythm, relishing the way he filled you, the sensation of his cock stretching you perfectly. Each movement ignited your senses, pushing you closer to the edge.
The sound of your bodies meeting filled the air, the soft thud of skin against skin mingling with your breathy moans. You could feel your tits bouncing with each thrust, the sight making Phainon’s eyes darken with lust. The sight of him watching you, completely entranced, only fueled your desire, making you more needy.
“P—Phainon,” you moaned, your voice breathless as you ground down harder, feeling the weight of your heels adding to the intoxicating mix of sensations. The pressure was building in your core, your body demanding more of him, more of this exquisite pleasure. You craved him, the way he filled you, the way his hands guided you deeper into ecstasy.
“Such a good girl for me,” he growled, his grip on your waist tightening, guiding your movements as he pushed you to ride him even harder. You could feel the heat pooling at the base of your spine, ready to explode as you lost yourself in the rhythm of your bodies. Your clit throbbing, while your pussy clenched around his cock. With every thrust, the tension inside you wound tighter, the pleasure becoming almost unbearable.
“Just like that,” he urged, his voice low and commanding. “Don’t hold back. Let go for me.”
You felt your heart racing, every nerve ending alive as you surrendered to the wave of pleasure crashing over you. The heat built to a fever pitch, your body screaming for release. You clung to him, the heels digging into his thighs as you rode him with wild abandon, desperate to reach that sweet release. You bit down your plump bottom lip, tears began to swell in your eyes while you looked at his eyes.
The sound of your moans filled the room, mixing with the slick sounds of your bodies moving together. You were lost in the moment, consumed by the ecstasy of being filled by him, of feeling every inch of him deep inside. You could feel the familiar tightening in your core, the way your body responded to his every thrust.
As you reached the edge, your moans grew louder, spilling out as you felt the rush of pleasure wash over you. “Phainon! I’m—” Your words were cut off by a cry of bliss as the wave crashed over you, sending you spiraling into euphoria. You cum milking his cock, as he moaned and whimpered, filling you up to bliss.
“Fuck, baby, we’re not done yet,” Phainon smirked, his hands gripping your ass as he gave it a rough squeeze. You whimpered, body trembling from the way his cock still throbbed inside your soaked pussy, thick cum dripping down your inner thighs.
Your legs burned from how long you’d been riding him, heels still strapped to your feet, the sheer stockings clinging to your sweat-slicked skin. Every movement had your sensitive clit brushing against his pelvis, sending sharp sparks of pleasure up your spine.
Phainon chuckled, watching the way your tits bounced with each shuddering breath. “Look at you, baby. So fucked-out, but I know you can take more,” he murmured, fingers dragging up your waist before he cupped your tits, rolling your nipples between his fingers.
“You’re gonna ride me until I’m satisfied,”he growled, hips thrusting up sharply, making you cry out as his cock pressed deep inside your overstimulated pussy. “So be a good girl and keep going.”
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ᥫ᭡ THEIR KINKS / Jing Yuan, Aventurine, Dr. Ratio, Mr. Reca, Mydei, Phainon
contents: female reader / manhandling / wall sex / size kink / blindfolding / nipple play / fingering / gun play / cnc—consensual predator x prey roleplay / sub Mr. Reca / face slapping / degradation / bondage / oral fem receiving / established relationship / minors dni
JING YUAN—manhandling
There’s been rumour circling around, that general’s weapon was so heavy you needed multiple soldiers to carry it… and while it was all true, Jing Yuan himself could have handled it with just one hand.
The same way he could manhandle you.
He loved to exercise his strength over you, and was well aware you loved it just as much, if not more… that’s why it was no surprise when you found yourself in the current situation.
Spread on his bed, your legs bent almost down to your head, his hands on the undersides of your thighs to immobilize you this way and use you as a leverage simultaneously. To make it worse, his hips were angled in a way where he wasn’t fully resting his body on the mattress, but pushing himself into you with his feet dug into spongy surface and keeping his legs raised above your body, forcing you to take him fully so far up till your cervix was nudged with each fall of his body. His size didn’t help either, and all combined was driving you to the point of losing your faith—will you be allowed to think of anything not Jing Yuan related ever again?
The man pushing you to the limits you didn’t think you’d have to reach to start questioning your own wellbeing became all frenzy today; clearly has been thinking about you for entire day and needing to leave work early to fuck his darling until evening comes. Something was wrong with him, he was broken yet you didn’t carry confidence to ask why was he taking it out on you. And he didn’t need a real reason—deny him of your presence for too long and you’re not leaving until you’re assuming he’s the only man left, for him to have you ruined like this. Clingy, obsessed, horny? Whatever you wanted to describe him as, he’ll laugh it off with pride; just willing to prove you were so right.
“Jing Yuan!” you cried out, tears blurring your vision from the maddening force of his cock opening you up with every thrust, only for your walls to close down when pulling out and him having to open you again—a cruel cycle, leaving your legs shake. You’ve been made to take him, you took him everyday, and you still didn’t even know how to handle yourself each time.
“Yeah, darling?” he smiled lazily, teasing you with it at your messy state a little, but his voice was a different story—strangled and hissed through his teeth, having him curse everything on Loufu for the vicious grip of your heat that was only sucking him in from its tightness. “You’re too deep in…” you mewled. “I’m gonna feel you inside of me forever…”
Jing Yuan’s pace faltered for a second, something wicked glimmering in his eyes at your words, causing him to be even more attentive to your cries. The idea of leaving his shape imprinted inside your sweet and tight bliss, forever, every walk and breathe a reminder of the fact he was there and he’ll be there everyday inside of you, made his balls twitch and threaten to spill inside of you already. “Is that so, my precious? I think that should be our goal then. You already know how much you’re loved by me, but perhaps a reminder won’t hurt…”
You yelped, as you suddenly were being lifted into his strong arms with such an ease it was scary one could be this powerful, his fingers digging into your bottom’s flesh and forcing it to shape into his fingertips. He didn’t dare to pull out, forcing you to stay skewered on him, and you had to wrap your legs around his hips for balance. You were more surprised when he pushed your back against the wall of the bedroom.
“You better hold on tight, sweetheart. Not that I’d drop you,” he warned with a teasing and awfully sly smile (one you thought you’d see only during battle), not giving you much time to settle into the situation, as he was pushing you up and down right away, arching your upper body to rest against the wall. His forearms were holding you under your knees, further provided with his hands on your hips as if you weighed nothing.
“Jing Yuan—” you gasped, quickly wrapping your arms around his shoulders. You thought you were going to die here, because he didn’t even have to do much to startle you—he was bouncing you up and down, letting the gravity do the work as every fall down was having such an impact, making his thrust heavy and knocking your insides, and you had no gaps inside your pussy that were left alone when you were filled to the brim… with you feeling as if your body would have to carve extra space to accommodate his dick, maybe to stay this way forever. “What are you…” you moaned, and dug your nails into his skin; something that only encouraged Jing Yuan.
Your legs around his hips, your back against the will, and his muscular arms holding your body smoothly kept you in a safe position, but it wasn’t a fall you feared. No, you were so overwhelmed and never have been filled up by him this much, not even with usual size struggle. Regardless of the fact it didn’t hurt after you’ve been forced to adjust to his girth, you still thought you could barely breathe with how intense the experience was.
“Is my darling enjoying herself?” he asked softly, not matching the vehemence of the situation he put you in. You managed to only nod, but your face told him all he needed to know—you looked both delirious and in love.
You realized you were, in fact, liking everything—being manhandled was one thing, the idea to have a man strong for times you feel weak so soothing—but being so full of him was euphoric, leaving you with nothing to worry about other than having his shape branded inside your pussy. Every single nerve inside of you was stimulated to its fullest potential, his thickness forced a friction so intense it felt as if being scraped from the inside supported merely with a smooth glide from your wetness, and his cock filled you up so nicely you could or would cry.
He had you bent in half again, yet in ways you would have never thought of.
Jing Yuan held your gaze no matter of the gymnastics he’s been putting you through, forcing it to be locked with his. He observed you so intensely, your orgasmic face mostly, as if reading your thoughts; but with the occasional glance downward to see how far he’s been splitting you on his cock, forcing your folds apart and slapping his balls onto your ass when entirely sheathed in. You were full of him as you should be.
Despite the debauchery of the act, it was so intimate when he looked you in the eye, silently worshiping you and your expression when his face softened. You truly were his.
DR. RATIO—blindfolding
A planet Veritas came from had been mastering the art of love for centuries, sex included. To people like him, sex wasn’t something just animalistic to get off of to. No, it was a complicated, refined, calculated process of making love.
And Veritas wanted you to experience it all. He might take years to show you everything he wanted to offer, but such things meant only having you two bond together this beautifully for many years to come, a future really inviting to participate in.
Neither was you being under him any less deliberate, a black blindfold over your eyes to temporarily deny you of ability to see. The material was the softest he could have found, not willing to overstimulate you with something rough or itchy in your most sensitive moments. The blindfold was the only article on your bare body, with another fabric being soft sheets under your pliant form he kneeled next to.
“I want you to focus on my touch and tell me where my hands are,” he informed. His voice was calm, should he make your sensory denial lead you to be nervous. You nodded, feeling oddly safe in the situation, an immaculate amount of trust for him leaving you unshaken. “I will.”
Your breath hitched when his hand first skimmed from your abdomen, and he had to drum his fingers on you as a reminder to speak. “You’re touching me under my belly…”
He was across your midriff, “My waist…”, and under your breasts, “…Below my chest.”
He was right about the experience being more intense when you couldn’t see it. You were forced to focus on touch and sounds—his slightly elevated breathing from seeing your nudity and excitement to teach you, the softness of his big palm thanks to his favorite hand cream, his fingertips, the warmth of his hands that dragged themselves flat across your front.
“Good?” he asked in confirmation of you holding up, and you nodded, making him smile lightly. His both hands stroked your nipples gently as a next step of provoking your body, making them harden and making you exhale shakily; especially at his fingers fondling them with a small squeeze. “M-my nipples…”
For first time in a while, you weren’t desperate to quickly get to the main part. The sensuality of the moment was driving you desperate, but also left you wanting to drag it on for forever. There was no mindless lust in there, and you felt as if bed was liquid and you were becoming the liquid yourself, melting into the surface. You were so safe and stable, as long as he’s here. Slow touches melted you.
“And how does it feel? Does it hurt?” he inquired.
You shook your head, “No, it feels good, Veritas.”
Something about you sounding so soft and breathy, looking all delicate and vulnerable, trusting him to guide you safely through this journey, filled his chest with even more love for you. He leaned down to give you a kiss, oh-so-gentle to not be a bother to your heightened nerves. You mewled against his lips, lying pliant under him and letting him guide you again.
The kiss left your lips parted, Veri having molded your body numb you didn’t even want to close them or move. What you’ve wanted was only his touch, with just you two in the world.
You whimpered when his hand soon rubbed the inside of your thigh, and he carefully knocked your legs apart with his knee. The anticipation was high as the hand wandered higher, nearing a place you thought you no longer would handle with how sensitive sensory deprivation has shaped your body. “Veritas…”
“Yes, I’m here with you. Is it too much?”
It was too much but not in a way for you to need to stop—you just weren’t used to waves of pleasure trembling your body all across it and experiencing it so accumulated in individual spots other than just inside of you. “It’s a lot but I want you.”
You got a soft chuckle in response, and he finally pressed his finger against your clit, tapping it few times as if it was a button to press. Your hips squirmed, and your senses focused on thousands of nerves here being induced, as he waited for you to adjust to something akin to putting you on fire. “Just like this, settle down…” he muttered quietly.
Veritas leaned over your body, kissing your shoulder, before he slipped first thick finger into you.
AVENTURINE—gun play
The revolver you held in your hand didn’t contain any bullets, which didn’t make Aventurine any less high on adrenaline, his ears buzzing with blood rushing there.
You, straddling his hips and bouncing your naked body off of his, holding a revolver to his temple—there was no real threat but his body registered it, making his hands hold onto your hips shakily and his dick twitch inside of you. Could a man come just from the sense of risk? He had a feeling it was indeed possible. Even the creak of the bed or the sound of your skin hitting his was falling loudly on his ears and intensifying his nerves, as if every sound made him anticipate something bad coming.
“B-baby…” he moaned out shakily, “…you’re so wicked to be doing this…” His hand barely managed to move upwards to circle on your clit, mere mimicking of his learned language during sex, as he was too shaken up to do regular protocol and actually succeed.
The words got you pressing a gun even closer to his head, and speed up your ride. Your hand swatted his hand between your thighs away, with you deciding to do it yourself or you’d never orgasm. “Didn’t you ask for it? It’s not my fault you���re such an adrenaline freak,” you teased, though you were not any less affected. Not only has been his cock compelling you to feel good, it was also the power and risk (no matter if feigned) that got you all aroused. You let Aventurine practice his infatuation with risk-taking in a safer way than reality, but it didn’t feel safe in any way. “Can’t even keep up with me… can’t even do your share?” you mocked again.
Aventurine groaned pathetically, too prideful to admit you were right. He was busy with something else anyway—eyeing your hand intensely, as if watching out for the pull of the trigger. He wouldn’t get shot, but they did teach you to handle empty gun as loaded one for the reason—you might forget the barrel wasn’t empty and get killed. And that’s what his paranoid mind was telling him; that despite checking on his revolver thousands of time before you two had started your game, somehow you still forgot to empty it.
When you finally pulled the trigger and nothing happened, the same way nothing had happened when he used to gamble his life and play Russian roulette, he almost came on the spot, trashing under your body trapping his. You laughed, before you moaned as he pushed you down against his cock harder by your waist. “Don’t tell me you’re going to cum from me acting as if I could have shot you?”
But you exposed yourself when you squeezed tightly on him after voicing out the idea, your hold on the revolver loosening, especially when your arm has been already cramping from keeping it in air for too long. “I guess you’re not any better,” he teased back, snapping his hips upward and making you scream silently; you were not suspecting Aventurine to be suddenly confident again. It seemed winning by not getting shot put him back on the right track.
“Your hand seems tired, why don’t you let me handle our weapon?” He grabbed the revolver from your hold, and put his arm up.
Soon, it was him aiming the revolver at your head, fucking you (thankfully) harder from below.
MR. RECA—degradation
Just because Reca was currently placed above you, your strong legs around his hips, breathing heavily against your ear, didn’t mean you weren’t the one in the position of power here.
Oh, how much he’s been craving for you to take charge every time you two were intimate, now matter how many times you’ve called him selfish for it (not that he wouldn’t enjoy it!). Today was no different, when you were calling him names from under him, mocking his hasty thrusts.
“You’re so desperate, Reca,” you said coldly and pushed your hips back at him, making him gasp at the sudden depth of his cock inside your pussy, all hugging him tightly. “Humping against me like a dog. Have you got no shame?” You could tell he was too overwhelmed to even put his entire length into your hole, thrusting only half of his cock into you.
“Hah… I’m sorry, dear… I cannot help myself when it comes to you!” he whined against your ear, his hands messily holding onto your waist to force your body to be thrusted into.
When you yanked his head up by his hair, for him to see that cold look to get off to, he was suddenly slapped in the face—on both sides for a good measure. “It’s ma’am when we’re at this.”
His stomach dropped in shame, his face stinging and swelling from the hit, yet it only made him move even faster—the pain and disrespect got him going, if not hoping to provoke you even further. “Y-yes, I’m sorry, ma’am!”
“You always say that only for you to do what you want,” you clicked your tongue. “It’s as if you’re doing this on purpose, wanting me to put you in your place,” you scoffed with disgust. He both hated and loved how your voice could stay composed even when he was making you feel good, as if you actually were bored and he was just a desperate virgin using a sex toy. No matter how degrading it was to have his efforts look pointless, it only made him more motivated to gain your approval. He strived to make you proud and have you reward him later.
But half-assed thrusts weren’t satisfying enough, if he was eager for your acknowledgment. Your legs around his hips moved lower and dug their heels into his ass, forcing him closer.
“Wait—” With you not letting him go, he was inside of you fully, making it way too intense for him. He could only do little thrusts with limited movement but those grinds were worse when you took him to the base—a fault of the fact his cock was sensitive not just in his tip but all over.
“What’s wrong? I thought you were desperate. Or do you want me to stop?” you asked with a cruel grin, making him moan just at the sight, and even more panicked at the idea of stopping.
“No, ma’am!” Reca then buried his face into your neck again, unable to handle the pressure of your pussy. “Thank you… it just feels so good…” he groaned, panting against your ear like a shameful creature.
“It always feels good, doesn’t it? Because you’d like everything I do, no matter how painful or degrading,” you mocked with a laugh, sparking another embarrassing for him to admit truth.
“I can’t help it… I love you so much,” he murmured into your skin, making you sigh.
A rare moment of softness from you during these scenarios, you rubbed his back, gently scratching the skin at that. He kissed your neck with a smile, slowing down on his grinds for a moment of rest, until you were pulling on his hair again, this time smashing your lips with his.
Yes, his beloved was so merciful.
MYDEI—primal play
While Mydei had sworn to never, ever hurt you, he was still a warrior through and through. It was no accident why a game you have proposed one day filled him with nothing but a battlefreak’s excitement. For next few hours, you’re no different from any of his enemies—he’ll strike you down in a way or another.
A chase through ruins of Kremnos, a place he picked specifically for no one to disturb you… if there’s any Nikador’s titankin anywhere, he’d kill it first.
Obviously, Mydei’s speed and agility were much better than yours, therefore he made sure to slow down his ru to not spoil the race too quickly—which didn’t make the situation any less exciting. When you turned around the corner to enter one of the largest rooms to hide somewhere behind tall furniture, feeling your heart pound so hard out of your chest you couldn’t tell if it was excitement, fear, or both; he suddenly yelled behind you and laughed, his low voice booming against the walls. You cursed as you knew he was getting close, ruining your any plans of escape whatsoever.
“You know there’s no escape from me, prey. Once I catch you, you’re not getting anywhere until I had my fill!”
You didn’t ease on your legs after hearing his words, only sprinted faster to avoid being pounced on by your hunter. You were very hopeful when you saw a small window, now devoid of glass, one you thought you could jump through to the ground outside—needing this to catch a small break before you’d be on the run again, as your lungs burn, allowing you to barely catch any oxygen in.
Your hopes were shattered when you were being suddenly tackled to the hard tiles, not expecting for Mydei to be behind you already—you didn’t notice any sound foretelling his approach!
He had enough decency to put a hand under your forehead when you fell, not wishing for his lover to end up with a cracked skull over some game… even if your arms and legs got scraped where your clothes didn’t hide you—all raw-feeling only made it better anyway.
“Caught you,” he said with a wicked smile, his heavy body above yours forced to rest face down, your head only tilted to the side for some resemblance of control of your demise by seeing his face.
Mydei was looking at you as if you were an actual prey that it got you worried for a moment—have he mistook you for one? Thankfully, he wiped your tears you didn’t realize you had already, a silent sign he was still in control; enough to not break the act.
“Little thing for a lion to eat. I wonder if such small creature can even take me… oh, but I’ll surely get enough from you,” he grinned.
You trashed under him, hiding an excitement at the idea of struggle and him forcing you into submission and crushing you until you’re shaking on these tiles and leaking his cum from your red and irritated hole. “Let me go!” your cries echoed through empty space, with no one to save you from this monster. Forced to rely on your most basic instincts, your anxious chest acted as if you actually were in danger.
“Stay still, or I’ll fuck you even harder,” he warned, a threat only going down to the twitch between your legs, and suddenly tore your bottom clothes apart, making you flinch at the sudden cold against your pussy. You were very glad he removed his armor for this chase—otherwise he’d have torn your skin apart too.
Mydei his pants down with a scary speed, his other hand pinning your wrists above your head. The struggle made you feel uneven rocks dig into your stomach under, but with the adrenaline in your veins you registered no pain. “No! You can’t do this!” you said frantically, making him laugh, as he already has noticed the wet state between your ass cheeks. “Your own body betrays you and you dare to lie to my face. I should punish you for this as well.”
And when your legs kicked trying to hit his back, he forced his body to lay on top of you harder, his legs between yours, making you feel as if you’d choke from how heavy he was as if you weren’t still breathless. With this placement, you felt his obnoxiously hard and big cock pressed against your weeping hole, his tip catching against your clit as he started to drag it across your slit to force out more slick. It was the only foreplay you’d receive to keep the act naturally spontaneous, and so you hissed from a sting when he suddenly pushed his hot dick inside of you from behind, stretching your walls and forcing them to take the whole thing too violently to your own body’s pace of making up space for him it almost hurt.
Mydei cursed when you tightened from the scream at his brutality. He let go of your wrists for you to dig your nails into the ground, and squeezed your hip with one hand and nape with the other in hard pressure, not letting you up by even an inch; with that, scratching your face against rough ground in result. This one gesture actually ached even if your hole didn’t, with him almost straining your hipbone and spine. But you were so full, the built up excitement threatening to make you cum already, and you wanted him to take you right here, as if you truly were a prey he caught. “Stupid little thing… you have a long night ahead of you,” the triumph over successful hunt was clear in his voice. The surge of power he felt over you and your weak body, way too easy for him to break if he was to choose to, he’ll remember about it every time he sees your legs limp tomorrow.
Not daring to deny himself of feasting on his prize, he began fucking your prone form immediately; even faster when you were screaming and moaning for the sound to jump off of the walls, relishing in the begs of his meal and prey to stop and not hurt them. With the sweat on your skin from the prior exercise, the skin clapping was even louder and caused your skin to burn, soon to be chaffed too.
You now knew what it feel like to be on the receiving side of his anger and prowess, making you feel as despised as his enemies he promised to kill no matter how many he’d have to face.
You were crying into the floor, but only for Mydeimos and for more of his barbarity to be drawn out of him. You’ll become the target to his fatal blows of thrusts, until you pass out as if he actually has launched the final attack.
PHAINON—bondage
The idea of Phainon having a chance to bind you in ropes has been circling his mind for a while. It wasn’t to dare to go as shamefully as to make you feel uncomfortable or trapped… the opposite—he saw it as a way of strengthening the sense of trust between you two, and you giving yourself to him so willingly, a proof of the mutual lovers’ devotion between you and him.
You exhaled out deeply when he ended tying ropes of silk ribbons around you, the cold fabric chilling you with a shudder sliding downward of your spine your body rested on; getting your body hair to poke air outward. He was kind enough to pick something in your favorite shade, to make it more comfortable and familiar… not to mention more resembling of you for him to admire.
The ribbons had your arms forced to stick firmly to your sides, wrapped around your chest to connect. Other spread of the ribbon tied your thighs to your calves, on each sides. You for sure couldn’t get anywhere like this, yet Phainon still got you comfortable with a soft pillow for your head to rest on.
And while you were somewhat nervous at amplified vulnerability, one bigger than your nudity would bring, Phainon tried to make the process as smooth as possible. He’s read a lot about how to tie you, not willing to cause your body any harm or discomfort, and he wouldn’t hesitate to pause in case something arises.
He let the small look of excitement and curiosity in your eyes lead him further. “Beautiful…” he marveled at the sight of you offered to him on bed this way, wrapped in silk as if you were a gift for him sent from heavens. Each stripe squeezed your flesh gently, spilling out its curves and softness, letting him love little cellulite dips even more. The color of the material was perfect for your skin tone as well, another match made in heaven. “Thank you for letting me do this, my love. I shall not disappoint you.”
Crawling between your legs, he grabbed your hand to kiss, lifting it up for you when you couldn’t move your arms up. “Relax… I’ve got you.” His lips wandered up your arm, skimming through silk, trailing to your shoulders. You exhaled shakily, feeling tad riled up by delicate smooches, ones leaving pleasant prickles of pleasure. With a tilt of your back as result, Phainon kissed over your neck and throat, lingering here to leave a small mark to decorate your skin in addition to the wrapping.
You whimpered at his lips now wrapped around your nipple, followed by a moan when his finger gently rubbed your clit between your wide open thighs, with you unable to escape this pleasure. “I know you’ll be out of these eventually… but I truly enjoy how much they make you stay with me, love,” he whispered into your breast, his fingers gently teasing your petals and parting them with two. Feeling generous of his love today, he left a little nibble on your chest to remind you of this beautiful experience when you’ll bathe with him later.
You squirmed like a precious darling of his, almost overstimulated already from how slow-paced everything became. Your body was hyper-aware of every touch when you couldn’t release your tension in tied up restriction.
You made him chuckle, “That sensitive already? I hope you can handle a bit more. You can, don’t you, darling?”
When you nodded, he smiled encouraging you to give in a bit more, and lowered his body to be between your legs. He had to take advantage of binds keeping you in place, to see how little or a lot you can handle when you are at his mercy and entrusting him with your body. A soft sigh left his lips when he saw a little pool of wetness gathering inside your hole.
Just a small dip of his tongue inside got you to trash if you couldn’t grab onto his hair like you usually would want to. You could have only gathered sheets of the bed to hold, with your arms forced down to stay in straight line. “Phainon…” you moaned his name, a hint of pleading. When your eyes lowered to see him, the tormentor of your nervous system, your stomach churned at the sharp-edged focus on his face. Oh, you had no doubt he’d keep you question your own beliefs about him any time now.
“I know, you’re already doing so good for me,” he praised, and licked a stripe up your slit to suckle on your clit like a candy. As an instinct, you tried to wrap your thighs around his head, only to be stuck with your legs bent to your body. You cried out in frustration, and Phainon hushed you quietly.
“No need to struggle. I just want you to focus on what I’m doing to you, not fighting to get out of these. Alright?”
“Y-yes… just, please, don’t tease me more…”
“Tease you?” he laughed, his voice so pretty on your ears you wished you could kiss him again: even if you were catching up with hidden intention he was slowly revealing to you. “I just make sure to not overwhelm you. But if that’s not enough for you…” he left the word hanging in the air, before he was slurping at your wetness with twice of vigor.
When you threw your head back, it was only Phainon on your mind, conceiving a worry if you’d receive any leniency tonight. You still had a lot to learn about him, it seemed to the case.
Can you tell my favorite on the list… 🤭
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you storm out in the middle of an argument
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pairings: gojo x reader, geto x reader, nanami x reader, sukuna x reader, toji x reader
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GOJO - the second you stormed out, gojo was right behind you.
you heard his footsteps almost immediately, quick and determined. of course, he wasn’t going to just let you go—not without a fight.
“leave me alone, gojo,” you snapped over your shoulder, picking up your pace.
“nope.”
you groaned. “i need space.”
“i need you to not walk around alone at night,” he countered, effortlessly keeping up.
you whirled around, frustration bubbling over. “i can protect myself.”
gojo sighed, running a hand through his hair. "i know you can. you’re strong, way too strong for me, honestly—i think about it all the time, actually, how you could probably throw me into the sun if you really tried—”
“gojo.”
“right, right, focus.” he exhaled. “i know you can handle yourself. that’s not the point. i just—please, come back home.”
you clenched your jaw, crossing your arms. gojo loved your stubbornness—adored it, actually. but right now, he just wished you’d listen to him.
when you didn’t say anything, he groaned dramatically, throwing his hands up. “come on—don’t make me get on my knees.”
“you wouldn’t.”
“oh, i would. right here. in the middle of the street.”
you rolled your eyes, turning to keep walking. when you finally took in your surroundings. without even realizing it, you’d walked all the way to a 7-eleven.
gojo followed your gaze, then brightened immediately. “oh? a sign from the heavens?” he turned to you with a grin. “ramen?”
you sighed, and gojo, ever the opportunist, pressed on. “my treat.”
“you always pay,” you deadpanned.
“exactly! so, technically, i didn’t even have to say that—but i did, because i’m a generous and loving boyfriend.”
you exhaled, shaking your head. “…yeah, okay.”
gojo beamed like you had just accepted a marriage proposal. “knew you couldn’t resist me.”
you shot him a glare, but he just threw an arm around your shoulder, steering you inside like you hadn’t just been arguing minutes ago.
as he grabbed entirely too many snacks, sneaking extras into your basket with a shit-eating grin, you felt the weight in your chest ease just a little.
you weren’t done being mad at him—not completely. but as he stood beside you at the register, arms full of junk food, nudging you with his elbow like a lovesick fool, you realized—
yeah. you’d be okay.
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GETO - suguru doesn’t stop you.
not because he doesn’t care—no, quite the opposite. he watches as you grab your coat, as you storm out, and he lets you go. he knows you need space, and he respects that.
but that doesn’t mean he’s not going to find you.
you don’t know how long you’ve been walking, the frustration from your argument still lingering, but eventually, you find yourself stopping by a quiet street corner. you sigh, rubbing a hand over your face, trying to steady your thoughts—
and then you hear it. a smooth, familiar voice from behind you.
“you’re really making me work for it tonight, huh?”
you whip around, only to see geto standing there, hands tucked casually into his sleeves, watching you with that unreadable expression of his.
you glare. “how did you even find me?”
he tilts his head, amused. “you’re predictable.”
you huff, crossing your arms. “if you’re here to drag me home, don’t bother.”
geto steps closer, slow and easy. “i’m not dragging you anywhere.”
you raise an eyebrow. “then what do you want?”
he exhales through his nose, shaking his head. “you’re upset. i get it. but you know i hate leaving things like this.” he steps beside you, hands still tucked into his sleeves. “so, i figured i’d come find you.”
you don’t answer right away, staring at the ground. then, without warning, your eyes begin to sting. you blink rapidly, willing the tears away, but it’s too late—geto sees it instantly.
his expression shifts, the tension in his shoulders vanishing in an instant. before you can turn away, he’s already in front of you, his hands cupping your cheeks with the kind of gentleness that makes your chest ache.
“hey, hey, hey,” he murmurs, tilting your face up to him. “don’t cry.” his thumbs brush lightly under your eyes, catching the first traces of tears. “look at me.”
you do, even though it only makes your throat feel tighter.
his brows furrow, guilt flashing across his face. “i’m sorry, okay?” his voice is soft, sincere. “i didn’t mean to upset you.”
you swallow hard, blinking up at him. “…you were being an ass.”
a small, breathy chuckle leaves him. “yeah,” he admits. “i was.”
you sniff, and he immediately wipes away another tear before it can fall, his touch warm and steady. “but i didn’t mean to be,” he continues. “you know that, right?”
you nod.
geto exhales, relief evident in his expression. his hands don’t leave your face, his thumbs still tracing slow, soothing circles against your skin.
“come home?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper.
you glance away, mumbling, “still mad.”
“i know.” his lips quirk into a small smile. “you can be mad at me at home, too.”
a pause. then, finally—
“okay.”
he doesn’t say anything, just lets his forehead rest lightly against yours for a moment before taking your hand in his, squeezing it once before leading you back home.
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NANAMI - the argument had left a bitter weight in your chest, one that you couldn’t shake no matter how much you wanted to. the walls of your shared home felt too tight, too suffocating, so you did the only thing that made sense—you grabbed your coat and walked out.
you didn’t have a destination in mind, just the simple need to move, to put some distance between you and the words that had been thrown too carelessly.
at first, you thought you were alone. but then, a few blocks in, you heard it—steady, familiar footsteps trailing behind you.
you sighed. “kento.”
a pause. “hm?”
you turned slightly, just enough to glance over your shoulder. sure enough, he was there. hands in his pockets, expression unreadable, but present nonetheless. he didn’t try to walk beside you, didn’t call your name or tell you to come home—he was just there.
“you don’t have to follow me,” you muttered.
nanami exhaled slowly, adjusting his tie as he kept his pace behind you. “i know.”
and yet, he didn’t stop.
you didn’t push him away, either.
the night air was crisp, the streets quiet save for the occasional car passing by. you walked, and he followed. neither of you spoke. the argument still lingered between you, raw and unhealed, but for some reason, his quiet presence made it easier to breathe.
eventually, your feet carried you to the park. it was empty this late, just dimly lit by a few scattered streetlights. you found yourself heading toward the swing set, your steps slowing as you lowered yourself onto one of the swings. the chains creaked slightly under your weight.
nanami hesitated for only a second before taking the swing next to you. he didn’t say anything, just sat there, hands resting on his thighs, eyes fixed ahead.
the silence stretched, not uncomfortable, just… there.
after a long moment, you broke it.
“we’re going to be okay, right?” your voice was quieter than you intended, but you didn’t correct it.
nanami didn’t answer immediately. he let out a slow breath.
“yeah,” he said, firm, certain. “we’re going to be okay.”
and for the first time since the argument, you let yourself believe it.
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SUKUNA - the door had barely swung shut before you heard heavy footsteps behind you.
you had barely made it down the front steps when a clawed hand wrapped around your wrist, yanking you to a stop.
sukuna’s grip wasn’t painful, but it was firm—unrelenting. “where do you think you’re going?” his voice was low, edged with something unreadable.
you didn’t turn to face him. “i need to cool off.”
his fingers twitched against your skin. “tch. you can cool off inside.”
you exhaled sharply, attempting to pull away, but he didn’t let you. his grip remained steady, grounding. “i don’t want to be inside right now, sukuna.”
“and i don’t want you wandering off alone.”
you finally turned, eyes burning with frustration. “i can take care of myself.”
his expression didn’t change, but something flickered behind his crimson gaze. “i know you can.” his tone softened, just barely. “that’s not the point.”
silence settled between you, tense and heavy. the night air was cool against your skin, the world around you quiet. your breathing was uneven, your heart still pounding from the argument. you wanted to be stubborn, to keep walking just to prove a point.
but sukuna didn’t let go.
for a long moment, he just looked at you. not with anger, not with amusement—just quiet, unreadable intensity. and then, after a sigh that sounded almost reluctant, his grip loosened. his hand slid down to take yours, fingers wrapping around yours in a way that felt less like restraint and more like holding on.
“come back inside,” he muttered. his voice wasn’t commanding, not like before. it was something else. something almost pleading.
you hesitated, still upset, still wanting to fight. but his hand was warm, solid, there. the fight had drained out of you, leaving only exhaustion in its wake.
after a long pause, you sighed, giving his fingers a small squeeze before turning back toward the house.
sukuna didn’t say anything, just followed beside you, his hand never leaving yours. when you stepped inside, he made sure the door was locked behind you, his movements slow, deliberate. neither of you spoke as he guided you toward the bedroom, the silence no longer suffocating but something quieter, softer.
the argument wasn’t over. you weren’t ready to let it go. but as sukuna’s grip lingered, steady and sure, you knew—
you two were going to be okay.
TOJI - toji doesn’t follow you. at least, not right away.
he watches as you storm out, jaw clenched, arms crossed, your anger still crackling in the air like static. he lets you leave, doesn’t call after you, doesn’t chase you down. he just sits there, rubbing a hand over his face with a deep sigh.
but after a few minutes, he clicks his tongue, grabs his jacket, and heads out after you.
he knows you—knows you’re stubborn, knows you need space, but he also knows it’s late, and he’ll be damned if he lets you wander around alone.
it doesn’t take long to find you. you’re sitting on a bench at some quiet little bus stop, arms hugged around yourself, your knee bouncing impatiently. toji exhales, shoving his hands in his pockets as he makes his way over.
you glance up when he steps in front of you, glaring. “go away.”
“not happening,” he says flatly.
you scoff, turning your head. “i don’t wanna talk to you.”
“good,” he deadpans. “cause i ain’t here to talk.”
you blink, caught off guard, looking at him. he just shrugs. “you needed space, so i gave it to ya. now i’m just gonna sit here and shut up.”
and with that, toji plops down onto the bench next to you, spreading his legs wide, leaning back like this is the most natural thing in the world.
you stare at him. “you’re kidding.”
“nah.” he closes his eyes, tilting his head back. “go on. be mad.”
you are mad. but suddenly, it feels a little ridiculous.
the two of you sit there in silence, the sounds of the city buzzing faintly in the distance. the weight of the argument still lingers, but toji’s presence, solid and unshaken, makes it feel smaller. like it’s not going to swallow you whole.
after a while, he cracks an eye open, side-eyeing you. “you done sulking yet?”
you huff. “i’m not sulking.”
“yeah, yeah.” he stretches, rolling his shoulders. “c’mon. let’s go.”
you hesitate. “i dunno…”
he stands up, glancing down at you. “i’ll buy you food.”
you squint. “bribery?”
toji smirks. “call it what ya want. just get up.”
you sigh, but when he holds a hand out to you, you take it. his grip is warm, steady, and when he tugs you to your feet, he doesn’t let go.
“where are we going?” you mumble.
“dunno.” he shrugs. “we’ll figure it out.”
and somehow, that’s enough.
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Intertidal Zone
♱⋅── rafayel x reader
♱⋅── about: Nightly Rendezvous card, but now we finally understand why rafayel was so desperate when he came back to the hotel room.
♱⋅── word count: 6.7k
♱⋅── warnings: mdni, smut, porn with some plot, the belt scene, slight exhibisionism, sooo much kissing, slight oral fixation, Lemurian mating bond, needy raf
art credit to @/khouxy on instagram
You swear Rafayel is doing this on purpose.
The first time it happens is right after your flight, the two of you only just managing to check into your hotel and change for dinner.
It's a fancy restaurant overlooking the vast desert, and the outdoor patio offered a clear view to gorgeous sunset. Furious spirals of orange and vermillion cast their light across the sand, making it appear to glow as winds kick up waves of golden dust along the horizon.
It’s beautiful, almost as much so as the man across you, who is still staring longingly into the distance as though committing every color to memory. As if repainting it entirely in his mind.
Not hues of warmth, but those of the deep sea. Blues and purples and colors so dark they’d only come to life in the night.
“How’s your drawing?”
Rafayel sighs at your voice, tossing his pen across the dinner table with a huff before leaning back against the sofa. A stack of crumpled sketches litter your table among half-finished plates of food. He insisted on traveling here to relax, and yet he seems to be doing everything but.
“If a few lines count as a drawing, then wonderfully.” Sassy as ever.
He sighs again, but this one sounds more pained, and you notice the red tinge highlighting his ears and neck as he leans against your shoulder.
“You still don’t feel good?” You ask, voice hushed as you place a kiss against his temple, the skin burning beneath your lips. Raising a hand, Rafayel immediately nuzzles into your palm as you pull his chin up towards you, feeling the rising temperature along his cheek and forehead. “We can head back if you’d like. Take a bath, or shower?”
You hoped the together was implicit by now.
But Rafayel only nods, placing a chaste kiss against your exposed shoulder. “What about the sunset? I saw you admiring it, and squandering a beautiful view is unacceptable for an artist. It’s one of the greatest offenses.”
Rafayel’s breath is minty and dry against your ear, and when you turn to look at him, his face is doused in the fiery hues of the sunset, each one casting deep purple shadows that only make his features all the sharper, half his face veiled in darkness.
Some days you wish you were an artist as well, if only to capture moments like this—to show Rafayel just how gorgeous he was.
Perhaps it’s only natural for a god. After all, no mortal could ever need beauty so violently arresting, so worthy of worship.
You’re leaning in despite yourself.
Rafayel meets you halfway, one hand on your waist as the other traces your jaw and bottom lip. But as soon as you feel the brush of his lips across yours, he pulls away.
You open your eyes in confusion. Rafayel’s never denied you before.
When you look at him in question, he only gives you a tired smile and pulls you to your feet with a chaste kiss on your cheek. “Sorry. I’ll feel better as long as I’m close to you like this.”
The second time it happens is when the hotel reception mixes up your and Rafayel’s rooms, leaving you to deliver some sort of formal invitation to him.
But the letter is soon forgotten; you can’t be bothered thinking about it, not when Rafayel still looks so absent.
He’s right next to you, knees brushing yours as you sit side by side on the couch, and yet he seems to be miles away, gazing out the window as the dunes shift and rise like waves under the moonlight.
"I used to really enjoy scenic spots before," Rafayel says, voice barely rising above the hum of the heater. "Catching sights of subtle things that might be easily overlooked used to feel like enough. More satisfying than finishing a painting, even."
A laugh. Dry, humorless.
His fingers grazed the edge of his glass, tracing the condensation absentmindedly. A droplet trails down his wrist. "But now, sometimes, I forget why I even decided to travel in the first place.”
You watch him, waiting. He doesn’t meet your gaze.
"I think," Rafayel continues, "somewhere along the way, I stopped just... noticing things. And I started needing them. Like the world wasn’t worth looking at unless I could turn it into something. Capture it, hold it in my hands, and call it mine." He shakes his head, a shadow of a smile crossing his lips. "It’s not a very generous way to live, is it?"
"You don’t need to be generous with everything," you say carefully. "Some things are just... for you to enjoy."
"Enjoy," he repeats, like the word doesn’t quite fit in his mouth. A pout. "It doesn’t feel like enjoyment anymore. It feels more like... hunger.”
Like he’s always fucking starving.
Rafayel finally turns to look at you, eyes eclipsed in the dark. Nearly dilated black.
“Sometimes I’m afraid that if I feed it, it’ll only grow worse.”
You turn to face him on the couch, sliding your leg between his thighs before perching yourself on Rafayel’s lap. It’s not lost on you how his heartbeat picks up, chest rising and falling rapidly as each shallow breath hits your lips. Perhaps it’s cruel, but you can’t help but touch him again, fingers tracing his full lips, up his jaw, fluttering against his eyelashes and into his hair.
“You think hunger gets worse when you feed it?" You finally ask, voice quiet, slow, daring to push back. "Doesn't it stop when you're full?"
Rafayel’s mouth quirks, a sharp, fleeting twist of a smile. "Not always. Sometimes it makes you realize just how much more you want. Or how much more you could take."
You frown. “You’re not demanding anything. Not from the world, not from me."
"Maybe not yet. But, if one day, I become someone who only takes… If I were like that, would you leave me?"
The confession hangs for a moment, the truth of it hidden. Something about the way his shoulders tense under your touch— like he's bracing for something, but it hasn’t yet arrived. A phantom pain from centuries ago, and a pain to come for a thousand years more.
“Silly fishie, I’d never leave you.”
Rafayel smiles in a way you know all too well, lopsided and teasing and empty.
“Thank you…” he hums, finally pulling you closer as his lips skim alongside the curve of your neck. “for accepting me the way I am.”
His breaths come out in desperate huffs against your skin, and he inhales sharply, freezing, before finally placing a kiss against the crook of your neck. And then another, and another.
“You’re just anxious,” you whisper, sucking a mark into Rafayel’s neck as he moans so sweetly against your ear. “I can help you relax.”
You wiggle your hips to better balance yourself on his lap and Rafayel looks almost near tears, one hand forcing you still while the other grabs your wrist, trailing kisses from your fingertips back up to your neck.
More. You need more. Rushing, your hands fly up into his hair, about to tug Rafayel to lay down on the couch when a crack echoes behind you.
The glass lays shattered against the floor.
Panting, Rafayel stares at the spilled water for a long moment before pulling away. You feel his erection digging into your thigh, the warmth of his fever spiking yet again as his skin burns against yours, yet he still refuses.
“As you said, I’m anxious…” Still panting, Rafayel picks you up, gently lifting you up as he stands from the couch. “Or, more like restless. In every sense of the word.”
The need in his eyes almost makes your knees buckle. He looks at you like you’re the only thing he could ever crave, like a bite would both be salvation and leave him hungry forever.
“But see, now I can’t stand the idea of letting you go again, and you don’t want me to either.” He sets you down just a little farther than necessary, but his hands don’t leave your waist, trembling, waiting. “What should we do?”
“Rafayel…” You want him. You want him so badly it hurts.
“Fuck.”
You nearly jump at that. Rafayel curses again, his head falling onto your shoulder as his breath hitches. “I can feel your concern. That and…” another convulsion, his body burning up. “Fuck. You have to leave.”
You don’t even have time to retort before you’re pushed out of his hotel room, and the door slams shut behind you.
By the third time, you know something is wrong.
It’s not that you and Rafayel haven’t kissed yet. Hell, you’ve had sex before. The last time was quite literally on the night before you were supposed to leave for this trip. Obviously, Rafayel suggested that you stay at his place for the night—insisting he was closer to the airport and getting an Uber would be quicker this way—and one thing led to another, as is what happens nearly every time Rafayel and you are left alone for too long.
But now it’s been nearly a week and Rafayel has barely touched you, let alone picked up on your not-so-subtle clues.
So yes, it's safe to say you’ve become rather pent up.
You’ve fallen asleep in the off-roader the two of you rented out for the day, bobbing up and down the dunes like waves flecked white not with seafoam but snow. There’s a chill as you drift off, but your dreams are anything but, plagued with memories of Rafayel.
His hands, deft and talented with a brush, are even more so when teasing your skin, knowing exactly how to trace delicate circles against your thighs before roughly curling into your cunt. His tongue, every smartass comment and teasing grin now silenced as he licks and sucks against your clit. His body, the warmth of it, bearing down on you with every thrust, or perhaps writhing beneath you as you take him again and again and again—
It’s the cold that wakes you up.
Your eyes flutter open, first noticing the dim light of the hotel parking lot, and second, the burning desire still aching between your legs.
“Rafayel?”
A shuffle makes you turn, and you find said man still seated in the driver’s seat, unbuckled as he sits with his head resting on his hand.
“Yes, cutie?” Rafayel’s tone is teasing, but the way he stares down at you feels like anything but. The hunger is back.
Sitting up, you clear your throat. “How long have I been asleep? Why didn’t you wake me up?”
“You seemed like you were having such a nice dream, I didn’t want to disturb you.”
You inhale sharply. Glaring, you try and see if he’s teasing again or being serious, but Rafayel doesn’t let you read him for long, already leaning over the middle console.
He places his lips gently on your temple, brushing over the skin, and then moves down to your cheek, his breath warm against your neck. He whispers your name, so softly you almost think it was a trick of your imagination.
Your mind goes blank when he kisses your jaw, a small noise escaping the back of your throat as you feel his hair tickle your skin.
"Raf," you mumble under your breath, but you know he hears it because he exhales sharply against you.
Rafayel trails a series of kisses up your neck, "I know, I know. I'm sorry, cutie." His body temperature is rising again, and the air in the van feels dangerously thin as he sways in your grasp. "I'm trying."
The hunger is back, all-consuming and hot as you genuinely fear you might burn up. A wave of dizziness washes over you, and you finally cup Rafayel's jaw, leading him towards your lips.
Yet again, he stops you halfway.
“Do you want to go back to your room first?”
At first you think he’s suggesting moving there before continuing, but you know better at this point.
“You’re not coming with me?”
Rafayel pulls out the invitation from before, waving it between the two of you as if all this was the letter’s fault. “I still have to attend my friend’s salon thing.”
“But you’re still burning up! Forget this, I can’t let you go out to who knows where when you’re still acting strange. Maybe we can see a doctor—”
“Cutie…”
“—No, no. Or maybe I can come with you.”
Rafayel says your name this time. Firmer. Cutting off your rambling as he places his forehead against yours.
“Do you want me to turn into a sea creature that’s beached on the sand after the ocean recedes? Leaving me to suffocate when I come out of the water?”
You don’t quite know how to respond to that, feeling his desperation in every word even as you struggle to make sense of it.
Rafayel continues, pulling away from you again. “Don’t you trust me? How about we make a promise?”
“What kind of promise?”
A smile. “I promise… I’ll be okay without you tonight.”
There’s no joke, no hidden meaning, just Rafayel who so violently hopes that this promise will hold true.
So you relent. “Okay, just take care of yourself.”
Finally, Rafayel opens the car door, letting the desert night winds sweep in with a biting chill as he leans back against the driver’s seat. He lets out an almost inaudible sigh. “You can head back. I’ll be back before you know it.”
Rafayel promised he’d be okay without you tonight, but you don’t think the opposite could hold true.
Not when the dizziness Rafayel caused remained. Not when you still feel the phantom touch of his lips and hands all over your body, burning you up, leaving you cold and empty and aching.
You’ve been burning for the better part of a week now.
Something stuck between a laugh and a cry of pure frustration leaves you as you fall onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling. “This is pathetic.”
Even the damned sheets smell like Rafayel, pillows deeply laced with his shampoo and the smell of his cologne—amber, yuzu, and something salty like the ocean—surrounding you as though this were his hotel room and not yours.
Desert nights were cold, but even the room's chill could do nothing to quell your desire, arms shaking with it as you quickly stripped yourself of your shirt and bra. The room spins as you stumble around, leaving your clothes on the floor, another delirious whimper seizing you as you sprawl against the silk sheets.
You need him.
Fuck, you need him, and you hate him for leaving you while the growing ache between your thighs threatens to swallow you whole.
The sheets are deliciously cool against your flushed skin, and you turn your head to rest your cheek in the cool embrace of the pillow. But it only needs a second to heat from your desire.
And then the room is all too hot once again.
Kicking off your pants, your hand snakes down your bare torso, leaving half-hearted squeezes to your breasts and hips, failing to replicate the touch Rafayel already has you addicted to. The memory only makes you more frustrated.
A hand slips beneath your soaked underwear, and fuck, you’re dripping enough to ease your fingers in already. You force yourself to slow down, rubbing slow circles around your entrance, the mere friction enough to have your hips bucking up against nothing.
Inhaling sharply, you slide a finger into your weeping cunt, a moan pushing from your lungs as you do. Not enough. It’s not enough.
You force yourself to draw each movement out, the curl of your wrist accompanied by your muffled cries and the slick, obscene sounds echoing alongside your ragged breath. Withdrawing your finger nearly to the fingertip, two plunge back in this time, and your back arches off the bed with violent tremors as you imagine it was Rafayel's hand instead.
How he’d tease you in the early mornings to wake you up, how he’d take special care of every sensitive spot on your body, how he’d draw his fingers along your clit just the way that will make you come undone.
And as your fingers find that sensitive bundle of nerves, the way you cry his name into the empty room is no different.
Your head is spinning, falling, your thighs shake, and it's not long before you're gasping out, "Rafayel, please.”
Still not enough. Every rough thrust of your fingers brings you higher and higher, but without the pressure of Rafayel's chest pressed to yours, or his hot breath ghosting across your ear, his voice, his lips, his touch—
Without him.
A sob rips from your throat, your hips bucking uselessly against the air as you fuck yourself harder, deeper. But your fingers are only so long, and your free hand, fisting the sheets, is unable to make up the difference. "No, no please," a whine, and your free hand rushes to circle your clit, the other picking up pace.
You're close, so close, sobbing his name when the dizziness from the car returns tenfold, overtaking your body in waves as your eyes roll back. "Please, ah! Rafayel, m’cumming-"
The world goes silent as pleasure surges through you, muscles convulsing, a choked, garbled sound escaping as you come. Collapsing back against the sheets, you struggle to catch your breath, the stickiness of both the heat and your orgasm coating your thighs.
There’s another tug, a violent pull against your chest, but the dizziness remains.
You know you should change the sheets or at least move them aside, but you can’t manage to do either as you rush to shower before Rafayel returns from his friend’s exhibition.
It’s only when you stumble into the bathroom that you notice it.
Shit. This is Rafayel’s room.
You must be trying to kill him.
Surely, this is the gods' cruelest trial—a final test of his resolve—to see if he’d bow once more, forsaking divinity and succumbing to the temptation of you.
Because it’s been barely an hour, and Rafayel has already resigned himself from the party, passing blank smiles and empty compliments as he quietly counts down the minutes until he can return to the hotel, when suddenly he feels it.
The tug of your bond flashes through his body as his dick aches.
Rafayel freezes mid-sentence, the polite smile he'd been wearing slipping from his face. The conversation at the bar around him, something about chiaroscuro in the artist’s latest piece, become muffled static as the chains tighten, digging into his heart.
It’s unmistakable now. The rhythm, the rising intensity, the waves of pleasure that don’t belong to him but still manage to spark delirious heat up his veins.
Rafayel’s breaths quicken, body temperature rising as his Evol flickers out of his control. He glances around the room, feigning interest in the conversation, the glittering glasses of champagne, the faint hum of the crowd. It doesn’t work. The only thing he can focus on is you.
He should leave. Go outside, breathe in the night air, and let the tether between you both loosen, just to regain control. Just to prove to himself it’s not too late.
But the bond tightens, as invasive as it is intoxicating, demanding Rafayel’s attention like a leash coiled around his neck. It’s not gentle. It’s not kind. It’s primal, every nerve in his body pulled taut like you’re screaming his name over and over into the depths of his soul.
It’s not fair.
No god can deny the prayer of a worshipper.
Your pleasure becomes his, and when Rafayel closes his eyes, he swears he can feel your phantom hands on him, dick already heavy and throbbing, leaking through his expensive trousers.
Are you in bed, thighs trembling as you grind against your own palm? Or maybe the shower, steam curling around you as you chase release? Or worse—are you riding something of his? His shirt? His pillow? Is this vengeance a cruel punishment meant to shatter what little resolve he has left?
Shit. He’s hard.
“Hey man, what’s wrong? You good?”
The slam of a glass brings him back. Gods, he hates these rich socialites.
The champagne glass Rafayel was holding is now covered in cracks, blood trickling down his ring finger. He’s unraveling, composure fracturing with every pulse of your pleasure surging in and out as violently as a full moon’s tide.
Rafayel looks up, smiling. “Stress. And apparently a very needy pet.”
The man laughs at what he assumed was a joke, but Rafayel sees his hesitation, the type animals give when they pick up rustling in the bush. Fear.
Rafayel’s grin only widens, all teeth. “I should probably go check on her. Wonderful party,” he adds, lifting his glass in a half-hearted toast before setting it down with a sharp clink.
As he steps outside, the desert air does nothing to soothe him. If anything, the dryness makes it worse as the pull becomes sharper, like you’re reaching for him, your need coiling tighter around his chest.
A growl, almost feral, rumbles low in his throat as he staggers down the cobblestone streets. He doesn’t need directions. He doesn’t even need to think. His body moves instinctively, guided by the bond, by you.
Rafayel swears he can feel you all across his body, your heartbeat picking up as you get closer, the smell of your skin and arousal, the cries of his name that only become more and more desperate as you fail to bring yourself over the edge without him.
You’re begging for him in a way his bond mistakes for worship, because Rafayel’s body feels like it’s burning. Like blood spilled on his altar, an offering of yourself to your god, your husband.
The thought that you might be doing so unintentionally only drives him further into madness.
But, beneath the frustration, there’s something else. A glimmer of something Rafayel hates to name but knows all too well: relief.
Because as much as he might deny it, Rafayel could never leave you. And now that you’ve reciprocated, now that you’ve begged for him oh so sweetly, he would gladly submit to his bond and become chained to you once again, forever at your mercy, unable to escape the inevitability of his fate.
He doesn’t even knock when he reaches the hotel room door. It swings open under the force of his hand, and the sight of you standing there—wide-eyed, startled, only in a bath towel—hits him like a blow to the chest.
There's a soft click as Rafayel locks the door. A hurried shuffle of shoes as he all but stumbles toward you, closing the distance between you in one hurried, unstoppable motion. A startled gasp as he grabs your face in his hands.
It's the last breath you take.
An arm wraps around your waist, blocked by only a flimsy hotel towel as Rafayel violently spins you around. Your surprise is swallowed by his lips as you’re pinned against the window, the chill of the desert snow, frosted against the glass, a harsh contrast to the burn of his touch. His hand pins yours at the wrist as he stares down at your fingers.
“Rafayel? What are you doing here?”
The question barely gets out, not before he rushes forward to claim you in a kiss, if it was even that. A desperate, consuming need overtakes him, Rafayel pushing you back so insistently that your head hits the window with a thud, pain immediately distracted as his clothed knee grinds up between your bare thighs.
Holy fuck, just a towel. Right.
You try to push him back, one hand pressing against his chest as the other flies back to tighten the towel. “Wait–”
Rafayel kisses you again. And again. And again.
You can feel the cloth slipping.
But Rafayel makes it very hard to care. His hand traces your throat, your heartbeat, then drags you closer by your hips as he thrusts forward in time, still caging you against the window. He’s relentless, every kiss only broken with a ragged breath or gasp as though he’s given up on breathing entirely, content to consume you instead, his tongue sweeping against your lip before it coaxes yours to meet it halfway, licking and sucking into your mouth.
It’s obscene, animalistic, and you swear that there has to be something wrong with you because the dizziness is back, and this time it’s enough to make your knees buckle, the two of you blindly stumbling across the hotel room.
So you bite him.
“Why–” Breathe. Remember how to breathe. “Why are you here?”
Rafayel almost looks offended, thumbing his bitten lip before licking away the smudge of blood with a lopsided smile.
Fuck, he’s hard. You feel the heat of his cock jolt against your thigh, pressing into you as he surges forward again, kissing you as his hands squeeze and cup your waist, lifting you up.
"Why?" Rafayel laughs, roughly grinding up against you, your legs wrapping instinctively around his hips. "This is my room, remember? You’re the one who decided to come in here." He growls the last part, licking, biting, sucking at your throat.
“Or was that intentional?”
The look in his eyes is feral.
There’s no hesitation left, no half-riddled questions, no sweet praises, no semblance of your devoted lover. Just hunger. He’s rushing, pushing forward even with nowhere to go, almost in revenge. In punishment. Your teeth click together, foreheads bumping, unable to talk because when you try to open your mouth his tongue only slides in deeper.
The wet sounds echo against your ears alongside your racing heartbeat, only causing you to grind harder, rougher, before Rafayel ungracefully drops you onto the bed.
Your body bounces on the mattress, but it gives you a moment, and you scramble to cover Rafayel’s lips with your palm before he can begin devouring you again.
“What I meant was, shouldn’t you still be at that art salon?”
He all but collapses into your touch. Lips parted, he grabs your wrist, tongue darting out as he licks up your middle and ring fingers, moaning against your skin.
“I tried. I tried going, leaving.” He's panting, breathing in your scent before biting your palm. “But you called me back, you cruel, selfish human. And now I’ll never leave again.”
Your words come out between moans, unable to look away. “I called? I didn’t do—” You’re cut off as Rafayel licks up your skin, sucking lightly at your fingertips as his eyes, half-lidded and blown out stare down into yours.
Oh.
A hot flush of embarrassment seizes you and Rafayel must sense it because his eyes flutter closed. His hips snap forward, grinding his erection into the side of the bed, and he lets out a low whine.
Gods, the taste of your cum lingers in Rafayel’s mouth. Every dry swallow, every inhale, every damn breath tastes like you, and it makes him want to submit to every horrid urge and simply consume until—
“You don't think I know? Don't think I can’t tell?” Rafayel goes back to kissing your wrist, needing something more, something stronger. His hand ventures to the edge of your towel. ”Can feel everything you do, no matter how far away I go. Gods, I feel it, feel everything, and it drives me insane. Need you so bad, need to hear you, feel you, taste you..."
A shudder runs up Rafayel’s spine at the mere thought, and he can't stop himself anymore, leaning down to suck your fingers into his mouth, tongue curling around the digits, saliva coating your fingertips. He rips the towel from your body.
"Say you need me too," He’s begging, sinking down to your knees. "Say you need me just as badly. I–ah fuck—I can smell how much you want me."
Throwing the towel to the floor, Rafayel runs his hands down your chest, rougher, long fingers cupping and massaging your breasts as his mouth trails wet kisses down your stomach, his tongue dragging against the smooth skin, a clear goal in mind as he settles between your thighs, looking up at you as though you were a thing worthy of worship. His Goddess.
He’d offer himself to your alter time and time again. So long as he was the only one who got to bleed for you.
“Yes.” You’re already soaked, the sight of Rafayel panting between your thighs enough to have you babbling, ”Yes, Rafayel. I needed you so, so badly all week. Couldn’t help m’self, please.”
He freezes at that, pouting. “Right, you already came, didn’t you. So mean, cutie. Leaving me out.”
Before you can argue, Rafayel dips his head, dragging his tongue up your cunt before sucking roughly at your clit.
Your legs thrash above his shoulders. “Ah– wait, not so!” It’s too much too soon. Still sensitive from your prior orgasm, your back arches violently off the mattress, but Rafayel pays it no heed, deaf to your cries as he sloppily makes out with your pussy, drool and slick connecting his lips to you in sticky strands even as he pulls away just far enough to talk.
“She’s already so sensitive, s’not fair,” he pouts, mouthing against your thigh as he flicks your throbbing bundle of nerves. You jolt, gasping at the sharp jolt of pain. At the same time, Rafayel fucks his tongue into your cunt, just barely dipping in before he moves back to rub nonsensical patterns on your clit. “But this is mine. I don’t want you touching it without permission anymore.”
Fuck, if you had any semblance of a coherent thought you would have argued, maybe even laughed at the sheer audacity of the man.
Instead, all you can manage is a pathetic whine of his name, because the strange swirls and harsh lines he’s licking into your clit aren’t patterns at all but letters, spelling something over and over and over again.
R-A-F-A-Y-E-L-R-A-F-A-Y-E-L-R-A-F-A-Y—
The ring of the hotel phone buzzes from the nightstand. It’s the artist whose party Rafayel left only minutes ago.
“Tch,” Rafayel scoffs in annoyance, whiping his chin as he goes to decline the call.
But this gives you a moment to breathe, and all you can think of is getting revenge. Especially on the bastard who tried to take Rafayel from you tonight.
“Wait,” you grab his wrist. “You’re just going to hang up? What if it was something important?”
Rafayel turns to you with narrowed eyes, knowing there’s no good intent behind your wicked smile. It turns you on more than you can admit, the sight of his glare, mad at both the call and you interrupting his feast. But Rafayel can't deny you anything and does as he’s told, pressing accept.
“The guest of this room is unable to answer. Please leave a message.”
Instantly, you have Rafayel on his back.
His neck looks far too bare, and you climb onto his lap, enjoying the way his pulse kicks up under your palm.
Ripping his shirt’s buttons off, you begin biting dark spots down the pale expanse of his chest and neck. You’re about to aim right for the glowing mark on his chest when the phone beeps again, playing a voice recording of a clearly very drunk man.
“Why did you leave, bro? Come back here r’now. One more round of drinks a—” Incoherent laughter and sounds of clinking glasses.
No. No, Rafayel’s not allowed to leave you, not again.
You don’t know where the fear comes from, but you force yourself closer on top of him, breasts pressing into his abs as Rafayel shivers beneath you. Leaning down, you kiss the glowing mark atop his heart, admiring the way it flickers and glows when Rafayel bucks into your touch, moaning as you begin to nip and suck in earnest.
And then you’re flipped onto the mattress once more.
Rafayel’s heaving, arms trembling to keep himself up. Away. “...Are you sure?”
“If I don’t, then you might actually leave. What will you say if you’re asked why you didn’t go back?”
Rafayel smirks, and you catch a glimpse of fangs as he sits back on his knees. There’s a click, the rough sound of metal on metal as he undoes his belt, unzipping his trousers with one hand as the other cups the inside of your thigh, yanking it over his shoulder as he drags you down the bed. “I’m busy.”
And then he’s kissing you.
You’re lost, so hopelessly lost in each other that you fail to notice the phone beep once again, the monotone voice of the machine saying, “Please leave a message at the tone,” before flashing twice, still running.
Again, Rafayel seems to forget the concept of breathing, gasping into your lips as he ruts his hips into yours. “You’re not leaving me, right?” Fuck, he’s leaking all over his stomach, pre-cum splattering across your thighs.
“Never. I’ll never leave you, Rafayel.”
“Then tell me you’re mine. Tell me, please, please—hah—tell me and I’ll do anything, promise cutie, promise.” He’s all but gasping between kisses, cock trapped between his body and yours as he grinds forward, voice a pitch or so higher than it usually would be. “Say it, say you're mine, tell me, I need to hear it again."
He's talking in circles, rambling, the desperation in his voice palpable. Grasping the base of his cock, he sloppily fisting himself once, twice, before thumping against your entrance.
“I’m yours, Rafayel.” You writhe, grinding yourself up against him in hopes that he’s just hurry the fuck up.
“Again.”
“I’m yours, yours Rafayel.”
“Again, ah—again,” he’s nuzzling into your neck, lifting your leg higher and higher, pinning it to your head as he folds you into a matting press. Still, he refuses to press in, cock throbbing against your clit as he hugs you tight, every muscle in your body screaming in protest and pleasure. “Again, please, please.”
“I’m-” You’re either gasping or crying, words flooding out, ”Rafayel’s, I’m Rafayel’s.”
At that, Rafayel’s entire body convulses. He sobs, finally thrusting forward, bullying up into you bit by bit, forcing you to count every inch as the entirety of his weight bares down onto you.
You can feel the way his muscles shift, the way his arms bulge and contract as he holds himself above you, hips flush against yours. The desert air must be infecting him, because Rafayel is dripping sweat, flushed from his ears to his chest as he begins to pull out and slowly grind himself back in.
His voice is wrecked, breathless as he tries to kiss you, missing slightly as he sucks against your bottom lip, drooling. "I'm yours too, I'm yours." At the same time, his cock jerks in you, burying deeper with every filthy roll of his hips, throbbing against your sweet spots.
Then something snaps, Rafayel’s lips sealed back on yours, and the rhythm he sets is brutal.
Rafayel's cock drags over your walls, molding you in ways you never thought possible. Each thrust is hard, deep, and leaves you gasping, eyes rolling back into your head as you arch off the mattress, nowhere to go as his body folds yours damn near in half, weight bearing down on you.
It's all you can do to wrap your arms around him, nails scratching into his back, drawing thin lines of blood across his shoulder blades as you try to stay grounded, keep your mind from being swept away as the dizziness returns.
But the pressure building up in the pit of your stomach makes it hard.
Harder still as Rafayel begins mumbling into your lips, the filth pouring from his mouth making you clench, cunt fluttering around his cock as he pounds into you.
He can see and feel everything like this. Unable to look away from your face only inches away, watching every expression with love-drunk eyes, hugging you closer, fucking you harder.
"Can feel you, can feel you getting tighter. You're close right? Say you're close, please, mhm fuck." he's panting, and if you focus hard enough you can hear the sloppy noises of him sliding in and out, wet and obscene, the harsh slap of his balls against the curve of your ass.
But then Rafayel’s pushing himself lower, your legs dangling uselessly in the air as his chest is pressed so tight against yours you can barely take a breath.
"You're mine, only I can touch you like this, feel this. My wife. Say it, say you're mine, wanna hear it, please. Please, ah, I’ll do anything, say it."
He's barely pulling out anymore, resigning to quick, deep grinds as though he can’t bear to part.
Too uncoordinated to kiss you, Rafayel's head falls to your neck, sobbing into your marked-up skin before messily kissing atop the bruises.
"Yours. Yours. I'm yours, your wife," the words spill from your lips before you can even think, and Rafayel nearly passes out trying to stop himself from cumming then and there.
It’s like you’re trying to milk him, hugging him closer and ankles wrapped around his neck as he’s lifting your hips right off the bed. But now he needs to see it.
Needs to know the way you'll cry out his name, how your eyes will glaze over and roll back into your head, the way your chest will heave, the sweat that will pool at the valley between your breasts, the way the skin will flush from a soft pink to a burning red as you lose yourself in the feeling. To him.
It's the only thing he's able to concentrate on, the only thing he's able to think of. The feeling of your body beneath him, the sound of his name on your lips.
And that alone is enough.
Rafayel’s orgasm is sudden, a jolt of pleasure that surges up his spine with enough intensity to have him collapse, pinning your body beneath him. You can feel it, the way his cum splatters against the walls of your womb, painting your insides, filling you up until the excess squirts out around his cock and your intertwined thighs. He can't stop his hips, can't stop the way he grinds his pelvis against yours, trying to get deeper and deeper still.
"Mine, mine, mine," is all he can say, eyes wide and pupils blown out as he watches the way your body twitches, a mixture of sweat and cum painting your body as you nearly pass out in exhaustion. "Gonna- gonna fill you up, fuck, so pretty, my pretty girl, pretty wife, gonna make sure it sticks, so I’ll never leave. So you’ll never leave me again."
You're cumming.
He can feel the way your cunt spasms, the way your walls lure him back in, the way you tremble and shake as you throw your head back with tears.
Rafayel can't stop himself from leaning down and biting, teeth sinking into the crook of your neck, his hands grabbing at any bit of flesh he can find. All the while he fucks you through your orgasm, the mess of fluids creating the most obscene noises as they squish and bubble out, pooling out from between your bodies.
As you’re swaying in and out of reality, you think you see it. A field of red flame lilies, a poison so sweet that when you drink it, you lick your lips and thank the gods.
God. Just one, the one of the sea and the flaming sun.
The one who's still kneeling before you.
The one who you love.
"Maximum voicemail length reached, recording sent."
♱⋅── a/n: Uber now canonically exists in the lnds universe, thanks. Also, I would have included the absolutely gut-wrenching aftercare included in the card with MC asking Rafayel to sing for her, but honestly I would not change that scene in the slightest and am content to believe that is exactly what happened next.
Oh the things I’d give to hear Raf sing~
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•。ꪆৎ ˚⋅ texts between you and collage au fwb rafayel
having some fun with the pretty boy in your art class
lowkey just a self indulgent blurb bc as chronically online he is in game, i imagine him just being a chill-nonchalant little guy
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♡ thinking about meanie!rafayel who gets off on seeing you as messy as possible
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“Why are you crying, angel? I thought you said you could take it?” Rafayel was mean—laughing in your face as tears streamed down your cheeks. He wasn't above licking them off of your skin, a sinister grin pulling at his lips while reveled in the salty taste. His hips relentlessly snapped up into yours, soft hands wrapped around your waist, pressing your chest into his, your puffy nipples rubbing against him as you squirmed.
“Rafayel—fuck—please slow down. Please…”
“Aw, please baby? Earlier you had so much attitude. Now it’s please and thank you, huh? Does it just take having your holes filled to make you think straight? What a slutty girl my angel is.” He watched as your tongue hung out of your mouth, syrupy drool dripping onto your chest, the wetness pooling between the two of you, your skin sticky with one another. He thought you were so fucking sweet like this--peaked nipples bounding against him, begging to be sucked, hair glued to your forehead with sweat, sweet little moans slipping from between your lips. You were a true work of art.
“I feel you tightening up around me, you gonna cum again already? Cumming while you drool all over me—how fucking nasty.” His tongue licked and sucked every inch of your neck, focusing right beneath your ear so you could hear every ragged breath that fell from between his lips as he slowed his pace. It was painfully slow, the sudden change in rhythm making you whine as he somehow managed to get even deeper now, forcing his entire length between your walls, his thick tip grinding itself onto your cervix while you clamped down around him.
“Too much— you’re so deep oh my god.” He couldn’t help but smile into the crook of your neck at the sound of your pretty cries.
“Such pretty noises you’re making. Can you feel my cock kissing your insides, cutie? Huh? You’re taking me so well, little pussy was made for me.” The filthy words only made you even wetter, the slick soaking Rafayel’s lap. He couldn’t help himself as his eyes met yours again—he had to kiss you, to taste your tongue. It was sloppy as you drooled into each other’s mouths, his slender fingers gripping your cheeks, forcing your lips to his.
“Shit—you’re clenching around me like you want me to cum inside of you. Is that it, angel? You wanna have my babies in this hungry little pussy, hm?” he said, voice sticky and sweet as his fingers found their way to your mouth and between your lips, greedily scooping up your spit and dragging it down your body. His digits landed right where your hips met, toying with your aching clit. Your back arched as his tongue made small circles around your nipples, teeth grazing them one by one as he fucked up into you.
“Yes yes yes want your babies please please I want your cum.”
"Yeah? You gonna let me cum inside of you, sweet girl? Fuck—this pussy is milking my cock so good." You shook against him, pretty voice begging in his ear...such filthy words from his angel. His fingers buried themselves into your hair, forcing you closer to him, your sticky foreheads pressed together, eyes locked on on another's.
“Aw I know, I know. My sweet girl, so fucking messy for me, huh? You gonna clean me up with that pretty mouth when you’re done using me? It’s the least you could do.” Praises fell from your lips as he finally pushed you over the edge, the combination of sensations making you buck and wiggle against him as he held you close.
“Aw gooood job, cumming so hard for me. Look so pretty like this—you made such a big mess of me." He said, voice soft against your ear as you shook in his arms, little cries falling from your mouth as he finally emptied himself in your tight little hole. His warm cum dripped down between your bodies, sticking you to him like glue as he peppered small kisses on your flesh.
"Open up for me," he whispered, his gaze soft, fingers cupping your face to squeeze your cheeks together. He could feel himself grow hard inside of you again almost immediately as he watched your lips part for him. He tilted your head back, drooling into your mouth, the wetness slipping back out onto your tits until they were glistening.
"Good girl, my sweet angel. Now swallow it." So you did.
"What do we say when someone gives us a gift?”
“Thank you.”
“You’re so welcome, baby.”
♡ a/n: uhhh bored so slight edit + repost,, something quick to look at until i finish the rafayel mermaid heat fic that i was really supposed to be writing. short and sweet xx
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യ YOU’RE MILKING ME, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT
fem reader x wriothesley, alhaitham, diluc, neuvillette + childe ( seperate ) ; breeding + creampies. petnames used ; my dear, sweetheart. teasing. multiple orgasms / rounds mentioned in a few. pregnancy + breeding mention in diluc’s. overstimulation in childe’s.
word count. around 1k each. ₊ 𓂃 return to masterlist.
౿ WRIOTHESLEY
“You’re squeezing me real tight, sweetheart. You’re gonna make me think you want something.” It’s a sinful sort of purr, accompanied with a just as filthy roll of Wriothesley’s hips as he buries his cock into you — easily pushing past the tight hug of your walls and pressing up against your sweet spots.
It’s almost cruel how good he is, how well he fucks you when he’s got you beneath his huge body and it makes you quake— grinding out another moan as he teases at your jawline with his teeth. You can barely answer when the next deep kiss of his cock makes your lashes flutter,
“Wrio, p-please—“ Your words choke off, twisting beneath the roll of Wriothesley’s hips and the senseless grind of his pelvis against your clit. His hands are rough where they grab into your waist, but every affectionate squeeze of his fingertips feels like it burns you as he pulls your body back to meet each of his heavy, clapping thrusts.
It only urges him deeper, and you feel the way it makes even him throb when you wrap your arms around his shoulders — hugging him into you as you arch your back against the sheets.
You feel Wriothesley exhale a sigh of his own along your shoulder before he’s following it with a wet kiss, chuckling— smirking. “That doesn’t sound like a request now, does it?” His hips roll into you again, and he makes an easy show of tilting your own up to meet them — angling you in such a way that makes your legs kick out from beneath you. Your pussy squeezes around him so right — you’d think it was answering him back.
He hums again, like it actually is. “Oh no, I don’t think so.”
But then he’s pushing himself lower, and his chest is pressed so tight against yours you can barely take a breath. It makes your cunt quiver at how pliant you feel — buried beneath him while his cock presses into the hilt. He sighs, low and long, “You’re gonna have to speak a little louder than that.”
Wriothesley’s teasing always had a way of getting to you — heightening the way he was able to work your body, taunting and poking at your nerves despite the way his cock rendered you to mere mush. It was an unfair exchange — but it was one you loved so much.
It’s obvious in the pretty look you give him when he pulls back, then forward again as he gives you another thrust. This one makes him cock throb as his brows pinch together, quite telling. “Uh oh, seems like your times almost up so… ugh— you better make it fast.”
Afterall, Wriothesley could only tease you so long before he himself felt like he was going to break — especially when you’re this soaked and this tight, he can barely pull back his hips with the way you’re sucking him back. It’s like you’re trying to milk him, and that adorable little look your wearing seems to have the same thoughts in mind — but he wants to hear you say it.
So he offers you a pace that’s a little faster, rougher despite the way the flames of his orgasms are already sparking along the backs of his shoulders — ignited by the way your fingers are scratching along his scarred skin. But he knows you’re already close, he can feel that himself.
So can you, when your lips finally gather up enough composure to part— moan, “C-cum, Wrio! I want your cum, please!” You gasp, barely coherent but he hears you loud and clear as he buries his cock into you again. Wriothesley’s pace is relentless, fucking you into the fabric of the bed beneath you and driven by the weight of his whole body enough to make it creak.
Yet he still finds it in himself to tilt down at you, exhaling a breath along your features before he lifts a brow, “Oh yeah?” It’s insufferable — the lustful shudder to his voice as he coo’s down at you but you can barely respond when you feel so good. You’re gonna cum, he knows that, so he offers you another smear of his lips. “Well, since you asked so kindly. It’s only polite I provide, right?”
His grip on you is bruising now, and Wriothesley’s next breath is pushed between his teeth as he curls himself over you — burying his face into the crook of your neck as his hands squeeze even harder. “You gonna take all of it for me? Hm?” Another grunt and he can barely hold back.
But he doesn’t have to for much longer when you respond with a choked out little, “Y-yes!” and it’s almost immediately that he feels his composure crumble with that first, shuddering squeeze of your walls around him as you cum.
“Y-yeah? Let’s test that then, shall we?”
It makes you gasp, and Wriothesley groans as he feels your orgasm lure out his own — huge body twitching and pressing you tight beneath him as he tries to stop his pace from stuttering. But that proves near impossible with how well you take him, milking him for every drop as he feels the muscles in his thighs burn from exertion and he wraps his mouth around your neck to groan— burying his low sounds into the velvet surface of your skin as he teases it with his teeth.
Until his pace finally slows and you have to tap your hand against his broad back to allow him to give you some respite, to ease his huge body off of you enough to allow you to take a breath again. But not before he’s offering you another wet kiss against the new, blooming mark on your neck and beginning his sweat-coated withdrawal to offer you another smirk.
It’s a little pinker this time, charming as the heavy weight of his cock still presses deep into your cunt, still throbbing despite how much he’s just filled you up.
“Guess I underestimated you, huh? I’d say you took it all quite nicely. So… think you’ve got room for one more?”
౿ ALHAITHAM
One moment, your lips are parting — barely able to string together a sentence with how deep Alhaitham’s cock reaches, accompanied by the precise and almost relentless pace that he’s set as he fucks you into the mattress. But by the next, he’s completely stilled inside of you — breathing deep as his forehead rests on your shoulder and his chest rises and falls quickly from where it presses against yours.
The sudden switch makes you stutter despite the way your walls are still trembling, stretching deliciously from where he now rests to the hilt inside of you.
“Hey! W-why’d you stop?” Your lips jut out into a pout as you turn your head to try and face him, but Alhaitham pulls back to look at you before you can. He sinks his hand into the pillows next to your head to keep himself upright over top of you, and you find his mused — pleasure-stricken expression to look particularly handsome from this angle.
He hisses as his cock moves slightly within your warmth, forcing him to take a grounding breath. “To put it simply, it seems I’m getting myself carried away today.”
You find it particularly charming actually, the fact that even Alhaitham of all people finds himself overcome with pleasure sometimes. Overwhelmed with how good you feel that he’s had to take a breather before he cums too soon, and that realisation, that you could render such a man to this makes you have to fight hard to bite back a grin.
Though it seems to break free anyway as you give him a giddy blink, followed by a deliberate wriggle of your hips. “You’re so cute.”
Your movement makes him shudder, muttering out half of a moan as his hand that presses into the pillow fists the fabric. And he collects himself once more before he’s tilting his head down at you, “Really now?”
He continues, “Isn’t it to be expected to get caught up in the moment? I’d honestly like to see how anyone could resist you like this.” And then suddenly, it’s almost filthy the way Alhaitham lets himself rest down on his forearms again, accompanying the closer position with an incredibly deep, languid grind of his hips as he presses you down into the mattress. “Although I just didn’t expect it to happen so soon is all.” And he chuckles at how much you only seem to squeeze even tighter.
The pleasure feels suffocating, his cock kissing along the sensitive spots in your walls so perfectly it makes your toes curl from where you wrap your legs around his hips, his body forcing your legs to spread wider so that you can take more of him.
You feel his lips trace along your jawline as he presses his cheek against yours. “It’s actually quite troublesome.” He grumbles to himself despite the way the next squeeze of your walls break off the sentence. His words are almost lost beneath the next groan you manage to pull from him, and Alhaitham squeezes his eyes closed as he takes a breath.
But the sound of his pleasure only makes you twitch around him again before his next words are muttered, hissed at the way you squeeze. “Then again, I might even assume you’re doing this on purpose.” The words are spoken against your cheek as he turns to press his lips into you, accompanied by his deliberately slow, deep strokes. “Which means you’re not fairing much better yourself, am I right?”
Alhaitham’s words make you shudder when they’re breathed along the shell of your ear and your mouth parts to reply, it really does, but then he’s offering you another thrust and you feel like you can barely breathe with how deep it feels like he reaches. He can feel that himself, you’re probably about as close as he is — the dangerous spark of your orgasm beginning to ignite along your inner thighs as your legs begin to shake.
But he’s not done yet as he shifts his weight onto one forearm, letting the other trace down between your bodies as he pushes himself up to make room, and he grunts— teases. “If you don’t say anything, I’ll have no choice but to make my own assumptions.”
Another press of Alhaitham’s fingertips down your abdomen and another slow roll of his hips, making you arch as you dip your heels into his lower back — forcing him deeper as he breathes out another restless grunt. His head falls forward again, knocking his cheek against yours but his pace doesn’t falter for long — nor do his hands as they reach their destination. “So do tell. Unless you’d rather I do something like this instead?”
It’s all too embarrassing really, almost instantaneous the way that your orgasm seems to wash over you with the first press of his thumb against your clit, circling the bud nicely— precisely until he feels your walls squeeze.
But you don’t have much of a chance to bask in that humiliation, not alone anyway because Alhaitham’s not long behind you as he stutters out another groan— louder and lower than the rest have been as he presses his chest back into yours. It feels like you can barely breathe with how close he is, how deeply he’s fucking his load into your pussy as you both cum and you can only stutter and shake beneath him — nails scratching along the width of his upper back as he hisses.
You’re so deliciously tight around him, milking him senseless as he tries to keep his pace but every thrust is almost desperate, stricken with pleasure as your hips clap against his and he fucks you through your orgasm until you’re both a mess of breathes and sweat.
A little sticky, but Alhaitham still looks at you so fondly when he pulls away to smear a kiss along your cheeks, giving you a lidded— handsome look as he hovers himself over you again.
“So I guess that serves as your answer?” He snorts, cock still trembling within your sensitive walls as it softens — plugging the heavy load inside of you for as long as he stays in this position. But his teasing makes you giggle before you’re pushing yourself up to press a quick kiss against his lips, still a little drunk from your orgasm as you respond, shrugging.
“You seem to be quite pleased with it.”
౿ DILUC
Diluc’s want for you could be carnal at times, almost all-consuming even as you feel his thick cock throb from where he sinks it in you from his knees, and it makes your body jolt beneath him with every wet, heavy connection of his hips.
“A-archons— Are you sure about this, my love?” His tone wavers despite how gruff it still sounds, and every thrust only seems to urge your body to tremble from where he holds one of your thighs up against his chest. The angle allows him to admire the captivating sight of you spread out beneath him, watching the way he pushes between the folds of your pretty pussy and almost shakes at the idea of seeing it filled with his cum.
It makes his hands squeeze into your thighs before you hiccup, struggling to answer with how well he’s fucking you.
“Yes, I want it.” You do want it, him— to fuel the fantasy that you know Diluc holds to fill you up, to get you pregnant and he can barely hold himself back at the permission you give him to humour just that.
So it makes him gasp before he praises you, voice trailing off to a groan as he mutters out a tight, “You feel so good.” Though the words are almost drowned out by the sound of his heavy balls smacking against your ass with each thrust, making your toes curl from where they rest over his shoulder.
Your hands slam into the comforter to twist at the fabric, feeling your lashes flutter and kiss along your cheeks and Diluc watches you before your lips part again. Almost crying,
“I need you, please.. Fill me—ah! Fill me up..” Your words twist, swallowed behind jutted out breathes as his hips press into yours and you feel like you can barely think anymore with how deep it feels like he drives into your insides. The blunt head of his cock almost effortlessly presses up against your sensitive spots, and it makes your hips try to twist beneath him as he fucks you into the mattress.
From this position — he can imagine it, the way you’d be swollen with his children, the way your body will grow and mature as you nurture a life and Archons, it makes his cock throb as Diluc finds his pace stuttering. His eyes press closed tightly as he tries to will himself to slow down, to not get ahead of himself as he presses more of himself into you.
His breathing is ragged now but his effort doesn’t yield, “I’m.. you’re gonna make me cum, Sweetheart. You’ll be good and take all of it, won’t you?” His tone calls to you gently, dipping into your hormone-clouded mind as he lures you back to him with a particularly deep stroke.
It makes your back arch as you pull at the sheets again and your pussy quivers around the shaft of Diluc’s cock as he falters once more, grinding back into you as you mutter out a response. “I will! So please give it to me—“
Your words feel like they spill out of you but your lover hears them loud and clear as he bares one of his large palms down on your stomach — allowing him to feel even deeper as your eyes all but roll back. He groans at the way your walls hug around him at the sensation, “Then allow me to take care of you.. I always do after all.”
And then Diluc’s hands stroke over the surface of your stomach with his next thrust, his thoughts making his hips find their rhythm again— swollen, pregnant, his repeats like a mantra in his head. His next breath is groaned, low and ragged as his cock presses particularly deep. “Archons, you will be beautiful. You a-are beautiful.” And suddenly the pace of his thrusts grow faster with his praise, like he’s fulfilling his promise as his grip on your skin turns bruising.
That’s all it takes to ignite the spark before it feels like it burns across your nerves, and your orgasm washes over you after a few more deep pushes of his cock. It hits you so fast and so good, that you can barely speak— lips parting in a silent scream as you try hard to resume your breath.
But he’s not faring much better himself. Diluc gasps before he moans— but he doesn’t hold back, not when you’re panting and murmuring with each shockwave of bliss beneath him. It’s like your body is begging for him— for his family, his children, his cum, and the vibration of his groans begins to echo somewhere deep within his chest as his cock thickens inside of your creaming cunt.
He only needs to look at you, so pretty beneath him as you gasp his name before he’s following you off that edge into bliss, cumming thick and heavy inside of you with an agonised groan as he grinds his cock into you.
It’s like Diluc’s primitive instinct to breed takes over as he continues to fuck into your messy, sensitive pussy. Until you’re shaking and he’s all but curling over you, almost folding you in half with the thigh that still presses against his chest as he fucks his load deep inside of you. He only slows to a smooth grind when you’re both spent, and a mixture of your shared cum is smeared along the inside your thighs.
The final withdrawal of his cock allows him to admire the sticky ring that’s gathered around the base of him — like a trophy of your pleasure.
It makes Diluc swallow loudly as he admires it, before with his next breath he’s making sure to massage at your thigh — ensuring there’s no ache with the way he’s had it pressed upright in your position. He makes sure to press a sweet kiss against your ankle before he rests it softly back down on the mattress, and then he looks at you again.
His hand rests gently on your stomach again next, gently— before he follows the touch with a few shallow thrusts to accommodate the thick rush of cum he unloads inside of your puffy walls. He clears his throat before he speaks, “I—ugh, I think that should be enough, although I don’t mind going another round.”
౿ NEUVILLETTE
Your time spent wrapped up in the sheets in Neuvillette’s quarters were always quite intimate, intoxicatingly so when you feel his hands appreciate the push and pull of your body as he rocks himself into you. It was no surprise that the Iudex was huge, stretching your walls to their limit no matter how often he fucked you — but if anything that only made you feel even wetter as you both lie on your sides facing eachother.
You’re soaked, pussy like silk as you hump yourself up into the slow grind of his hips and the smooth movement makes you melt into his broad chest as his lips rest against your temple. It’s only for a moment before one of his hands are on your jawline, and he’s tilting your face up to admire you as he offers you another thrust.
“It’s quite easy for me to appreciate your beauty like this, my dear.” Neuvillette’s words catch as he looks you and you feel his cock throb as you both share a blink. The praise makes your toes curl as you work yourself into the encouraging pull of his other hand— squeezing into your hips as he offers you another trembled breath.
He’s close already, as are you with how well he fucks you — though the pace he’s set isn’t fast, he still works with such. precision that it doesn’t matter. Every press of his hips is driven by his knowledge and love for your body, easily pressing up against the spots that he knows first hand make you squeeze him tight, exhaling across his features.
It doesn’t take long before you can feel your orgasm beginning to tease you so dangerously close, and Neuvillette offers you a lidded— hungry blink when he feels the way you tremble, whining.
“Will it be too much?” He asks earnestly and you immediately know what he’s referring to when it’s followed by a particularly stuttered thrust. His hand on your hips pulls you back into him, hips pressing flush up against his and it feels like he reaches so deep it makes your response stutter.
“N-no, I can take it.” You say confidently, but your insides feel like they curl and ache when you watch Neuvillette’s lips part to moan at your reply.
“If you’re certain. I must admit… I’m quite fond of the idea, it has been quite difficult to deny you of it for this long.” There were instances when you seen the Iudex’s features appear quite like this. Something glowing beneath the usual gentle exterior, something hungry and carnal — he’s giving you that same depth of expression now as his fingers twitch into your skin and his next thrust presses so deep, almost too deep it feels like it steals your next breath.
“So allow me to finally satiate that thirst of yours, my dear.” Neuvillette’s words are whispery, choked off when his fingers that previously held your jawline tremble and drift from your face. You feel them hook around the back of your neck instead as he pulls you in to press his forehead against yours, and he continues to work your body closer, angling himself in such a way that makes the feeling of your organs rush through your veins.
It doesn’t take long, a few more deep thrusts accompanied by the intimate position and he looks at you from where you’re pressing against him. Your thighs lock first before you’re arching, orgasm hitting you so hard and good it almost makes you cry as you grab at the ivory planes of the Iudex’s skin.
It’s almost immediately that Neuvillette follows you, it was always particularly hard for him to resist the first trembles of your orgasm around his cock, pushing him to his sensitive end as he spills his load inside of you with his next stroke.
Though it always surprised you how much he came— despite how well he fucked it back into you, you would always feel the creamy mixture squelch out from between your folds as he slowed his pace to a grind. You can feel it making a mess of your thighs, pussy— his sheets, but he still held you close before beginning to pepper you in kisses.
Like soft little angel kisses across your dazed features before he’s finally slowing to a grind, leaving you with the sensitive, buzzed high that you feel now as he hugs you.
Neuvillette allows you both to lie there for a few moments before he makes his first movement to clean you up. His aftercare was quite sacred to you both, but when he initially feels the first wet press of his cock slide from it’s way between your walls — he can’t help but find himself looking at the space it’s just left as you still rest on your side.
His hand rest softly on your thigh as he pushes himself up to his knees, and the weight of his touch urges you to roll onto your back — leaving your thighs spread as his gaze lingers on the mess that’s left between them. You hear him swallow loudly before he speaks to you,
“It would be a shame were you to let it go to waste.” And it takes you off guard when Neuvillette quickly reaches forward to gather some of the thick load on two of his fingers. He boldly presses it back between your folds, fingering it into your still quivering walls with soft movements and he seems to like the way it makes your legs kick out. Still so sensitive as he offers you a gentle… almost innocent look.
“Though… I think I could get quite used to this sight.”
You don’t notice the way his cock twitches again, and he swallows loudly before he’s giving you another lidded… telling look. It’s that same carnal look… the more animalistic, wild one. Before he mutters, more so to himself,
“Yes, definitely.”
౿ CHILDE
You wonder how Childe seems to have so much energy. It’s a thought you have often when he has you like this, squeezing your hips from where you’re spread out beneath him — thighs shaking when he gives you a shallow, teasing thrust of his cock. The sensitive spots inside of you feel swollen, aching with the pleasure that he’s pulled from you so far.
But then you feel his lips trace and mouth at your throat as you head tilts back, and you can tell he’s nowhere near done.
“Not holding back now, are we?” Childe hums, almost chuckles as he handles you. His hands squeeze into the flesh of your hips and his next thrust sounds even louder, squelching wetly as he presses out a mixture of his last load and your cum as he pushes his cock into the hilt. You’re surprised he can even keep going himself.
But then his teeth tease at the pulse point in your throat and you feel your pussy still squeeze despite the overstimulation. It’s spent and softer as his words press into your skin, “Don’t go giving up on me now, not when you were raring to go a moment ago.”
You don’t know how many positions Childe’s pulled— folded you into by now, how many orgasms he’s ripped from your poor quaking body. But still your pussy squelches like it wants more and that makes the Harbinger over you grin when you offer up a soft, sweet little mewl at his words.
“Thats more like it.” There’s a darkness to his gaze— a greedy, insatiable hunger that only seems to fuel his next thrust. It’s a deliberately deep kiss of his cock that eases him up against those same aching spots on your walls, and with your increasing fatigue— you only seem to be more sensitive.
Your next orgasm feel like it creeps up on you even faster than the last one, but Childe offers you another croon before he’s finding a clapping pace again. His lips still smear and purr wet kisses along your throat as you offer the space up to him, basking in the way he fucks you into the mattress despite the way his cock is no doubt begging for relief itself.
“I might say you’re fairing quite well.” He praises you with the next dull squeeze of your cunt, and you can’t help but arch up into his chest — pulling him closer as if your body’s been trained to do so.
“Hah, not bad.” But as much as Childe seems to like that, he knows that that’s not the best you can do — so he doesn’t let you off too easily. Instead, he only seems to push his cock even deeper, making you tremble and soak the sheets beneath you as his pelvis presses up against your puffy clit. Until you choke on your next moan and he mouths at you again, “What’s another now, h-hm?”
His fingers squeeze into you, vice grip angling you up into his hips and unable to escape from the next deep thrust of his cock. Your orgasm is more of a dull ache this time, it’s lost its usual edge with how much you’ve cum already — but it still makes you kick out your feet, trembling completely beneath the Harbinger as your walls stutter and squeeze around his cock.
And for the first time since you’ve started you feel Childe’s pace lose its rhythm — though only momentarily before his lips are parting and he’s spilling another half-hearted load inside of your already full walls. You’re surprised he’s not shooting blanks by now, you actually find it to be quite impressive when he pulls back to give you another lidded, dark look.
It makes Childe chuckle when your teary eyes blink up to meet him, “I really do like that expression you’re wearing.” His words hiss as his cock softening slightly from his orgasm, but still he opts to press it into you again — even despite the way it makes his thigh twitch, the head no doubt red and aching by now.
It’s so much, you can’t stop shaking beneath your pleasure and your long past being able to string together a sentence now. You can feel the sweat sticking to your skin, soaking the sheets as the mess of cum between your thighs eases the next slow thrust of his soft cock.
It’s like your body wants to run from the pleasure instinctively, heels digging into the mattress as you push yourself away from the next grind of Childe’s hips, and given his not even half-hard state right now — you manage to have the length of him drawn out of you. Though the movement only serves to allow the loads he’s buried in you to leave such a mess, smearing along your sheets and body as you writhe, sending him a teary pout.
But even despite the way he’s breathing hard, slick with sweat — he has no trouble reaching over to dig his hands into your hips and pull you back. Your body is so pliant he’s able to do it with such an ease, and you feel him press his still soft, sensitive cock against your slick folds when he leans down to kiss you.
Despite the grin he’s wearing, his words call to you so gently as his fingertips massage at your hips— almost pleading for more of you.
“Hey now. Had enough already? If that’s the case, I supposed I could allow you a little respite.”
star divider by @ saradika-graphics
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infect me with your love
pairing ⸺ spiderman!gojo x reader
summary ⸺ you have always existed in gojo satoru’s shadow. he is a physics prodigy, a person that everyone endlessly admires for his intelligence and charisma, and you hate him for taking the spotlight that you deserve to share with him. but it all changes one day at 5:07AM at your starbucks job when gojo barges in, ordering ridiculously sweet drinks and posing existential questions. is there more to gojo that meets the eye, and is it linked to the vigilante swinging around New York City?
warnings ⸺ college au, academic rivals to lovers, SMUT, tooth rotting fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, basically the holy trinity, reader works at Starbucks (BOYCOTT tho), set in NYC, both reader and gojo are physics majors, mentions of SA, attempt at SA on reader but nothing too graphic, some violence, gojo swings reader across NYC so might trigger fear of heights?. SPIDER-MAN KISS SPIDERMAN KISS, injury and mentions of blood, mentions of gun, inappropriate use of webs LOL, fingering, oral, p in v sex, reader has a vagina, fem reader implied
playlist ⸺ quantum rizzics
a/n thank you for @avaults my POOKIE for beta reading this. this has been a journey and my first longfic and i hope you guys enjoy this as much as i did writing it it's my baby:')
if u don’t wanna read the smut just skip the part after they make up, it’s not necessary to the story and is the ending scene. but just to be clear, minors dni.
kinktober masterlist | general masterlist | spiderman!gojo masterlist
fun fact: starbucks opens at 5am.
of course, that depends on your local hours and where you live, but in the campus starbucks you worked at, your manager fortunately didn’t really care if you showed up to your opening shift a bit late. after all, no professor or undergrad is waking up at the ass crack of dawn to get a fuckin coffee; if they really needed a pick me up, they’d go to get the free alcohol at one of the frats that was still partying.
matter of fact, your manager didn’t really give a fuck what you did as long as you didn’t get the shop blown up or the matcha spilled (it was expensive). this meant you could leisurely wake up at 4:45am and set up the display muffins and cake pops when you arrived in the shop at 5:20am. really, the manager ought to reduce the hours because all you do is finish your readings for your gen ed history classes on the canvas app on your phone. so, really you get paid for doing your homework on your shifts—not that you’re complaining or anything.
that is, until gojo satoru.
first, let’s get the record straight about who gojo is. gojo is a physics second-year—same as you–who is the bane of your existence. up until a few months ago, you never saw gojo satoru outside of classes (where he was dozing off) unless you happened to show up at a frat party, which was only a few occurrences when you got peer pressured by your friends. clearly, he was a “work hard, party hard” type person because he frequents the frats more than the library while having the grades to make up for it because he’s a prodigy. he’s charismatic and smart as fuck; right out of middle school he was studying manifolds and abstract algebra while the rest of the high school freshmen were learning the quadratic equation and the concept of variables. he probably learned what gravity was at age of two and was doing research in quantum field theory by the time he got into college.
take the last time you saw him outside of class, at office hours with professor yaga.
the air in professor yaga’s office is thick with the scent of old textbooks, the hum of the overhead lights adding to the familiar quiet. you’ve been waiting all week for this chance, and you’re armed with a question that’s supposed to signal i’ve done my homework. you lean forward, trying to project confidence as you ask, “i read in your last paper that you’re working on optimizing error correction in quantum computing systems. is there a reason you prioritized stabilizer codes over surface codes?”
professor yaga’s brow lifts, impressed, and you can feel the warmth of his approval starting to settle around you. “ah,” he says, sounding pleasantly surprised, “you’ve actually read it. that’s... a complicated question.” he leans back, launching into an explanation, and for a second, you think this might actually be it—the moment he notices you for your dedication, your depth of knowledge.
but then, the door creaks open behind you.
you tense, a sinking feeling pooling in your stomach even before you turn around. of course, it’s gojo satoru, strolling in like he owns the place. his bag is slung over one shoulder, and he’s flashing that easy grin that never seems to falter. he spares you the briefest glance before zeroing in on professor yaga.
professor yaga’s face shifts instantly, a mixture of annoyance and resignation flashing in his eyes as he sighs, “gojo. nice of you to join us.”
“hey, i was just passing by,” gojo says casually, though he’s clearly anything but. he doesn’t pass by anywhere without making an entrance. “thought i’d check in on how everyone’s doing.”
the glint in yaga’s eyes sharpens, and he fixes gojo with a look. “when’s that last problem set coming in, satoru? i’ve had enough late assignments from you for one semester.”
at this, another professor at a nearby desk chuckles, casting an amused glance at gojo. “don’t push him too hard, yaga,” he says as if gojo’s delinquency is something charming, a shared inside joke. “kid’s already got the department’s highest scores without trying.”
oh, for god’s fucking sake. you force yourself not to roll your eyes, your grip tightening on the strap of your bag as you sink back in your chair. of course, all it takes is for him to show up and somehow you’re rendered invisible. just minutes ago, professor yaga was engaging with you, treating you as if you might actually belong in this room with your carefully constructed question. now, he’s utterly distracted, entirely absorbed by whatever pseudo-flattering insults he’s throwing at gojo. and, for the record, that stupid, balding professor is wrong. you have the same fucking scores as gojo, so you’re equals.
you’re not even sure gojo realizes he’s doing it—that he has this magnetic, obnoxious effect on everyone in a room. but that’s exactly what grates on you the most. he pulls all eyes to him, like he’s some cosmic force everyone’s compelled to admire. and you? you’re just… there. not that it’s any different than the usual experiences you’ve had as a woman in stem, always feeling like you have to prove yourself five times over. but somehow, gojo makes it worse.
and he does it all effortlessly, like physics is some sort of playground where he can breeze through research and exams, sprinkling charisma wherever he goes. he’s probably off writing his own theories on manifolds while everyone else is struggling to keep up with quantum mechanics. meanwhile, here you are, clawing for every shred of recognition, only to watch it fizzle as soon as he steps into the room.
he flashes a grin at professor yaga. “i’ll get it in,” he says, waving a hand dismissively. “i’m just, you know, prioritizing. some of us have… extracurriculars.” he doesn’t wink, but he might as well.
you resist the urge to scoff, sinking deeper into your seat as the frustration bubbles up, sharp and hot. it’s not like you’re jealous. you’d rather endure anything than admit that. but watching gojo waltz in and immediately siphon off any attention you’d managed to earn feels like a slap. if he could just stop showing up, or better yet, stop pretending to be so casually brilliant, maybe—just maybe—you’d have a chance at something other than this routine invisibility.
you let out a huff, pretending to check the time, imagining you had somewhere better to be. you have brilliant, observant blue eyes following you out the door, but you’re too busy trying to keep yourself together until you reach your dorm, where you ugly cry it out.
which, of course, brings you to mornings like this one, where you actually do have to be somewhere. namely, behind the counter at the campus starbucks, opening up shop while most of the world is still asleep. you catch sight of the green mermaid logo ahead, just visible through the dim haze of a 5:07 a.m. chill.
and right beneath it, there’s a familiar head of silver hair.
your eyes have to double take on the man who seems to be looking a bit slouched, tired and leaning against the light pole while tapping his foot. the muscular yet tall stature and white hair are unmistakable; it’s the same ones you’ve dreamed about throttling. but you’re so confused as to why he’s there that you just decide to wordlessly walk towards the store and open up, ignoring his presence until his voice cuts through the morning silence.
“doesn’t this store open up at 5?” his voice sounds tired and groggy, you notice.
“uh, yea,” you answer tentatively, shrugging. “but, um, no one comes until 7 so i show up late.”
his eyes narrow and somewhat playfully (well, as playful as he can sound at the ass crack of dawn anyways), he asks, “don’t you know time is of the essence? seems pretty irresponsible to me that you’re not showing up on time.”
you just stare at him for a bit because, after all, this is the guy you’ve been having the murderous equivalent of wet dreams about for the past year talking to you in a friendly, joking, familiar way. needless to say, you’re at a loss of words in your slightly flustered state, so all that comes out is a short “sorry” before you’re walking in, getting ready to put on your apron and setting the oven on to heat up the croissants.
gojo follows in after you, choosing to sit at the table closest to the counter. he sets the backpack he had on his back down, rummaging through and whipping out his laptop and plugging it in. it’s a heavy old thing, and gojo’s biceps strain as he pulls it out and you almost snort when looking at it in its entirety. a gaming laptop.
but you don’t do that, because laughing at someone who’s a stranger to you would be mean, no matter how much you hate him, so you resort to setting up the counter and getting some powders out. bending over, you get the newly shipped box of cake pops, deigning to put them out on display until you’re interrupted with a cough.
you turn, looking inquisitively at gojo until he points down to the counter, indicating that he wants to order. you mumble, “just a second!” before you continue hauling the box to put it on the top counter where you can easily unpack it and brush your hands, walking up to gojo and getting the system ready to take his order.
and your fingers are poised on the buttons until you realize that no order is coming out of his mouth. you blink, and he blinks, keeping a stoic face that nevertheless poorly conceals an amused expression.
“…what can i get you?”
at that, he pouts. “no good morning? no chirpy hello?”
you just stare at him for a good second. what the fuck?
“what?” gojo frowns. “shouldn’t you do that to every customer?” you realize belatedly you’ve said it out loud in your shock, but shake it off nonetheless.
the silence lingers after gojo’s teasing comment, making you acutely aware of the odd situation: you’re standing there in your work apron, face-to-face with the man you’ve imagined taking down in your head a thousand times, and yet here he is, tired but playfully trying to chat you up. you should hate this—he’s getting under your skin, but for some reason, you just feel unsettled, disturbed that he’s so human.
you don’t trust your voice to not crack while making eye contact with him, so, instead, you focus on your screen. you settle on a simple, flat, “morning,” without a hint of cheerfulness, staring down at the register like it’s your lifeline.
gojo’s eyebrow quirks at your half-hearted greeting, but he says nothing, opting instead to study you with an amused glint. you can feel his gaze, like a weight on your skin, and it almost makes you shiver. he leans forward a little, propping his elbows on the counter, his posture loose but expectant. his playful energy is barely masking something beneath it, something harder.
gojo's grin is wide, almost boyish, and it makes your stomach churn more than it should.
“see? was that so hard?” he says, leaning forward on his elbows like he’s settling in for a chat. his tone is too friendly for someone who’s never exchanged more than a glance with you in class—someone you’ve been actively avoiding whenever possible.
you scowl, moving to the register to finally punch in his order. “what would you like?”
“hmm...” he taps his chin, dragging out the silence. he’s enjoying this, that much is obvious. “surprise me.”
you blink, fingers still poised over the buttons. “surprise you?”
“yeah,” he says, shrugging like it’s no big deal. “you work here. you know what’s good.”
you want to throttle him. really, truly throttle him. there’s no way this is real—no way the gojo satoru is sitting in front of you at 5:07 in the morning, asking you to surprise him with a starbucks order like he’s some quirky regular.
and yet, here you are.
“fine,” you mutter, punching in the order for the sweetest, most ridiculous concoction you can think of. caramel drizzle, extra whipped cream, a pump of every syrup in the back room—you’re not going easy on him. “that’ll be eight dollars.”
he doesn’t blink at the ridiculous price. of course, he doesn’t.
pulling out his phone, he taps it against the card reader and flashes you another grin. “thanks, i’m sure it’ll be great.”
you barely resist the urge to roll your eyes. “uh-huh.”
as you move to make the drink, the silence between you stretches uncomfortably. you’ve spent so much time thinking about gojo, despising him, that now that he’s here, right in front of you, you don’t know how to act. and the worst part? he seems perfectly at ease, completely unfazed by the fact that you’ve spent the better part of a year dreaming of his downfall. he’s back to looking at his stupid heavy ahh gaming laptop, and as you move over to put in copious amounts of caramel pumps, you notice that he’s on cool math games playing fireboy and watergirl and almost snort out loud. he’s locked in on his game, his legs moving up and down anxiously, reminiscent of an ipad kid.
after a few minutes of assembling his monstrosity of a drink, you slide it across the counter. “here,” you say, trying to keep the irritation out of your voice.
gojo raises an eyebrow at the drink, the sheer volume of whipped cream threatening to spill over the lid. “wow,” he says, sounding genuinely impressed. “you really went all out.”
“you said to surprise you.”
“i did,” he admits, grabbing the cup and taking a slow, deliberate sip. his eyes widen slightly at the overly sweet taste, and for a brief moment, you think you’ve won.
but then he smiles again, that same irritatingly carefree smile, and you know you haven’t.
“so,” gojo begins, leaning back in his chair like he’s settling in for a long conversation. “what’s a genius like you doing working the early shift at starbucks?”
your hands freeze mid-clean, and you glance at him sharply. genius?
you can’t tell if he’s being sincere or mocking you—probably the latter, considering who he is—but the word still lingers in the air between you, unsettling.
you scoff, trying to brush it off. “gotta pay the bills somehow,” you mutter, going back to wiping down the counter. but gojo’s gaze is heavy on you, and you can tell he’s not letting it go.
you glance up at him. “look, i like having time to think in the mornings. it’s quiet. besides, no one’s lining up for coffee before 7, so it’s not like i’m missing anything.”
gojo chuckles softly, but there’s something off about it. “thinking time, huh?” he repeats your words, but there’s a strange edge to them, like he’s mulling them over. in fact, you think you just realize that he’s been acting oddly this entire morning, restlessness evident in his figure. he taps his fingers on the table, his eyes flickering to the window, watching the gray morning light spill into the shop.
“doesn’t it ever feel like…” he trails off, brow furrowing slightly. “i don’t know… like you should be doing something else? like… something more?”
his question hangs in the air, heavy and unspoken, but you get the feeling he’s not talking about you. there’s something in his voice, something that sounds like he’s grappling with his own thoughts, with his own place in the world.
for a moment, you’re tempted to brush him off. to tell him he’s overthinking things, that he’s gojo satoru and he already has everything laid out for him. but something stops you. maybe it’s the way he looks—his usual confidence slightly cracked at the edges, his playful tone masking something else. something deeper.
you shrug, turning back to the counter. “i mean… it doesn’t have to be ‘more’ all the time. sometimes just showing up is enough.”
there’s a pause, and you can feel the weight of your words sinking in. gojo goes quiet, really quiet, and when you glance back at him, his usual smirk is gone. he’s just… staring at you, eyes narrowed slightly like he’s trying to figure you out.
“just… showing up, huh?” he repeats softly, almost like he’s testing the words. his fingers stop tapping, and he leans back in his chair, his gaze unfocused, like he’s somewhere else entirely. somewhere in his own head.
you don’t say anything else. you’ve said your piece, and somehow, you know it hit deeper than either of you expected. there’s a strange silence between you now, not uncomfortable, but heavy with understanding.
gojo stands up after a long pause, grabbing his bag and slinging it over his shoulder. he looks at you, his usual grin slipping back into place, but it’s softer now. less cocky. more real.
“maybe you’re right,” he says, and this time there’s no teasing in his voice. “sometimes it’s enough just to show up.”
and with that, he gives you a small nod, turning and heading out into the cold morning. the door swings shut behind him, and for a second, you just stand there, staring after him.
something’s shifted. you don’t know what it is, but it feels like the start of something. something bigger than just a rivalry.
you shake your head, turning back to the counter. it’s too early for this shit.
…
“you know, i didn’t get your name.”
gojo’s voice cuts through the low hum of the espresso machine as he leans against the counter, that same insufferable grin plastered across his face. he’s here again, of course, only this time it’s during your closing shift. the place is quiet, almost deserted except for the occasional customer who swings by for a quick coffee before heading back out into the cold.
you look up from the equipment you were cleaning, already annoyed. “i’m pretty sure we’ve shared at least one class every semester.”
you weren’t trying to hide the pettiness. gojo, for all his academic genius, clearly couldn’t be bothered to remember you—a recurring face in his orbit. it’s not like you were expecting him to remember you, especially among the sea of faces in lecture halls, but something about the way he strolled in, acting like this was just some cute, quirky meet-cute, got under your skin.
gojo quirks an eyebrow in confusion, his gaze drifting up toward the ceiling as if searching the recesses of his mind for your name—only to come up empty. “are you a grad student?”
you flash him an exasperated look. “just for that, i’m not telling you.”
grabbing a towel to wipe your hands, you step out from behind the barista counter, heading towards the trash can just behind him to restock the straws. as you make your way to the supply room, you can feel his eyes following your every move. to your surprise, gojo starts walking toward you, his presence looming as you dump the straws into the container.
it isn’t until you turn around that you realize he’s standing right next to you, bent comically at the waist and squinting at something on your chest. heat creeps up your neck and into your cheeks as you realize his proximity and move to take a step back.
he wasn’t ogling you (thank god), but instead, squinting at the nametag pinned to your apron.
"ah," he says, straightening up with a triumphant grin. “there it is. y/n, huh?” the way his mouth rolls over your name slowly makes you feel a bit weird, because after all, this is the guy you’ve shit talked about in your diary finally acknowledging you existed, but before you can reflect on the feeling, you bristle again in annoyance.
“really? you had to get that close just to read my name?”
gojo doesn’t seem fazed by your annoyance, in fact, it only seems to amuse him further. “hey, i was just trying to be thorough. gotta make sure i get it right, you know?” his grin widens, and you swear he’s enjoying this way too much.
“thorough. sure.” you turn away, trying to busy yourself with the straws again, but the heat still lingers on your face. his proximity had been… unexpected. and a little too close for comfort.
when you’re done with the straws, you steel the courage to turn your body so you’re facing him, making an indication with your hands for him to move out of your way. instead of him giving you space to leave the cramped corner, he leans against the counter now like he practically owns the place. in doing so, he effectively pins you against the corner of the coffee shop, leaving you no option but to fiddle with the straws while pointedly avoiding his gaze, but not before you see the pout on his face. “you’re not going to ask me for my name?”
“i know it. it’s gojo.” you immediately curse yourself for letting your lips loose.
fuck. he squints his eyes in what you perceive as suspicion. “how do you know my name?”
“i saw it on your credit card information.” you couldn’t exactly tell him how you’ve stalked him (as well as how inefficient you found a function in his 6th grade robotics code), so that would be a plausible enough reason.
but gojo, of course, doesn’t let up. “so, y/n,” he starts. “you going to the party next week? you know, for halloweekend?”
ah, halloweekend. the ultimate weekend for getting excuses to dress slutilly, excessively drink, and get laid. at your college, it was an even bigger deal, with people partying for all three days of the week’s end as well as the weekend before and after halloween. you shook your head. “i don’t think so.” that phys 321 assignment was not going to finish itself, nor were parties really your scene.
“what?” he immediately crosses his arms across his chest, frowning and leaning closer to you to squint at you. “why?”
you sigh inwardly, awkward at the prospect of him bugging you further about your life. “i’m bu—”
you’re interrupted by the sound of the door opening and instinctively move to get behind the counter to take the new customer’s order; at first, you thank the heavens that you got a distraction from gojo, that you’re not alone anymore, but seeing who the customer was, the hope extinguishes like a candle face with wind.
you both see a man swagger in, the same guy you’ve noticed hanging around far too often lately. his eyes immediately lock onto you, and a slow, sleazy grin spreads across his face.
“hey, look who’s still here,” the man says, sauntering over to the counter like he owns the place. “my favorite barista.”
you tense, forcing a smile. “what can i get you?”
he doesn’t answer right away, his gaze sliding down your body in a way that makes your skin crawl. “i was thinking…” he drawls, leaning in closer than necessary, “you and i should hang out. you’re always here, and i’m always here, so it’s like fate or something, right?”
your stomach churns, and you take a small step back, maintaining your composure. “i’m good, thanks.”
but he doesn’t let up, leaning further across the counter. “come on, don’t be like that. just one drink. you deserve it after a long day.”
“i really can’t—”
“don’t be shy,” he interrupts, a grin spreading wider. “i’m a nice guy, i promise.”
before you can think of another polite rejection, gojo steps forward, his body language shifting entirely. the playful air around him evaporates, replaced by something colder, more dangerous. he positions himself squarely between you and the guy, effectively cutting off the man’s view of you.
“she said no,” gojo says, his voice firm, low. “so why don’t you fuck off?”
the sleazy guy blinks, clearly not expecting the sudden shift. his smile fades, and he glares at gojo, sizing him up like he’s considering pushing back. but one glance at gojo’s unwavering stare, and the guy decides it’s not worth it. with a muttered curse, he turns and leaves, the door swinging shut behind him.
you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. the guy’s been bothering you routinely; part of you thinks that he’s still not going to leave you alone, but the rest of you visibly relaxes, the weight of this guy’s harassment lifting off your shoulders under gojo’s protection.
gojo turns back to you, the usual teasing smirk creeping back onto his face, though his eyes are still sharp. “you okay?”
“yeah,” you manage, though your voice is quieter than you’d like. “thanks for that.”
“don’t mention it.” he shrugs it off like it was nothing, but there’s something different in the way he’s looking at you now—something protective. “i know you’re perfectly capable of handling yourself, but i figured i’d speed things up a bit.”
you roll your eyes, trying to shake off the tension. “you’re such a hero, gojo.”
“always,” he replies with a wink. and just like that, the moment’s lightened again, the balance between you restored, though there’s a subtle shift in the air. something unspoken between the two of you—an understanding, maybe.
you don’t acknowledge it out loud, but as you go back to restocking, you find yourself glancing at him more than before. and for the first time in… well, ever, you don’t completely mind his presence.
…
fast forward a few hours, and after a bit of conversation, gojo finally leaves the fine institution that is your campus starbucks. right now, you’re alone and finishing cleaning up. you lock up, the starbucks finally closed, finishing your last task for the night. it’s quiet—too quiet, actually, with the usual streetlights casting strange shadows across the empty sidewalk. the air feels heavy, like something unseen is lingering just out of reach, watching from the dark. you shake it off, telling yourself you’re just tired and letting your nerves get to you.
as you start your walk back to your dorm, the feeling only grows. the street’s nearly empty, and with each step, the silence presses in closer. it’s fine, you tell yourself, picking up your pace. but then you hear it: the echo of footsteps, faint but unmistakable. heart pounding, you speed up, every instinct telling you to just get back. almost there. you just have to cross the alley—
“hey there,” a voice drawls, and your stomach sinks. a hand moves to grab at your shoulder, making you turn quickly. what meets your vision is the same guy from earlier, his grin widening in a way that makes your skin crawl.
you try to move out of his grip, but he grabs you harder, cutting off any escape. “aw, don’t be like that. i just wanted some company.”
your throat’s dry, but you manage, “i said no.”
he doesn’t even pretend to listen, his gaze trailing over you with that same leering interest. “no need to be so uptight. i could make this fun for you.”
your back hits the wall of the alley. trapped. he leans in, his breath warm and sour against your face, one hand reaching out as he says something sleazy that you can barely hear over the pounding in your ears—
and then a voice cuts in from above, all easy humor. “y’know, i always thought this city’s trash problem was bad, but this is something else.”
your heart leaps in your chest at the small flicker of hope, that someone has the balls to try to rescue you. but as you—and this creep—turn, you find no evidence of another party present, only his mysterious presence.
“who’s there?” the guy snarls, his grip tightening so much that you wince. “why don’t you get lost if you know what’s good for you—”
“dude, don’t you have any rizz?” the mysterious boy retorts.the stranger has a youthful voice, someone of your age. “the way you have to resort to sexual harassment is just sad. you guys are always sooo predictable, you’re so gonna tell me to scram or something.”
the man scowls, hand leaving your arm in an effort to search for the stranger in the dark. “why don’t you mind your own business, punk—”
and he’s interrupted, because a shiny, silver something flings out in the darkness and lands on his face, sending his arms in a frenzy to uncover what it is. the man rips the sticky, silver webbing off his face with a growl, looking around wildly, his expression shifting from confusion to anger. his eyes dart through the dark alley, searching for the source of that cocky voice, but there’s nothing—just shadows and the faint flicker of a streetlamp somewhere down the block.
“who the hell are you?” he snaps, twisting his neck as if he could scare whoever’s hiding out there into the open. “show yourself, you bastard!”
a chuckle echoes from the darkness, bouncing off the brick walls. “wow, real tough guy, huh? but you should work on those anger issues. they’re, uh…a bit unbecoming.”
the man spins around, and another burst of webbing flies out from somewhere unseen, sticking to his shoulder this time. he yanks it off with a frustrated grunt, his head whipping from side to side as he tries to locate the stranger.
“you think this is funny?” he spits, voice raised in a mix of fear and fury.
“depends. do you?” the voice is closer now, almost like the stranger is right above you, yet no one’s there. “or is this just a big overreaction? all i did was suggest you rethink your approach. go to therapy or sum’.”
the man snarls, fists clenched, starting to look downright unhinged. “get down here and say that to my face, punk!”
“as you wish.”
with a soft thump, a figure drops from above, landing directly in front of the guy in a low crouch. in the dim light, all you see at first are the blue and black accents on the otherwise white suit, his head tilting up, illuminated just enough that his white, wide eyes glow with a certain playful menace. and then, your eyes widen as you gasp to yourself.
you’ve seen him before.
okay, pause.
you’re a busy college student, one who stays entrenched in the bubble of upcoming exams, assignments, and problem sets that you don’t check the news often. in the off chance you do turn from your usual consumption of social media during your breaks to the news, you only have time to read the big headlines.
so you did read somewhere that in your university’s city of new york city, there was a masked menan—vigilante that had beat up a few guys near a shawarma joint or prevented some shootings at a nightclub. new york city was full of incompetent cops that were on the lookout for him (a/n acabbbbbb) since this guy was a vigilante, some kind of superhero slinging around on webs. some name—spiderman.
but before you could read more into the article, your soul almost left your body when you got a canvas notification saying your midterm was graded, so that was the end of that.
alright, pause over. back to now.
“hi!” spiderman chirps, giving him a friendly wave before ducking just as the man throws a punch. the swing goes wide, and spiderman straightens up with a disappointed sigh. “see, this is why i’m the one with the web powers. you’d hurt yourself with these moves.”
without warning, the man charges again, swinging in rapid succession, but each one misses as spiderman easily sidesteps, practically dancing around him. “oof, dude, how did you make it this far in life with reflexes like that?” he ducks another blow, slipping behind the guy to give him a light tap on the shoulder as he passes.
the man stumbles, eyes flashing with frustration, and lets out a roar, reaching down to pick up a loose brick from the alley floor. he raises it above his head, face twisted in a snarl.
“oh, so we’re improvising now?” spiderman quips, and before the man can bring the brick down, a strand of webbing shoots out, sticking to the brick and yanking it from his grasp. it flies off somewhere into the alley, landing with a dull clatter.
the guy stumbles forward, off balance, and spiderman takes the opportunity to web his feet to the ground, immobilizing him in place. the man struggles, pulling his legs, but he’s stuck fast.
“ever heard of boundaries?” spiderman asks, tilting his head with mock innocence. “or, like, self-restraint? you should look into it.”
the man glares, seething, still struggling against the webs. “you think you’re some kinda hero?” he sneers.
spiderman shrugs, glancing over at you, catching your gaze in a way that makes you feel both strangely comforted and seen. “nah, hero’s a big word. i’m just your friendly neighborhood guy with slightly above-average reflexes.”
with a frustrated yell, the man finally wrenches one arm free and makes a desperate lunge, his fist connecting with spiderman’s side. spiderman lets out a small grunt but only wobbles slightly before grinning. “okay, buddy, playtime’s over.”
before the man can even react, spiderman sends out another web, this time at his wrist, effectively pinning him to the alley wall. he struggles, face twisted in anger, but spiderman just raises a gloved hand to his lips as if hushing a child. then, in the lull that follows, you remember the thick quantum mechanics textbook in your bag. without thinking, you yank it out and, in a burst of adrenaline, swing it at the man’s head. the book lands with a solid thud, and he slumps, finally, into silence.
spiderman looks at the unconscious man, then at the textbook in your hand. he lets out a low whistle. “you know, i’ve always thought textbooks were a weapon of choice, but that’s next-level dedication.” that’s when you realize just how tall he is compared to you, and you can’t help your excitement when you realize that he’s here in the flesh.
“nice hit, by the wa—”
“it’s you!” you exclaim.
“what?” he sputters, white eyes widening almost comically. “me? oh,” then he straightens up, “yea, yea. just your friendly neighborhood spiderman. rescuing pretty girls from creeps, kinda my thing. ” he shrugs.
you continue, excitedly, “right, you’re the one on the news—” you move your hand to point at him but quickly wince, the pain of the man’s grip catching up to you.
he doesn’t miss the movement, eyes squinting at you. “hey, we’ll have to get you home. do you trust me?”
you look at him, clutching your arm in pain, and really take a moment to check him out. he’s saved you, he’s probably six feet tall, and his ass looks fantastic in his suit. at this point, you’re looking at him with heart eyes. but you can’t exactly tell him you want him to propose, so all you utter out is a “y-yeah. my dorm’s randall.”
he doesn't waste any time. with a quick nod, he hooks an arm around your waist, pulling you close as he aims a webline up toward the buildings. “hold on tight, randall’s just a swing away,” he murmurs, his voice light but steady. his hand settles on your hip, and you can't stop the way your stomach flips at the contact.
before you can even process what’s happening, he launches the two of you into the air, the city blurring beneath your feet as you cling to him, fingers gripping the fabric of his suit for dear life. his arm stays solid around you, his grip somehow both gentle and strong. he lands lightly on the roof of your dorm, setting you down carefully like you’re something fragile. and he steps back, dusting his hands off in the most nonchalant way possible, like he didn’t just take you on the most exhilarating ride of your life.
“this is your stop,” he says, that signature, almost cocky smile playing in his voice.
“uh… yeah. thanks. for the rescue,” you manage, your voice a little shakier than you’d like. you don’t know if “thank you” is enough—it doesn’t even come close to covering what you feel.
but he just shrugs, taking a step back. “all in a day’s work,” he says. “or night’s work, i guess.” he pauses, giving you a quick once-over. “get some sleep, yeah?”
and just like that, he gives you a small, almost playful salute and vanishes, swinging off into the night as easily as he’d appeared, leaving you standing on the rooftop with your heart still racing.
back in your dorm room, you drop onto your bed, staring up at the ceiling as tonight’s events replay in your head: the alley, his voice cutting through the dark, that cocky smirk, the way he felt holding onto you as you soared over the city lights. a tiny part of you wonders if you imagined the whole thing—if maybe you’re just the victim of some wild, sleep-deprived hallucination.
but no, your arm still aches from where the creep grabbed you, and you can still feel the ghost of his hand on your waist, steady and reassuring. you bite your lip, a smile creeping onto your face despite yourself.
just before sleep finally claims you, you let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head at the absurdity of it all. “the city’s vigilante, huh?” you murmur, as if he’s somehow still listening.
the thought is wild, a bit surreal—and strangely comforting.
…
“one caffe americano!” you call out, reading the label on the cup before handing it over with a small nod. the customer takes it with a quick thanks, and you return to the counter, barely holding back a yawn. the events of last night flicker through your mind—a web-slinging hero, an alley, the lingering ache in your arm—and you shake it off. there’s no room for distractions. life as a college student means the grind never stops, especially on a morning shift right before class.
when your coworker finally arrives, you let out a quiet sigh of relief, grab your bag, and step out into the brisk morning air. the chill helps wake you up as you make your way across campus, hoping to catch up with your friends before the lecture starts. just outside the building, you spot utahime, sitting on a bench, waiting with her usual tired smile.
“hey, finally off the clock?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.
“yeah, barely,” you reply, rolling your eyes. “i’m still running on fumes from last night. you guys save me a seat?”
“of course. nanami’s already inside,” she says, gesturing toward the building.
you sigh. “you won’t believe the things that happened last night.”
she gives you a look, in the traditional utahime protective-mother-hen type way. “what happened?”
you give her the rundown of what happened, the guy (who she bristles at, gives you a slap at your hand to tell you that you should’ve told her earlier, kento would’ve been able to beat his ass if she hadn’t gotten to it first) and how spiderman saved you. “i would give him what he’s missing,” you sigh, dreamily.
utahime looks at you in a judgmental way. “and that’s all you got from this? for fucks sake, he’s a vigilante, you don’t know if he’s started to tail you or not. pooks, he could literally be dangerous. try to convince your boss to let someone else get your night shift.” as soon as you open your mouth to protest, she cuts you off immediately. “and no, i don’t give a fuck about your people pleaser tendenci—”
“we’ll revisit this conversation later.” you give her a sweet smile as you start to speed walk, door of the lecture hall of the 9am section of phys401: intro to quantum algorithms, falling in with the usual stream of students after you hear an irritated “yea, cause i’m gonna kill you otherwise.” the familiar chatter and echo of footsteps make the day feel almost normal, grounding you as you weave through the hall.
inside, you quickly spot kento’s shining, disney prince-like blonde hair, who has saved seats for the three of you near the middle of the hall, away from the ugly, smelly grad students who always crowd the front. he gives you a quick nod as you settle down beside him, flipping open your notebook. the reliable calm on his face helps ease the lingering jitters you hadn’t realized you were carrying.
“long night?” he asks, glancing at the dark circles under your eyes.
“you could say that,” you mumble, not quite ready to get into details. instead, you wave it off. “just work assignments, and getting jumped, the usual.”
nanami breaks into a series of shocked coughs, and you hurry to pat his back as he undeniably burns his tongue on the coffee he was taking a sip of. “what?”
his rather loud exclamation sets off stares from people sitting closer to you both, so you give utahime, who lets out a quiet groan as she’s settling into her seat beside you, a knowing look. “it’s a long story, i’ll tell it to you later.”
he reluctantly settles in after that, not because he has a choice but because yaga is starting to address the class by asking about the weekend and getting his usual blank stares in return until a voice you recognize as suguru geto’s is saying something to undeniably piss him off, but you don’t register quite what it is exactly because the door opens and any attention on geto is directed to the boy with white hair and blue eyes tiredly walking into class.
he’s about ten minutes late to the lecture, which is already weird because he’s usually about 27 seconds late, not that you keep count. but also, normally gojo is the picture of confidence and cockyness, making some of the female grad students whisper things about him that you don’t think they should be for the five year gap between them and gojo.
but today, he looks different—messy, unkempt, with shadows under his eyes and a weird angle to his torso, the way he walks, and the way his opposite hand is subconsciously hovering around his side.
your brows knit together as he heads to an empty seat rows behind you next to geto, ignoring the stares of half the room. it’s so out of character for him that you can’t help but wonder what’s going on. you shoot utahime a knowing look, and she stifles a laugh, barely managing to keep a straight face as she watches gojo slink to his seat. nanami’s usually impassive face exchanges a look with you as well before he turns his attention back to professor yaga’s opening remarks. gojo slides into the row behind you without a word, avoiding everyone’s gaze—or so you think, until you feel it.
as you attempt to listen to professor yaga, you can’t shake the sensation of eyes boring into the back of your head. you resist the urge to turn, telling yourself it’s probably nothing… except the feeling lingers, so strong that your pulse ticks up a notch.
“okay, now that we’re all here,” yaga says in a dry tone, barely able to hide his irritation as he glances pointedly in gojo’s direction, “let’s begin with today’s lecture on grover’s.”
professor yaga taps the board, and the projector switches to a set of slides titled quantum speed-up and the grover search algorithm. he launches into his explanation, voice clipped. “grover’s algorithm provides a quadratic speed-up for unstructured search problems, a notable advantage in quantum computing. but can anyone tell me why this isn’t considered an exponential improvement?”
you raise your hand, as does nanami. a subtle shift of movement in your peripheral vision draws your eye to gojo, who’s leaning back in his chair, arms crossed. yaga’s attention lands on nanami first, and he gives a succinct answer about how grover’s algorithm yields only a quadratic speed-up in terms of computational complexity. as he answers, you swear you catch gojo watching you, again, through the corner of your eye.
determined not to let him get under your skin, you lean over to whisper to nanami. “what’s with him today?”
nanami, still watching yaga, raises a brow. “maybe he finally realized that he can’t get by without skipping class today.”
utahime snickers quietly. “doubtful. more like he thinks it’s funny to waltz in whenever he likes and still ace every test.”
“exactly.” you sigh, drumming your pen against your notebook. gojo’s rare absences don’t even seem to faze most professors. and despite his unpredictable attendance, he’s always managed to stay miles ahead. today, though, something’s… different about him. like he’s made a life changing decision in the past 48 hours.
“moving on,” yaga says, pointing to the board where the next slide materializes. “the heart of grover’s algorithm lies in its use of an amplitude amplification technique, where we iterate a search oracle along with an inversion process. pay attention—this concept of iterative improvement will become key when we start covering variational quantum algorithms.”
as yaga delves deeper into amplitude amplification, you manage to focus, jotting down notes on the necessary steps in grover’s search. yet each time you settle into the lecture, you feel gojo’s gaze pricking at you. the first time you turn around, there’s nothing there—just him slouched, seemingly absorbed in whatever he’s staring at on the ceiling. but then, you sense it again and, on your second glance, you catch his blue eyes meeting yours, and he quickly looks away.
what’s his problem? you give him a questioning look, but he’s adamantly not looking at you, trying to look nonchalant as he’s pulling out his laptop. he might look like a student taking latexing notes of what yaga’s yapping about, but the way he’s using his mouse more than he is his keyboard tells you that he’s probably on papa’s freezeria instead.
you decide that you’re going to waste your time wondering how gojo’s brain functioned, so you instead focus back on the lecture. after all, you didn’t understand any of the lecture notes you took notes on before and what it said about the diffuser in the circuit.
“now,” yaga’s voice sharpens, pulling you back into the room, “these iterations act as amplitude amplification steps, so pay close attention—especially those of you who have a habit of being late.” his eyes slide back to gojo, who remains oblivious, leaning back with a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as the sound of his name brings him back to the lecture.
gojo doesn’t even look phased. instead, he raises a hand casually, like he’s about to ask a simple question. you can feel the anticipation ripple through the room—half the students are waiting to see if he’ll fumble, and the other half already know better.
“professor yaga,” he drawls, “don’t you think amplitude amplification is a bit of an oversimplification? the way it’s typically presented, you’d think grover’s algorithm was just… guessing with style.” he flashes an infuriatingly smug smile, drawing out the pause before continuing. “but we both know it’s more about quantum phase inversion, right? the oracle reflects about the mean state, iterating with a precision that isn’t just luck. or maybe that’s all too technical?” he leans back, feigning innocence.
the smugness in his tone makes something flare up in you, and before you can stop yourself, your hand shoots up.
“actually, gojo,” you interject, your voice louder than you intended, “calling it “guessing with style” is a very gross oversimplification. grover’s algorithm isn’t about intuition or luck. it’s about optimization. it’s not just about spotlighting a target like a rando guess, it’s more like rotating the probability in a controlled manner—with iterations—to amplify the correct solution. not just some quantum trick or guess.” you cross your arms, leaning back in your chair as you stare him down. “it’s not even that bad, compared to what we have classically.”
as soon as you spoke, it seems that the fight and mischievous look in gojo’s eyes fades, replacing it with something that shockingly looks like him being flustered as he averts your gaze, looks to the ceiling, and murmurs something like “yea, that’s basically most of quantum computing, desperately trying to prove we’re not just wasting our time” but yaga interrupts him, clearly a bit annoyed at the two know-it-alls that you and gojo were acting like.
“now,” yaga says, shifting back to the lecture as if nothing happened (probably because he wasn’t paid enough to deal with this shit), “these iterations act as amplitude amplification steps, so pay close attention—especially those of you who have a habit of missing lectures.”
you’re just left confused as to why the conversation didn’t escalate like the typical academic rivals in movies, because you’ve definitely seen gojo bully some people who didn’t know what the fuck they were talking about instead of just blushing like some schoolgirl. regardless, you can’t help but notice the thrill that you felt, having finally argued with him, having been seen as someone worth arguing. you try to temper it as yaga continues onto the rest of the lecture.
…
“i can’t believe you’re making me go.” you tug at the hem of your white corset, paired with a matching skirt, still incredulous at how utahime managed to talk you into attending one of the infamous halloween frat parties. the night air is crisp against your exposed shoulders, and despite your complaints, you shiver more at the thought of wasting the next few hours among sweaty strangers than the actual cold.
utahime, walking beside you in a devil-red version of your outfit—complete with horns perched precariously on her head—looks far too satisfied with herself. she adjusts the horns with one hand, giving you a sidelong glance that practically drips with smugness.
“stop pouting,” she chides. “i’m not going to let you waste another night holed up in your room, buried in manhwa or quantum physics. i’m pretty sure there are cobwebs growing in your—”
“utahime,” you hiss, cutting her off with a mortified glance around.
“pussy,” she finishes, completely unbothered. “i’m going to find you a guy to hook up with. i’m not saying you have to go all the way, but flirting? kissing? maybe something more? very healthy. highly encouraged.”
your mouth falls open in protest, but before you can get a word in, she fixes you with a sharp glare, her dark eyes flashing with all the authority of a disappointed parent. “don’t even think about arguing with me. i swear, if you don’t at least try to enjoy this, i’ll make it my personal mission to find someone for you.”
“i can’t believe this,” you mutter, crossing your arms. “you’re supposed to be my friend, not my pimp.”
“oh, i’m your friend. that’s why i’m doing this. you’ll thank me when you’re sixty and not crying about how boring your college life was.”
“i’m not boring,” you counter. “i’m selective.”
���sure,” utahime drawls, clearly unconvinced. “and whatever weird sexual tension you’ve got going on with gojo doesn’t count.”
you scoff, stopping in your tracks to stare at her. “what tension? we’ve literally talked once this week. and that was the first time we had a conversation.”
she doesn’t respond, already scanning the scene ahead. the street of frat houses looms just ahead, glowing with gaudy orange lights strung up across balconies. the bass from the nearest party reverberates through the pavement underfoot. it’s already crowded, hordes of people shuffling in and out, laughing, shouting, and showcasing their half-baked halloween costumes.
you follow utahime’s gaze to the nearest house, packed with enough people to make the windows fog up. just the thought of squeezing into that humidity makes your stomach churn.
“looks crowded,” you mumble. “maybe we should—”
before you can suggest retreating, utahime grabs your wrist and practically drags you toward the house. “nope. you’re coming in. no backing out now.”
the moment you step inside, the smell hits you. sweat, stale beer, and an undercurrent of what you can only describe as frat-house musk. your nose wrinkles, and you instinctively recoil, pulling your arm free from utahime’s grasp.
“god, it smells like a gym locker in here,” you say, covering your nose.
utahime doesn’t seem fazed. she’s already scanning the room, her eyes landing on a beer pong table set up in the corner, surrounded by cheering students. “this is perfect!” she says, beaming.
“for what? contracting a fungal infection?” you mutter.
but she’s no longer listening, her focus shifting as a tall, broad-shouldered guy in a makeshift cowboy hat approaches her and then stops in front of both of you, his stare fully enthralled by utahime. “hey,” he says, a bit suavely, in the way that makes you inwardly roll your eyes because you know she’s going to eat it up. she likes it when they’re a little ugly, and this guy fits the bill.
“hey,” and she giggles, making you have to physically fight the urge to puke, “what’s up?”
they exchange a few words, and before you know it, she’s smiling in that way that tells you she’s found her entertainment for the night.
“go ahead,” you say dryly, waving her off. “i’ll just fend for myself.”
utahime starts to protest, but you’re already beelining for the kitchen, trying to get a drink that’s not too crazy to survive the night. it’s surprisingly less chaotic in the kitchen, though the counters are cluttered with half-empty bottles, red solo cups, and some questionable punch that looks radioactive. you scan the room, your eyes landing on a cupboard that might hold something simple—like water. a series of ding! ding! ding!’s go off in your mind as you find the pack of plastic water bottles.
standing on your toes, you reach for the handle, but it’s just out of your grasp. you huff in frustration, shifting to get better leverage when a hand way bigger than yours suddenly appears above yours, effortlessly grabbing the item you were reaching for.
“let me get that for you.”
you turn to thank the person, the words dying on your lips when you see who it is.
gojo.
he’s standing impossibly close, his signature smirk firmly in place, but there’s something almost casual in the way he looks at you, as if this is the most normal interaction in the world. you swear you’re so close that you can see like the two open pores on his otherwise flawless skin, as his eyes inevitably drag themselves downwards to scan your outfit for the night—a shitty angel without wings and halo (you couldn’t be paid two shits to put in the effort; both of the top and skirt were utahime’s, anyways.) then, his eyes meet yours again, a bit of playfulness in them.
“well, well,” he drawls, handing you the water bottle. “never thought i’d see you here.”
you take the bottle, trying to ignore the brush of his fingers against yours. “didn’t have much of a choice. utahime dragged me.”
his grin widens. “classic. let me guess—she’s off trying to find her soulmate at the beer pong table?”
“something like that,” you mumble, not wanting to give him the entire story. twisting the cap off the bottle, you take a sip, hoping he’ll just leave you alone, but instead, he leans against the counter, looking entirely too comfortable.
“so,” he says, tilting his head, “i heard through the grapevine that you had a run-in with that spider-man guy this week.”
that makes you pause mid-gulp of water, instead coughing a bit as you try to swallow it down without basically drowning in kirkland signature natural spring water. you’ve only told like, three people outside of kento and iori, so you’re confused why he knows this information, but you continue on regardless. the memory of spider-man swinging in to save you flashes through your mind, and you can’t help but smile softly to yourself. “it was amazing. he’s—he’s incredible, honestly. the way he just swooped in and handled everything? so fast, so precise. he’s like a real-life superhero.”
you’re basically gushing to him, and you realize that a bit too late as you look at his face to gauge his reaction. he’s looking at you with a newfound interest, albeit a bit too conflicted to fully tease you about it when he says, “sounds like you’re smitten.”
“maybe i am,” you admit, laughing. “i mean, who wouldn’t be? he’s brave, he’s kind, and he doesn’t even stick around for the credit. it’s like he’s this selfless, untouchable figure.” you also kind of want to give him a sloppy toppy for saving you like that, but you spare gojo the details.
“untouchable, huh?” gojo echoes, his tone turning a bit wry and…jealous? “sounds like someone’s got a crush.”
you roll your eyes, but it’s half-hearted, and you think gojo can tell with the way you’re heating up and bashfully looking at the ground. “don’t be ridiculous.”
“i’m just saying,” he continues, leaning closer, “if that’s your type, you might want to raise your standards. superheroes are overrated.”
you raise an eyebrow. “and what, you’re not?”
he grins, that infuriatingly charming grin that makes you want to simultaneously punch him and laugh. “i’m better. i’m real.” he then puts his hands on the counter behind you, caging you between them until your knees are lightly brushing, and suddenly his face is so close that small little breaths from his nose are fanning across your face. “i can prove that to you.”
and you hate your body for being so…reactive and enthusiastic to his smooth-talking, face flushing. despite that, you try to put on an air of nonchalance. “god, you’re insufferable.”
“really?” he teases. his hand leaves the marble counter to hover at your hip, his hand subconsciously tracing your curves an inch above your skin. the motion, firm but tentative as if he’s waiting for you to give him the green light, makes you shiver as you subconsciously move your hips to finally have the skin-to-skin contact. and your skin sings in happiness as he draws circles into the area right below your skirt, even momentarily dipping just below, to which you realize that he’s treading very close to your panties, since your skirt’s really short.
"yea," you basically sigh, hating yourself for how breathy your voice sounds.
it seems to have an effect on gojo because his eyes darken as he murmurs, "wastin' your time on that spiderman guy."
maybe it's the fact that it's late (you've been getting sub four hours of sleep this past week) or the lights in this humid frat bring a heady air, but all academic-rivalry-overshadowed-woman-in-stem history between you and gojo disappears in your brain as you rake your eyes up and down his torso and then look at him through your lashes. "who should i spend my time on instead?"
he gives you a little smile as he stares down at you, eyes raking over your face, catching at your lips and then going back up again to meet yours. “i don’t know, someone who’s as smart as you,” he murmurs.
“yea?” you laugh out breathlessly. your faces are so close that in normal circumstances, you would worry about how you both looked so close together, one hand on your thigh and the other splayed on your waist. “and how would you know how smart i am?”
satoru starts, lips coming closer and closer. “because i—”
but he’s interrupted, because you both hear a “satoru” and pull apart, breathing heavily as you both turn to look at the offender standing in the entrance of the kitchen: suguru geto, gojo’s best friend, looking more tired than anything as his eyes catch on you, then going to gojo with a pointed look. it’s not hard to figure out what was going on based on how disheveled you both look, your skirt crooked and his shirt crumbled, and your cheeks heat. before you can say anything, however, suguru sighs and says to gojo, “there’s a burglary happening nearby.” then, he turns but not before giving you a nod. “make sure to stay safe.”
he promptly leaves, leaving you confused standing there. was this such an emergency worth noting that he interrupted his best friend?
you try to seek the answer in gojo’s face, but he has this conflicted, annoyed countenance and you suddenly feel kinda of insecure because he’s raking his hand through his hair, staring painfully at the ceiling then at you. at the same time you utter out a “uh–” he says “i have to go.”
“oh.” you blink. a why brews on top of your tongue, but you temper it, reminding yourself that you’re not close to gojo like that. needless to say, you feel a little embarrassed as you watch him jog out of the kitchen with a little wave to you. you want to overanalyze gojo’s last look to you, the one that looked a bit like disappointment and yearning, but you shake it off, staring at the 16.9 oz plastic water bottle in your hand that you forgot about.
taking a sip, you cringe as you become more aware of your surroundings and the state you’re left in because of gojo. that your panties are a bit more sticky—you reach under your skirt to adjust them so they don’t stick to your crotch so much—and you’re hot all over.
then reality comes crashing back. what the hell did you and gojo just do right now?
you groan out loud, banging your head against the fridge, but as you reel back, in your peripheral you see someone there. your head shoots to see the guy who’s now looking at you with a weird expression as he undeniably waits for whatever freaking out you were doing to gain access to the fridge.
“sorry,” you blurt out, and gather yourself to beeline for the exit. god, you needed to find utahime.
…
the soft hum of a tv in the corner of satoru’s apartment provided the only sound, save for the faint rustle of suguru flipping through a textbook. the remnants of takeout—boxes of half-eaten pad thai and a pile of discarded chopsticks—littered the coffee table between them. satoru leaned back on the couch, legs stretched out, staring at the ceiling like it held answers he hadn’t thought to ask yet. he held a small foam ball, tossing it up and catching it over and over. his mind, however, wasn’t focused on the ball but on you.
it was starting to feel like an obsession. he’d always been able to compartmentalize things—his studies, his friends, his other responsibilities. but you? you’d broken through the usual barriers in his head, wedging yourself firmly into every free thought he had.
“do you think she likes me?” he asked suddenly, breaking the quiet.
suguru glanced up from his book, his expression unreadable. “who, starbucks girl?”
satoru scoffed. “she’s not starbucks girl. she’s…” he trailed off, tapping his fingers against his knee. your name lingered on his tongue, oddly weighty in a way that felt almost unfamiliar.
suguru smirked. “oh, she’s got a name now? progress.”
“shut up.”
but he couldn’t shut his mind off, not when you kept taking up space in it. it wasn’t just that he’d noticed you now—really noticed you, for the first time. it was more than that.
satoru had always known who you were. you weren’t exactly easy to miss. in a program full of ugly guys who didn’t shower and loud personalities, you had carved out your niche by being the cold, unreachable one. the one who didn’t bother with group projects unless she had to, who barely engaged in conversations beyond what was strictly necessary. other guys in the program talked about you, of course. they always did.
“frigid,” they called you. “too serious. probably thinks she’s better than us.”
they weren’t entirely wrong. you were better than most of them, but not for the reasons they assumed. satoru had read your work—papers that brimmed with insights that most of their half-baked theories could only dream of. he could tell you put in the effort in your classes and research, while all the guys left shit-talking had to rely on their grad student mentors to be able to write a legible paper. for fucks sake, he doesn’t even thing anyone could code in qiskit or cirq like you could; he had skimmed your notes once, left them behind after a lecture, and found them meticulous and sharp before he turned them into the professor to return to you.
and yet, despite the brilliance you carried with you, you had never given him a second glance.
that day at starbucks, though.
satoru rolled his head to the side, gaze drifting toward the window. he hadn’t expected to see anyone at five in the morning, let alone you. he’d been desperate for answers then—he had spent his night staring at his hands, which had seemed to keep ejecting spider-like webs after he’d been horribly sick. he knew he shouldn’t have gone fooling around in new york’s subway tunnels at 3am with suguru and shoko, but after a seemingly-harmless spider had bit him, he had been reeling from the discovery of his newfound powers and grappling with the weight of what they meant ever since.
and there you were, unlocking the starbucks, bleary-eyed but no less composed.
you’d handed him his coffee, not interested in him the entire time, and he remembered blurting something out—something ridiculous about fate or responsibility, his usual bravado faltering in the quiet of the moment. he had been spiraling, unsure of who he was anymore, and you’d said something.
what was it again?
“it doesn’t have to be ‘more’ all the time. sometimes just showing up is enough.”
the words had stayed with him, carved deep into the corners of his mind. you didn’t know it, but they had pulled him back from the edge that day. since then, he’d started noticing you in ways he hadn’t before.
the way you brushed your hair behind your ear when you were deep in thought. the furrow of your brow when you argued as respectfully as you could with a professor (gojo knew you were holding back, though, and the thought always made him smile to himself because if he wasn’t an idgafer he would be incensed like you at the idiotic teacher). the smile—rare, fleeting, but utterly disarming—that occasionally lit up your face when you talked to utahime or that guy you were too friendly around, nanami.
“you’re doing that thing again,” suguru said, snapping him out of his thoughts.
“what thing?” satoru asked, sitting up straighter.
“brooding. you’re thinking about her, aren’t you?”
“no.”
suguru arched an eyebrow. “you’re a terrible liar.”
satoru sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “fine. maybe i am. but it’s complicated.”
“how is it complicated?”
“she doesn’t like me,” satoru said, shrugging. “at least, not as me. she likes spider-man.”
suguru blinked, clearly unimpressed. “you’re being stupid bro.”
“i’m not being stupid,” satoru argued. “she thinks spider-man’s this amazing, selfless hero. she doesn’t know i’m just some guy who can’t even figure out how to flirt with her without making an ass of himself.”
suguru leaned back in his chair, regarding satoru with an almost pitying look. “so let me get this straight. you’re worried that she only likes spider-man, even though spider-man is you. like it’s some kind of split personality thing?”
“well, when you put it like that—”
“it sounds dumb,” suguru finished. “because it is dumb.”
satoru glared at him, but suguru only shrugged. but how could he not think about you? even now, the memory of your voice—calm, steady, and unexpectedly warm—echoed in his head. you had this way of looking at him, like you were peeling back layers he didn’t even know he had. and that smile... he groaned inwardly. he wasn’t supposed to be so drawn to you, wasn’t supposed to imagine what it’d feel like to have you smile at him like that all the time.
“look,” suguru continued, “if you like her, shoot your shot. you’re already overthinking this, and you haven’t even done anything yet. what’s the worst that could happen? she says no?”
“or she laughs in my face,” satoru muttered.
“which would be deserved, honestly,” suguru said, smirking. “but seriously, you’ve got nothing to lose. and everything to gain.”
satoru didn’t respond, his gaze fixed on the takeout boxes on the table. he wanted to believe suguru was right, but there was a small, stubborn part of him that wasn’t so sure.
because it wasn’t just about rejection, or even whether you liked him as satoru or spider-man. it was about what came after. if he let you in and something happened to you—if his double life brought danger to your doorstep—he wasn’t sure he’d ever forgive himself.
but then there was suguru’s voice in his head, steady and persistent: you’ve got nothing to lose. and everything to gain.
…
amidst a week of endless projects upon projects and other miscellaneous assignments from your research group partners (since the grad students loved to pile their work on top of you, the helpless undergrad), you find yourself nursing a hot chocolate while on top of your dormitory building’s roof.
you find sanctuary, coming on here for time to yourself whenever you find yourself stuck in a busy week. quiet, solitary, with a view of the city lights flickering like scattered fireflies. you hugged your cardigan tighter around your shoulders as you stepped onto the roof, your laptop tucked under one arm, a mug of tea precariously balanced in the other hand. the air was crisp, biting just enough to sting your cheeks.
setting your mug down on the ledge, you perched beside it, pulling up your knees and balancing the laptop precariously as you typed. the words on the screen blurred after a while, blending into the chaos in your mind. frustrated, you closed it with a snap and leaned your head back to gaze at the stars.
“rough night?”
you startled, spinning your head around so fast your tea nearly toppled. but you can’t find anyone, just the sound of soft footsteps landing somewhere not visible to you.
“you scared the hell out of me,” you sighed, clutching your chest.
“sorry,” he said, though his tone didn’t sound all that apologetic. “didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“then maybe don’t sneak up on people like that,” you muttered, still trying to calm your racing heart.
he chuckled, and the sound was warmer than you’d expected. “noted. so, what’s got you out here at three in the morning? don’t tell me you’re pulling an all-nighter.”
you sighed, the initial shock fading into a dull thrum of shyness. “it’s not an all-nighter if the night isn’t over yet.” then, you squint at a random spot, pretending it’s him. “besides, why are you here? shouldn’t you be out stopping robberies or saving cats from trees?”
“done and done,” he said, crossing his arms as he leaned against the ledge. “now i’m just enjoying the view.”
you turned your gaze back to the skyline, hoping the darkness hid the faint heat creeping up your neck. “so, what’s a guy like you doing on a random rooftop at three in the morning?”
“could ask you the same thing,” he countered.
you hesitated. for some reason, admitting the truth to him felt easier than admitting it to anyone else. “just…needed a break.”
“from?”
“everything,” you said, exhaling slowly. “classes. expectations. people.” you paused, then added with a faint smile, “not you, though. you’re an exception.”
“oh?” his voice lightened, carrying a hint of playful intrigue. “should i feel honored?”
“maybe,” you said. “it’s not every day you get to meet a real hero.” then, “okay, but why do you always hide in the dark?”
his voice is smug, meant to be playful. “it adds to the mystique?”
you pout. “what if i call the police?”
“it’s not like the cops can catch me anyways, baby. their shitty coffee and donut filled asses aren’t enough to keep up with me.”
you really try not to flush when he calls you that pet name. “is success getting to you?”
“what success? most i hear is everyone debating whether or not i should be experimented on.”
“really?” you teased. “that’s not what i saw on my for you page last time. there are girls out there who want you to sign their tits after you rescued that baby.”
then, you hear the soft thud of nimble feet dropping onto the ceiling and turn your head to see him in all his glory. he has a muscular figure highlighted in his white suit, blue and black lines traveling their way across his body. casually, he stretches and then drops down to the floor, sitting cross legged from across from you as if joining you in a regular gossip sesh. he puts his elbow on his knee and rests his head on his hand. “are you one of those girls?”
you laugh sheepishly, turning away as heat creeps up your face again and your heart hammers, because you can’t exactly tell him that, yes you’re absolutely enamored with him after he saved you that day and yes, you do indeed want him to sign your tits.
“you should do that more,” he said.
“what?” you look back at him, wide eyed in confusion.
“laugh.”
the way he said it, low and almost reverent, made your cheeks heat. you busy yourself with toying with your cardigan, scooting yourself away from the edge and closer to him. “and you should stop being such a flirt,” you said, though there was no bite in your voice.
“can’t help it,” he said, leaning closer. “it’s kind of my thing.”
“is that right?”
“mm-hmm.” he paused, then added, “you know, there’s something i’ve been meaning to ask you.”
“what?” you asked, arching an eyebrow.
“take my mask off.”
the words hit you like a gut punch, dissolving the playfulness that had filled the air seconds ago. you blinked up at him, searching his face—or at least what you could see of it—for any sign that this was some elaborate joke. but there was no hint of humor, no smirk tugging at his lips. he meant it.
your fingers hovered at your sides, hesitant. “are you sure?” the question came out soft, barely audible, but it felt like it echoed in the quiet night.
“never been more sure of anything,” he murmured, voice low and steady.
you swallowed hard, your heart hammering in your chest. slowly, almost against your better judgment, you reached up, fingertips brushing the edge of his mask. the fabric felt smooth, warm under your touch, but your nerves were anything but.
with a deep breath, you peeled it back. bit by bit, his face came into view—a shock of white hair, impossibly sharp features, and finally, those eyes. those unmistakable, infuriatingly familiar blue eyes. your breath caught, and for a moment, the world tilted sideways.
“gojo?”
the name fell from your lips before you could stop it, unsteady and disbelieving. your mind raced, trying to piece together the impossible puzzle that had just landed in front of you.
he grinned—that grin, the one that always made you want to slap it off his face and yet somehow managed to disarm you every single time. “hey.”
“hey?” your voice cracked as you took a step back. “that’s all you have to say? hey?”
“would you prefer, ‘surprise’?” he quipped, his grin widening as though this was the most normal thing in the world.
you laughed, the sound a little hysterical but real, like you couldn’t contain the storm of emotions rushing through you. “surprised? you’ve been… you’ve been spider-man this whole time?” the words felt foreign on your tongue, like they didn’t belong in the same sentence as gojo satoru—the one you’d argued with in class, the one who had no problem making you want to tear your hair out. and yet here he was, standing in front of you, the last person you ever would have suspected to be the city’s most infamous masked hero.
gojo gave you that crooked grin, the same one he wore when he thought he had won—when he thought he had it all figured out. “i know. it’s a lot to take in.”
you stared at him, trying to make sense of it, but no amount of logic could bridge the gap between the gojo you knew—the guy who drove you up the wall in class and always had a cocky comeback—and the masked hero who had saved you and the one you had a crush on.
you didn’t know whether to scream, laugh, or cry.
you take a shaky breath in, still trying to process everything. “you... you saved me, gojo. you’ve been right there, all these times, and i had no idea it was you.”
“guess i’m just that good at keeping secrets,” he said, his tone playful, but there was something more there, something softer, that you couldn’t quite put your finger on. his eyes held a flicker of something—maybe vulnerability, maybe uncertainty.
the weight of the moment hung thick in the air between you, and for a long second, you didn’t know what to say. this revelation was like the ground beneath you had cracked wide open, and you were left staring into an abyss that was both terrifying and exhilarating.
finally, you shook your head, letting out a short breath. “this is insane.”
he didn’t seem bothered by your reaction, though his eyes darkened just slightly, the smirk still there, but with something a little more honest creeping into his expression. “yeah. but you’re handling it better than i thought. kinda thought you would faint, or something.”
the world had shifted, but somehow, with gojo now sitting in front of you like this, with the mask off and the man behind the myth revealed, it felt like the pieces were finally starting to fall into place. even if they didn’t make perfect sense yet.
and yet, something about his presence—his undeniable realness—felt oddly grounding. he wasn’t the invincible spider-man anymore. he was just gojo. the gojo who had somehow become more than just your academic rival, and maybe, just maybe, a little bit more than that.
something in gojo’s facial expression shifted to something a bit more hesitant, a little nervous as he stands and extend his arm out to you. softly, he asks, “do you trust me?”
“yes.” you took his hand, standing up as he flashes you a charming, yet mischievous grin, one so shit eating that you regret saying that. “why?”
“i’m taking you for a ride. consider it an apology for freaking you out earlier.”
you hesitated, looking between his outstretched hand and the city skyline just beyond your college campus. “i don’t think this is a good idea—”
“you trust me, don’t you?”
and somehow, against all logic, you realized that you did.
“fine,” you said, stepping closer to him to cling onto him.
he pulls you closer, and as he does so, he cranes his neck down to meet your eyes, smiling giddy. “anywhere you wanna go?”
you think for a moment, but know immediately the place where you’d like to visit that’s open at this ungodly hour. “do you know that one shawarma joint—-”
before you can even finish, the wind whips around you as gojo slips his mask back on, pulls you closer to him, and uses his free hand—that is, the one that’s not clinging onto your firmly—to shoot a glistening web, one that you saw when he used it on the man who harassed you in the ally. it clings onto a nearby building, and then you’re off the ground, soaring through the air.
you let out a scream of terror against gojo’s chest, tightening your arms around him. you can feel a laugh rumble in his chest, a boyish chuckle as he peers down at you and shouts, “are you having fun?”
“gojo,” you whine, burying your head into his chest further. despite your initial fear, exhilaration creeps its way into you as you the city blur, skyline jumping and dipping as gojo effortlessly swung you both around.
when he finally stopped, landing gracefully on a secluded rooftop, you were breathless—not just from the ride but from the way he was looking at you.
“you good?” he laughed, panting from the exertion and tenderly using his hand to rake his hand through your hair, which, you note out of embarrassment, must’ve been messed up from the wind passing through it.
“i hate that you made me dizzy, but yea, i’m good,” you mumble, pulling out your phone to open your camera, fixing your hair.
when you’re done, gojo looks at you with the manic buzz you can only have at 3am. “ready to get some shawarma?”
…
the streets were eerily quiet, the kind of silence only a city at 3am could have. just the two of you, your footsteps echoing against the pavement, the occasional glow of a streetlamp painting your path.
“okay, that shawarma was like, mid at best,” gojo walks alongside you. he’s thrown on a sweatshirt and gray sweatpants over his suit, walking alongside you on the street. your stomachs are full, and you suggested a walk to be able to digest the bigass bowl you both ate.
“nothing tastes better than something you’re eating when you’re supposed to be studying, instead,” you shot back, hiding your little smile as you cross your arms while strolling. the shift between you and gojo was so jarring that you’re still reeling at it, but what is 3am if not for big life changes?
“yea, that’s fair,” he sighs, crossing his hands behind his head as he continues strolling beside you. “so,” he continues, “now that i’ve officially blown your mind with my secret identity and fed you some incredibly mid shawarma, what’s next? should i fly you to paris, or is that too cliché?”
you roll your eyes, but deep inside, you’re really biting back a grin. “relax, bugboy. maybe first let me recover from being swung like a human pendulum.”
gojo stopped walking, turning to face you with a playful glint in his eye. “you’re still thinking about that, huh? admit it—you loved it.”
you raised an eyebrow. “i screamed into your chest for a solid ten seconds. does that sound like love to you?”
he tilted his head, feigning deep thought. “i dunno. there’s a fine line between terror and thrill. and judging by how tightly you were holding onto me…”
“you’re insufferable,” you muttered, but your voice lacked bite.
“and yet, you’re still here.”
his words hung in the air, the playful edge softening into something quieter, more sincere. your steps faltered, and you looked up at him, the absurdity of the night fading into the background as your gaze held his.
“guess i’m curious,” you admitted.
“curious, huh?” he said, taking a step closer. “careful. curiosity killed the cat.”
without thinking, you blurted, “at least i’ve got a fifty-fifty shot, right?” the words barely left your mouth before the regret hit, your inner voice screaming at you for making a lame quantum mechanics joke at a time like this. schrödinger would be proud, you thought bitterly.
but then gojo laughed—not the teasing, obnoxious kind of laugh or the weird look you’d expect, but a genuine, boyish chuckle that reached his eyes. he smiled at you, soft and unguarded, and suddenly, the space between you seemed to shrink.
the flickering streetlamp cast a warm, uneven glow over the two of you. in that moment, the sprawling city felt impossibly small, narrowed down to just him and the pounding of your heart in your ears.
gojo reached up, fingers brushing a stray strand of hair away from your face. “you know,” he murmured, his voice low, “i’ve been wanting to do this for a while now.”
your breath hitched, heart thundering in your chest. “do what?”
“this.”
before you could respond, he closed the space between you, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was somehow both soft, yet electrifying. for a moment, time seemed to stop, the city around you fading into nothing as the warmth of his touch anchored you in the moment.
when he finally pulled back, his grin was back in full force. “so, was that better or worse than shawarma?”
you blinked at him, still trying to find your footing in the aftermath of what just happened. an immediate feeling of bashfulness crept over you because not only did you just kiss spiderman, you just kissed gojo. there are girls who would kill to be in your position, and that makes you flustered as you turn your head away from him so you don’t have to make eye contact. “i hate you,” you mumble half heartedly, cheeks burning.
gojo doesn’t let you off so easily. his thumb brushes gently along your chin, coaxing your face back toward his. his touch is warm, deliberate, and it sends a shiver down your spine.
“oh my god,” he says, a grin spreading across his face. “are you embarrassed? you’re so cute.”
when the warmth of his hand leaves your chin, you open your eyes, shocked as you find out that he’s nowhere to be seen. you call out a tentative, “gojo?”
somewhere behind you, to the left, comes out a muffled shout. “i’m here!” you whip around, your brows furrowing as you follow the direction of his voice. it’s coming from an alley just off the street, dark and bathed in shadows.
“seriously?” you mutter under your breath, your annoyance half-hearted, making your way toward the sound. you find yourself at the mouth of the alley, the dim glow of a distant lamp barely illuminating his silhouette.
gojo’s perched on the side of the wall like it’s the most natural thing in the world, one leg propped up, his mask pulled halfway up to reveal that damn smirk. “you’re slow,” he teases, his tone light and infuriatingly smug.
“what are you doing?” you ask, crossing your arms.
he gestures toward himself. “you came looking for me, didn’t you?”
you roll your eyes, stepping closer despite yourself. “what, did you think i’d just leave you lurking in some alley like a creepy insect?”
“well,” he says, shooting a web to stick on the bottom of some stairs of one of the buildings to hang upside down, “you could’ve left, but i had a feeling you wouldn’t.”
before you could retort, he shoots his web closer to something on top of you, now dangling upside down yet again but his proximity even closer, stealing the air from your lungs. his fingers brush a strand of hair from your face, lingering just long enough to make your knees feel unsteady.
“so,” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing, “are we doing this again, or are you gonna keep pretending you hate me?”
your heart stutters, but before you can overthink it, you pull his mask down even further to uncover more of his lips, and you join them together—this time, softer, slower, as if savoring the moment. you grab at his chin to pull him closer to you, you both sighing into the kiss, and then smiling giddily each time you pull back, only to come back in.
and just like that, you start to fall into…something with not only the vigilante that’s swinging around new york, but also gojo satoru, your long-time rival.
…
when satoru swings by your dorm next, he doesn’t expect his heart to lurch so much at the view of you so cozy.
it’s undeniable; you and satoru have been dancing around each other. you’re not exactly a hook-up to each other—you two haven’t had sex—but you’re not exactly girlfriend and boyfriend. and it’s not something casual, either. he doesn’t reveal that he’s spiderman just to get into girls’ pants.
you’ve both developed a sort of rapport, he supposes. it’s been stolen glances during phys401 and late nights spent talking or, occasionally, making out. you’ve even started to nurse his wounds, if he ever shows up with bruises and blood matting his suit. one of the perks of you having a single.
he’s even fallen asleep overnight, especially on friday nights when he doesn’t have lecture in the morning. some of his things, like some spare equipment and suits, have even found their way into your closet.
you’re both on a dangerous roller coaster, and satoru is closing his eyes on the fall down.
but right now, he’s perched outside your window like a creep. you’re sitting on your bed, cross-legged and squinting at something on your laptop, and satoru smiles to himself as he sees your tank top and shorts and just how homey you look. you probably know satoru is coming, but you’re so comfortable around him that it makes his heart ache. he shouldn’t be doing this, but he can’t stop.
satoru lightly taps on your window, his knuckle brushing against the glass softly, not wanting to startle you. you glance up, catching sight of him, and there’s no hiding the smile tugging at your lips.
you get up, and satoru follows the movement of your bare legs with his eyes as you slide the window open. “you know, most people knock on doors like normal humans,” you say.
“i like to keep things interesting,” he shoots back, climbing in effortlessly. the faint chill from the night clings to him, and his hair is slightly disheveled from the wind.
he glances around your room, catching sight of your scattered notes and the distinct look of frustration etched across your face. “what’s got you looking so miserable?”
“phys401,” you reply with a resigned sigh, flopping back onto your bed. “this problem set is impossible.”
satoru smirks, peeling off his gloves and mask and plopping down beside you. “let me see.”
acquiescing, you hand over your notebook, watching as he scans your work with intent, eyebrows scrunching as he tries to understand the statement to prove. he makes a few thoughtful noises, before grabbing a pen and scribbling something down. “here,” he says after a moment, “you’re overcomplicating this step. instead of doing the tensor product you did, you could just make this zero by taking an inner product, since they’re orthogonal states. the rest will fall into place.”
you squint at his messy, rushed handwriting, and sure enough, the proof seems to come together. “how are you so good at this?”
“physics prodigy, remember?” he teases, leaning back on his hands as he lays down on your bed.
“thanks for the help,” you say softly, your eyes lingering on him a beat too long. he’s kind of dreamy, you think. the moonlight filters across your window, giving his platinum hair a sheen as his cerulean eyes look into yours with kindness.
his smirk fades, replaced by something softer, something unspoken. “anytime.” he then makes a show of stretching out his limbs, purposely bumping into you with one eye open smugly to observe your reaction, to which you glare at him. he spots your notebook, picks it up, and flips through it. “you know, for someone who complains so much about phys401, you’re not half bad at it,” he teases, scribbling something in the margin of your notes by grabbing a stray pen next to him.
you roll your eyes, shifting so you’re cross-legged on the bed, facing him. “not all of us are physics prodigies, satoru. some of us actually have to work hard.”
he chuckles, handing the notebook back to you. “hard work is overrated when you can just charm your way through everything.”
you snort and joke, “if charm was all it took, i’d have aced the midterm.”
there’s a beat of silence as you glance down at his notes. he’s corrected a mistake you hadn’t even noticed, and his scrawled proof flows so effortlessly it makes you a little envious. “how do you do that?” you ask, more to yourself than him.
“do what?”
“make it look so… easy,” you say, frowning slightly. “everything. physics, life, swinging through the city.”
satoru leans back on his palms, his smirk softening. “trust me, it’s not as easy as it looks.”
you glance up at him, surprised by the honesty in his tone. “what do you mean?”
he shrugs, but there’s something vulnerable in the way his gaze flickers away from yours. “i mean, everyone sees the guy with the jokes and the perfect test scores, but no one sees the late nights or the bruises.” he gestures vaguely to his chest, where you know the bruises from his spider-man escapades hide. “guess i’m just good at pretending.”
you sit with his words, the weight of them settling between you. “you don’t have to pretend with me, you know,” you say softly.
his eyes meet yours, and for a moment, the mask—the real one—drops. “i know,” he says, just as softly.
the air between you feels heavier, like the world has shrunk to just the two of you. you’re hyper-aware of how close he is, the faint smell of the night clinging to him, the way his knee brushes against yours.
“thanks,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “for letting me be here. for…” he trails off, his gaze dropping to your lips before flicking back up.
your breath catches. “satoru…”
“yeah?” he says, leaning in slightly, his voice lower now.
“i…” you trail off, not even sure what you were going to say.
he leans closer, and it feels like everything around you stills. his hand finds its way to your face, his thumb brushing your cheek. “can i?” he asks, his voice barely audible.
you nod, and then his lips are on yours.
the kiss starts tentative, almost shy, but it doesn’t stay that way for long. it deepens, his hand sliding to your waist as you pull him closer. the tension that had been building for weeks—months, maybe—finally snaps, leaving nothing but heat and want in its wake.
his weight presses you back into the bed, and you can feel his heart racing against yours as he pins you to the bed, now on top of you. his hand slips under the hem of your shirt, warm against your skin, and as his thumb traces shapes into your circle and closer to more sensitive areas, a sigh escapes you.
that’s when he freezes.
he pulls back, his breathing uneven, his eyes wide and filled with something like fear. “we can’t,” he says, his voice hoarse.
your heart drops into your chest.
“why not?” you ask, trying to catch your breath.
“because,” he says, sitting up and running a hand through his hair and he’s heaving. “because i’m spider-man, and you—” he breaks off, looking anywhere but at you. “you deserve better than this. better than me.”
you sit up, pulling your shirt back into place and looking at him, hurt. “that’s not your call to make, satoru.”
“i’m trying to protect you!” he says, his voice rising in agitation. he sits back onto his heels, raking a hand through his hair as he looks at the ceiling, as if in pain.
you can’t believe him. his self-righteousness irritates you to no end, especially after you’ve bared your soul, and now your body to him, something you considered intimate. you feel conflicted—whatever you had, it didn’t have a label. but that didn’t mean that you didn’t want that to be true. badly.
“and who asked you to?” you snap back. “i’m not some damsel in distress who needs saving.”
“i know that,” he says, his tone softening. “but if something happened to you because of me…” he shakes his head. “i couldn’t live with that.”
the anger bubbling in your chest boils over, and you snap. “so what? you’re just going to walk away? after everything?”
he stands, his expression pained. “i’m sorry,” he says, heading for the window.
“don’t you dare apologize,” you say, your voice trembling as you stand by the foot of your bed, hating how your eyes brim with tears. “if you leave, don’t bother coming back.”
he pauses, his hand on the window frame, before glancing back at you. “i’m sorry,” he says again, softer this time, before slipping out into the night.
the window clicks shut behind him, and you’re left alone in the silence, the ache in your chest threatening to swallow you whole.
…
the whir of the espresso machine and the gentle hum of background music fill the mostly empty starbucks, the occasional customer wandering in like clockwork. it’s a quiet shift, the kind you’d usually relish—except today, the quiet only makes the knot in your chest tighten.
you’re stationed behind the counter, staring blankly at the milk steamer as it hisses, lost in your thoughts. that is, until utahime’s voice breaks through.
“alright, spill,” she says, leaning her elbows on the counter beside you.
you glance at her, eyebrows raised. “spill what?”
utahime rolls her eyes, brushing a strand of her hair behind her ear. “oh, please. you look like someone stole your favorite pen and broke it in half. what’s going on?”
“nothing,” you lie, turning back to the steamer. “i’m fine.”
utahime’s skeptical gaze bores into you. “you’re a terrible liar. nanami, back me up.”
from his spot at a nearby table, nanami looks up from his book, his sharp eyes narrowing as they lock onto you. “it’s boy trouble,” he says flatly, like he’s solving an equation.
your head snaps toward him, a glare already forming. “excuse me?”
“it’s obvious,” he says, setting his book down and regarding you with his usual piercing gaze. “you’re distracted, you look upset—it’s boy trouble.”
utahime perks up, leaning closer. “wait, is he right? is this about a guy?”
you let out a groan, leaning your elbows on the counter. “can you two not gang up on me right now?”
“so it is a guy,” utahime says, her tone turning smug.
“i didn’t say that,” you retort, but the heat in your cheeks betrays you.
nanami raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed with your deflection. “you might as well just tell us. it’s not like we’re going to let it go.”
you sigh, running a hand through your hair. “fine. it’s… someone i liked. someone i thought liked me too. but he freaked out and said it was too…dangerous to keep going.”
utahime frowns, her curiosity replaced by concern while kento snorts. “dangerous? what does that even mean?”
“that’s what i’d like to know,” you say bitterly, the frustration bubbling up as you speak. “he acts like he cares, but the second things get serious, he bolts. like i’m some fragile thing that can’t handle it.”
nanami leans back in his chair, his expression thoughtful. “he might not be scared of you. he could be scared of what it means for him. of responsibility and commitment. some people run when they feel too much.”
utahime nods, her hand resting gently on your arm. “whatever his problem is, it’s not fair to you. if he can’t get it together, that’s on him, not you.”
you glance between them, the weight of their words settling in your chest. “i know that,” you say quietly. “it just… sucks.”
“of course it does,” utahime says, her voice soft but firm. “but you’re not the problem here. don’t let him make you think you are.”
nanami picks up his book again but pauses before opening it. “and don’t let him live rent-free in your head. if he can’t see what he’s giving up, that’s his loss.”
their support feels grounding, like a steady hand in the middle of a storm. you manage a small smile, nodding. “thanks, guys.”
“anytime,” utahime says, flashing you a reassuring grin. nanami simply nods, returning to his book but keeping an eye on you like always. for the first time all week since gojo left your room, the heaviness in your chest feels a little lighter.
…
the knock at your window is faint, almost timid, but it jolts you out of your daze. you sit up in bed, your heart pounding as your eyes dart toward the window. it’s late—so late it’s early—and for a moment, you think you imagined it. you hate to admit it, but because of your boy troubles you haven’t been able to sleep all week. you’re also no stranger to imagining ants crawling up your body or phantom noises, so you adjust in your bed, trying to go back to sleep.
then it comes again, a little louder this time.
you throw off the blanket and pad over, the chill of the floor biting at your bare feet. when you pull the curtain aside, your breath catches.
satoru.
he’s crouched outside, his suit torn in places and soaked with blood. his head lolls slightly, like he’s barely holding himself up, and when he lifts his gaze to meet yours, it’s tired and pleading.
you don’t think—there’s no time for that. you unlatch the window and shove it open, reaching out to help him inside. “satoru, oh my god,” you breathe, your voice shaking.
“hey,” he mutters, his grin weak but still so unmistakably him. “sorry for the mess.”
“shut up,” you snap, guiding him onto your bed and setting him down with gentle hands, ones that contrast your tone with him. “what the hell happened?”
“nothing i couldn’t handle,” he says, wincing as he tries to sit up straighter and flashes you a sheepish smile. “you should see the other guy.”
“you’re bleeding everywhere, satoru. you clearly didn’t handle it.” you grab your first aid kit from under the bed and yank it open, your hands trembling.
“i’ve had worse,” he murmurs, but his bravado is thin, cracking at the edges.
“stop talking,” you say, your voice trembling and cracking. “just—just stop.”
for once, you thank the gods that he listens.
you work quickly, cutting away the shredded fabric of his suit and cleaning the worst of the wounds. it’s not pretty—his torso is littered with bruises and gashes, the kind that make your stomach turn—but you keep your focus.
when you press a disinfectant-soaked pad to a particularly deep cut, he hisses, his hand flying to grab your wrist.
“sorry,” you whisper, glancing up at him with a tender look in your eyes. his expression matches yours, and your faces are so close to each other that you can’t bear it anymore, going back to your work.
his fingers loosen but don’t let go, his grip warm and grounding. “you’re good at this,” he says softly, his voice rough.
“yeah, well,” you mutter, ducking your head to avoid his gaze. “you’ve given me plenty of practice.”
the silence stretches as you finish bandaging him up. when you’re done, you sit back, your hands still trembling as you place them in your lap. “you’re an idiot,” you say, the words tumbling out before you can stop them.
he laughs, soft and hoarse. “yeah. i get that a lot from this girl i know.”
you look up at him, and the weight of everything—his injuries, his secret, the distance he tried to put between you—crashes over you. “you can’t keep doing this, satoru. you can’t keep pushing me away just to show up like this.”
his smile fades, replaced by something raw and unguarded. “i know,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “i know, but…”
“but what?” you demand, your voice cracking. “you’re spider-man? you think that’s an excuse to keep shutting me out?”
“it’s not an excuse,” he says, running a hand through his messy hair, matted with even more blood. his or someone else’s, you’re not sure. “it’s a reason. i don’t want you to get hurt because of me.”
“you think i’m not already hurting?” you snap, the anger bubbling to the surface yet again. “you think it doesn’t kill me to see you like this and know i can’t do anything to stop it?”
his eyes widen, and for a moment, he looks like a little boy, lost and unsure. it is then that it hits you that he’s just twenty. a college student, not someone who’s wanted by the cia or someone who’s battled terrorists. for fucks sake, he can’t even legally drink.
and your heart can’t help but melt as he says, “i just… i don’t want to lose you.”
“then stop trying to,” you say, your voice softer now. “stop pretending like you’re protecting me by keeping me at arm’s length. let me in, satoru.”
he stares at you, his breath hitching like he’s holding back a thousand words. then, in a rush, he closes the distance between you, his hands cradling your face as he presses his forehead to yours.
“i’m sorry,” he whispers, his voice breaking. “i’m so sorry.”
you exhale shakily, your hands finding their way to his wrists. “just stop being an idiot, okay? stop trying to do this alone.”
he nods, his grip tightening like he’s afraid you’ll slip away. “i promise,” he says, and for the first time, you believe him.
…
a cramp gripping satoru’s entire leg is what wakes him up.
he winces in memory of the injury; one of those stupid terrorists had too good of an aim, grazing his leg while he was mid-air. it hurts like a bitch now, and he moves to lay on his back, until something stops him. roses.
he looks, bleary eyed, to you. the floral scent coming from you, making him dizzy. his body cocooning yours.
you both unconsciously moved in your sleep so that you were spooning, your fragrant hair, soft from shampooing, tickling his throat with your ass in his crotch.
nestled right against his morning wood.
good fucking lord, he groans to himself, then starts to panic because if you wake up and realize he had a raging hard-on while you were sleeping, you would definitely think he was a creep. he’s already on thin fucking ice. so naturally, he starts to recite the star spangled banner while trying to will his boner away.
oh, say can you see—
to no avail, because you huff softly in your sleep, soft and warm body unconsciously leaning back to grind your ass against his lap, turning his dick to steel.
“oh, fuck,” he curses out loud, using his hand to cover the lower half of his face and clench his eyes shut. you feel so sweet, innocently adjusting while he can’t even control his lust for you.
but once the grind seems to continue for a bit too long, more than what can be chalked up as adjusting in your sleep, he peers down at you. you’re awake.
and because satoru’s selfish, his hands creep up your tank top, settling on your bare stomach, where he knew you were ticklish. as a result, you wiggle, and he uses this opportunity to pull you even closer to him, right up against him.
“baby,” he says, making his voice all deep and sighs on purpose, just to be unfair to you. “is this okay?”
you whine, and he settles his face in your hair, the strands of it tickling his skin as he inhales in the scent of you. “i thought it was a dream.”
he smiles into your hair. you make him feel like sunshine incarnate, and the rush he’s getting right now is akin to the one he gets jumping off the empire state building. “no, this is very real.”
“hm,” and you continue to drag your ass into him, murmuring in a soft voice that makes him want to take you right there and then, “it still feels like a dream. like you’re not real, right now.”
oh, what he would do to make you say his name in that same voice; he wants to whisper all the things he wants to do to you right now. “i know, baby. you feel like a dream.” his hands continue to slide up and up your torso, groaning at your sharp intake as he gently fondles the softness of your breasts.
you overwhelm his senses, teasing him, and when you let out a whine of his name, satoru snaps.
“i’m going to make you feel good right now. tell me if it’s a fucking dream,” he grits out, ignoring whatever cramps that were screaming at him to get on top of you.
you gasp out a “satoru,” wriggling in his grasp, and he can’t take it anymore. he brings up one of his hands. shoots a web that lands right on your left hand. then your right hand.
satoru just tied you up using his webs.
you look at him in whatever version of shock you can muster in your tired state. “satoru, what the—” but you’re muffled, because he’s kissing you, hard, roving his hands up and down your body and grabbing whatever he can as if he’s devouring you while making out with you.
“do you know,” and his eyes flash dangerously while looking down at yours, “how you’ve teased me with these shorts?” his hands trails down to the waistband of the offending piece of clothing, pulling it to make it snap against your skin. you jump, looking at satoru desperately, who’s left you bare at his mercy, subject to his super human strength as he grabs your shorts with both his hands again. “every fucking time i’ve sneaked up in to your room, it’s been so hard to not fuck you senseless in these flimsy things. it’s only fair you pay the price, right baby?”
it’s not like you have anything to answer him with, having lost all brain cells being fucked out like this. he pulls them down, and if he had laser vision, he would have stared through your panties long ago, eyes fixated on the crotch that was nearly translucent with the amount of slick going through it. burying his face right in between your thighs, he noses at your cunt before groaning. then, he uses his teeth to grab onto the middle and pull. until your pussy is bare to him.
“oh, fuck you’re so pretty,” he curses, lapping at your sweetness. his tongue roves up and down your folds, and if your hands could, they would be pulling at his hair solely because you were so sensitive. but you were trapped, thighs gripped in his strong hands and your arms trapped by his ultra-strong webs. “my good girl.”
then, you feel pressure at your opening. “sato—” you squeal but are immediately interrupted by your own moan as he curls his long, thick fingers, eyes observing your every movement as you squirm, electric shocks running up and down your body as he hits your spot dead-on.
and he notices, because the motherfucker chuckles. “oh, so that’s the spot, huh?” he purrs, visibly pleased as he memorizes it and abuses it, hitting it with every stroke. you barely notice him add one finger, add two fingers as he starts to suck on your clit. overwhelmed with pleasure, you’re only brought back to reality when he rips all contact away from you.
“what—” you mumble mindlessly, until you see what he’s doing. he pulls his sweatpants down. and he’s not wearing boxers, so you drool when his cock springs out, leaking copiously and hard. without taking his eyes off you, he pumps it to its fullest length, and you’re just staring in awe at its sheer length.
“what’re you looking at, baby?” he teases, using his hand to wiggle his cock in front of your face to mock you. “want it so bad, isn’t that right?”
you glare at him half-heartedly, but whine regardless. “just put it in, gojo.”
“oh,” and he flashes you a smile that makes a big danger sign in red flash across your mind. “it’s gojo, now is it?”
“satoru,” there are tears brimming in the corner of your eyes, the ones that make satoru even more aroused at your want, “please. i need it.”
a boyish grin and a forehead kiss that has you reeling at his duality. “anything for my woman in stem.” with that, he pushes in, both of your eyes rolling back as his cock is engulfed by your gummy walls. soon after, he starts thrusting, desperation fueling both of you as you cross your legs behind gojo’s back, the deeper angle making his thighs shake while fucking into you.
he grabs your face, gives you a tender kiss. “fuck, i love this pussy. so sweet for me.”
you give him a wanton moan in return as he continues to thrust deep, tender strokes into you. “satoru, ‘m not gonna last long.” with the amount of foreplay he’s done alongside how sensitive you are, you’re steadily reaching your orgasm already, and with the way satoru’s now tightly gripping the sheets beside you while thrusting inside you, he is too.
wet squelching noises echoes across the room, and you know the neighbors can hear the obscene plap! plap! plap! coming from skin meeting skin, your hips against his. he buries his face into your neck, panting at your ear until he uses his hand to wrench your face towards his.
“i love you,” he groans, forcing your eyes to meet his. “i love you forever and will do so. so you can’t break my heart,” and he’s desperately thrusting again, “and you can’t leave me. please.”
at his confession, you break, back arching as you also squeal out a iloveyou while gasping loudly, hips rolling to rise against his as he fucks you through your orgasm. quickly, his thrusts veer into overstimulation and you whine. “toru.” he takes one look at your state—face impossibly flushed, hands tied, and pussy absolutely engulfing his cock, and his orgasm hits him like a truck, making him gasp and bend and break as he goes to heaven and back with the aftershocks of your orgasm making your pussy clench around him so beautifully. his cum enters you in hot spurts, making you exhale sharply at the feeling as he comes down from his orgasm, collapsing next to you.
for a few minutes, heavy breathing fills the room, both of you catching your breaths. until satoru breaks the silence. “so, what’s it like to fuck a superhero?”
you take one look at him—all smug and propped up on his elbow—and spidey sense be damned as you try grab a pillow. key word is try because you’re then wrenched back with a reminder that you’re still bound. “satoru,” and you give him a sickly sweet smile, the one that he knows means he’s in trouble, “when are these going to dissolve?”
and satoru pretends to be deep in thought, but you can see him trying to inch off the bed slowly, as if to escape your wrath after his answer. “uhm…maybe five hours?”
if it weren’t for the damn spidey sense that he had, he wouldn’t have been able to escape the swing of your legs as you looked at him murderously. “satoru gojo you will unhand me from these webs this instant—-“
“i don’t know,” he shrugs, shit eating grin in his face. “you look kinda sexy in bed like this. mad at me.” but when your eyes flash with anger, he hiccups nervously, telltale of the fact he won’t mess with you.
“i hate you,” you groan out, pouting like a petulant child while you glare at the ceiling.
satoru comes close to you to bend at his waist and give you a forehead kiss. “no, you don’t.”
you give him a pointed glare, telling him not to be testy. “clean me up. now.”
at your expression, his eyes widen in fear and he salutes. “anything for you, ma’am.”
at his retreating form, you giggle and sigh to yourself. you never would’ve known that spider-man would be the one fetching a clean up rag for you after fucking the shit out of you, but you wouldn’t trade it for the world.
when satoru comes back, he cleans you up, tenderly, as if he is afraid that you will break. you’re a little drowsy when he returns to you, but he doesn’t dare try to wake you up when he hears little breaths from your nose indicating you’ve fallen asleep. after he finishes his job, he admires your features.
satoru lingers for a moment, his gaze softening as he watches the gentle rise and fall of your chest. the weight of his responsibilities presses on him, as it always does, but tonight, it feels heavier—like a tether pulling him between the life he’s chosen and the life he craves.
you, so peaceful in sleep, represent something fragile, something precious. and that terrifies him. because what if he fails? what if the cost of being spider-man is losing the one thing that feels real?
still, he knows he can’t walk away—not from this city, not from you. with a deep breath, he leans down and presses a featherlight kiss to your forehead, a silent promise lingering in his chest.
“i’ll keep you safe,” he murmurs, barely audible. “no matter what.”
instead of leaving, satoru settles down beside you, careful not to disturb your rest. the city can wait, just for a little while. for now, he wraps an arm around you, grounding himself in the warmth of your presence. as your breathing evens out against him, he lets his own eyes drift shut, the weight of his responsibilities momentarily lifting. today, he chooses to stay.
kinktober masterlist | general masterlist | spiderman!gojo masterlist
a/n ok if you're ever curious what being fucked in the ass with a wooden dildo no lube is like, just try to write this fic or any longfic. it's 4am, this a/n is short and unintelligble just like most of this fic but it's been a journey, im very sentimental because of this fic and i hope you guys like it. ok im going to pass out so pls ignore all typos xoxo but please flood my inbox im excited to see yalls reactions when i wake up
plspls pls comment and reblog!!!
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REMEMBER ME IN SUMMER — SATORU GOJO
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pairing — one night stand!satoru gojo x fem!reader
summary — six months ago, you left satoru gojo's apartment before sunrise, thinking you'd never see him again. now, trapped in a beach house for a weekend with mutual friends, you're forced to face the man who doesn't seem to remember that night—or does he? between shared walls, heated touches, and games of pretend, you're starting to think maybe one night wasn't enough after all. but in a house full of friends, some things are better left in the past… right?
word count — 9.5 k
genre/tags — beach house AU, summer romance, one night stand to lovers, mutual pining, fluff, tension, awkward reunions, friends gathering, miscommunication, beach vibes, satoru is a little menace in this one
warnings — 18+ ONLY. contains explicit sexual content, alcohol consumption, all characters aged up (mid 20s), language
author's note — hi everyone ! this fic came out of nowhere, and i literally wrote it in three days, but i really love the idea and the summer vibes in this one, even tho i wrote it while it was literally snowing outside, but somewhere on earth it's summer rn, so why not post it lol. hope you enjoy this mess of a summer romance story as much as i enjoyed writing it ! <3 (credit/art)
masterlist + support my writing
The last person you expected to see in Okinawa was Satoru Gojo.
Yet there he was, lounging on the deck of the beach house like he belonged there, white hair catching the sunlight as he laughed at something someone had said. Your heart tumbled over itself as memories of that night six months ago flooded back unbidden.
"You okay?" Maki nudged you with her elbow. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
More like the ghost of past bad decisions. "I'm fine," you managed, gripping your weekend bag tighter. "Wasn't expecting so many people."
The beach house was supposed to be a simple weekend getaway with close friends. But somewhere between planning and execution, it had turned into a "friends of friends" situation to fill the eight-bedroom house Okkotsu's family had offered.
"Yeah, Yuta's cousin's boyfriend invited some people to fill the space," Maki explained, completely unaware of your internal crisis. "That's Satoru over there, by the way. He's actually pretty fun once you get past the whole—" She gestured vaguely at all of him.
You wanted to laugh. Or cry. Maybe both. Because you were already very familiar with how "fun" Satoru Gojo could be.
Six months ago, you'd met him at a bar in Tokyo. He'd been charming and gorgeous, all easy smiles and playful banter. One drink had turned into several, flirting had turned into kissing, and kissing had turned into...
Well.
You'd slipped out of his apartment before dawn, leaving nothing but a lipstick stain on his collar and a dip in his pillow. It had seemed like the right thing to do at the time. You weren't looking for anything serious, and someone like him definitely wasn't the settling down type.
Now, watching him chat lively with your friends like the universe's cruelest joke, you wondered if you should have at least left your number.
"Girl," Maki waved her hand in front of your face. "You sure you're okay?"
Before you could answer, Satoru looked up. His eyes met yours across the deck, and for a moment, your heart stopped.
But there was no recognition in those sea blue eyes. No hint that he remembered the way you'd gasped his name in the dark, the way his hands had traced every inch of your skin, the way he'd whispered "stay" against your shoulder just before you'd fallen asleep.
He just smiled politely, the same smile he’s probably giving everyone else too, and went back to his conversation.
Right. Of course he didn't remember. You were probably just one in a long line of one-night stands for someone like him. The thought shouldn't hurt as much as it did.
"Come on," Maki said, tugging you towards the house. "Let's get settled in before the others arrive.”
Up close, the beach house was even more impressive. A sprawling three-story mansion of white stone and floor-to-ceiling windows that caught the afternoon light like rippling water, a wraparound veranda with a cozy sitting area led to a private path down to the beach, lined with swaying palms and colourful flowers.
Inside, the house opened into a huge room with soaring ceilings and an open floor plan that made the space feel endless. Ocean views followed you everywhere through the massive windows, and the whole place smelled of salt and lemon.
"The bedrooms are upstairs," Maki said as she led you up a floating staircase. "Most of them are on the second floor, but there are two master bedrooms on the third."
The universe, it seemed, had a twisted sense of humor. Not only did you have to spend the weekend pretending you didn’t know how Satoru's brows draw together when he'd cum, but your room ended up right next to his—the two largest bedrooms on the top floor, sharing a wall and a connecting balcony. Of course.
Your room was bigger than your entire apartment in Tokyo, with a king-size bed draped in soft white linens. One wall was entirely glass, offering an unobstructed view of the ocean, while the other walls were decorated with pictures and minimalist art.
"My god, the view’s amazing!" Maki gushed and threw open the balcony doors. The sound of waves immediately filled the room, along with fresh, salty ocean air. "You can see the whole beach from here."
But you were too busy staring at the wall next to you, where a door that must lead to Satoru's room was hidden behind a cupboard. You could hear muffled movement from his room, the sound of his laugh drifting through the wall that suddenly felt far too thin and your mind helpfully supplied memories of other sounds he could make, and you wondered if it was too late to fake some sudden illness and go home.
"Yeah," you said, dropping onto the edge of the bed. "Amazing."
Maki flopped down beside you, bouncing slightly on the plush mattress. "I know I've been here like five times already with Yuta, but it never gets old." She rolled onto her stomach and rested her chin on her hands. "Usually it's just us and his family, maybe a few cousins. This is the first time we're doing a friend group thing."
You tried to focus on her words instead of the sound of suitcases being wheeled into the room next door. "How long have you and Yuta been coming here?"
"Since we started dating three years ago. His family does this whole summer tradition thing." She smiled. "First time I came, I was so nervous I barely left the room. Now it feels like a second home." She sat up, crossing her legs. “And since his parents said we could use it this weekend, we thought why not invite friends.”
Through the wall, you could hear male voices chatting and laughing, followed by the sound of a door sliding open. Probably the balcony doors. Your shared balcony. Where he could walk past your windows at any time.
“You’re okay with this, right? Yuta’s friends are actually really fun once you get to know them. Especially Satoru, even tho he can be a pain in the ass.” Your stupid heart tumbled over itself once more at his name. "And single, if you're interested. I could—"
"No!" The word came out louder than intended, and you heard the conversation next door pause briefly. Lowering your voice, you added, "I mean, no thanks. Not really looking for anything right now."
Maki gave you a strange look. "You sure you're okay? You've been weird since we got here."
"Just tired from the drive," you lied and stood up. "Maybe I'll take a quick shower before everyone else arrives."
"Okay..." She didn't sound convinced but got up anyway. "I should go find Yuta anyway, make sure he's not letting Satoru destroy any of Yuta's mum's favourite vases."
You waited until she left before falling with your face first onto the bed with a groan. Perfect. Not only did you have to spend the weekend next door to your one night stand who might or might not remember you, but now your best friend was trying to set you up with him.
Through the wall, you heard Satoru laugh at something, the sound familiar enough to make your chest ache.
It was going to be a very long weekend.
𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟
You'd barely finished unpacking when Yuji burst into your room without knocking. "Hey! We're setting up a net for beach volleyball. You in?"
"Ah, I don't really—"
"Everyone's playing!" He was already on his way back to the door. "Even Megumi, and you know how he is about fun."
Before you could form a proper excuse, Maki appeared behind him. "Come on, it'll be fun, the sun is out and it’s better than hiding up here all afternoon."
And that's how you found yourself trudging down to the beach, trying to convince yourself this was fine. Totally fine. Just a fun game of volleyball with friends. Nothing to worry about.
But then the boys started stripping off their shirts. It was like watching some ridiculous scene out of Top Gun as they all shed their shirt in the afternoon heat. But it was Satoru who made your brain go silent completely.
He pulled his shirt off, and suddenly you were having vivid flashbacks to exactly how that toned chest felt under your hands. The sun caught his hair like a halo, and when he stretched his arms over his head, the muscles in his back shifted in ways that should not make your knees so weak, but here you were, rooted to the spot, your pulse racing as if it had a mind of its own.
"You're staring," Maki whispered next to you.
"I'm not," you said, even though you definitely were. How could you not? It was like someone had taken every beach volleyball scene from every summer movie ever and combined them into one ridiculous moment.
Teams were forming, and with an uneven number, you volunteered to sit this round out. Not that you were particularly eager to participate in the first place. You were perfectly happy watching from the safety of your beach towel, where the risk of accidentally brushing against Satoru's unnecessarily perfect body was thankfully minimized.
The game started, and it quickly became clear that everyone was taking it way too seriously, as Satoru and Yuji seemed to be in some sort of competition to see who could spike the ball more impressively.
"Show off," you muttered to yourself as Satoru delivered a rather dramatic jump serve, the ball landing dangerously close to your foot. But he must have heard you, because he caught your eye with a wink that made your stomach flutter. "Like what you see?"
"I've seen better," you said before you could stop yourself.
His eyebrows shot up and a slow smile spread across his face. "Have you now?"
Oh god. Were you flirting? This was definitely flirting. You needed to stop staring at the way sweat was making his skin glisten and focus on... literally anything else.
"Pay attention!" Nobara yelled, and Satoru barely managed to dodge the ball she'd spiked directly at his head.
The game continued, growing more competitive with each round. You had to admit, it was entertaining watching your friends become more and more dramatic with each point. One of Yuta’s cousins and Yuji had some sort of rivalry going on, while Maki and Nobara were trash-talking each other.
But it was Satoru who kept drawing your attention. The way he moved was almost unfair and you found yourself following the drops of sweat as they made their way down his neck, remembering how that skin had tasted under your tongue.
"Incoming!"
You looked up just in time to see the volleyball heading straight for your face. Before you could react, Satoru dove in front of you and caught the ball just inches from your nose. The movement sent him sprawling across your legs, his face entirely too close to yours.
You blinked at him for a few moments, then whispered, "Thank you.” But the words came out too soft, almost like they had that night in Tokyo when he'd helped you into a taxi and then convinced you not to take it and instead come home with him.
Time seemed to slow, the crashing waves and voices of the others fading into white noise as Satoru's eyes met yours. For a moment, something flickered in those blue depths—a flash of recognition, perhaps even remembrance.
His breath caught, barely noticeable, and his hand on your leg tightened ever so slightly. You watched his eyes, saw the exact moment his gaze dropped to your lips, and suddenly you were back in that Tokyo bar, both of you caught in that same magnetic pull.
"You're welcome," he said, his voice so low that only you could hear it. There was something in his tone, a hint of question, like he was trying to place a hazy dream. His thumb brushed against your skin, possibly by accident, possibly not, sending shivers up your spine.
The moment stretched, taut as a bowstring, thick with shared memories—memories you weren't even sure he had. Then someone yelled "Dinner!" from the direction of the house, and the spell broke.
𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟
The sun was setting by the time everyone had showered and gathered around the huge dining table on the deck. Fairy lights twinkled overhead and the sound of the waves could be heard in the background as the chaos of fifteen people trying to organize a meal unfolded.
You'd taken extra care getting ready, telling yourself it was just because of the salt and sand, not because of the way Satoru had looked at you on the beach. You'd chosen a light summer dress that happened to be the exact shade of blue as his eyes—pure coincidence, of course—and had let your hair dry naturally in the sea breeze.
Yuta ended up ordering way too much from the local seafood restaurant, you concluded as you surveyed the spread of food on the table.
You ended up squeezed between Maki and Megumi, which should have been a relief. Instead, you found yourself very aware of Satoru sitting directly across from you, his hair still slightly damp from his shower, wearing a loose white linen shirt that he should really button up and stop teasing the entire table with glimpses of his toned chest.
"Pass the crab?" he asked, and when you handed him the plate, your fingers brushed. The contact sent a shiver through you, and you could have sworn you saw his breath catch. But then he was turning to laugh at something Yuji said, and you were left wondering if you'd imagined the whole thing.
"—and then he just fell face first right into the sand!" Yuji was saying, gesturing wildly with his chopsticks. "You should have seen it!"
"We were all there, literally two hours ago," Megumi deadpanned.
"The game was rigged anyway," Nobara said, reaching for another plate of grilled shrimp. "You can't put Mr. Perfect over here on a team and expect it to be fair." She jerked her thumb in Satoru's direction.
"What can you do?" Satoru said, his eyebrows knitted together, but a grin played on his lips. "I just happen to be naturally gifted." And then his eyes caught yours once more across the table.
Heat crept up the back of your neck as you remembered how he'd felt when he'd sprawled across your legs, his skin sun warm and slightly sandy. How his touch had lingered just a fraction too long to be casual.
Something had changed in his expression, so subtle that anyone else might have missed it. But you'd spent hours that night memorizing his faces. His smirk when he had you right on the edge, his soft smile when you were trembling beneath him, the way his eyes darkened just before he—
Maki snorted. "Yeah, sure." And you looked over at her, breaking the eye contact before you could do something stupid like climb across the table and find out if he tasted as good as you remembered.
When the dinner was over, Nobara suggested to play drinking games, truth or dare to be specific, to which "What are we, fifteen?" Megumi commented but Maki already chimed in with "Never have I ever" and so it was decided.
Your stomach dropped. The last thing you needed was a drinking game where people confessed their secrets. Especially with the way Satoru kept looking at you, like he was one memory away from connecting dots you really didn't want connected.
"I think I'll pass," you said, pushing your plate away. "The sun really did take it out of me."
You gathered your plates and the sound of the others setting up their drinking game followed you into the kitchen—Yuji's voice carrying over everyone else's as he argued about rules, Nobara shouting something about "no questions about exes," and Megumi's long drawn out sighs.
A salty ocean breeze swept into the kitchen through the open wall of windows overlooking the water as you rinsed your plate. "You know," a voice came from behind you, making you jump, "I was starting to think you hate me."
Your heart skipped a beat. You didn't need to turn around to know it was Satoru—would recognize that voice anywhere, had spent months trying to forget how it sounded when it was rough after he’d cum. But you turned anyway, finding him leaning against the doorframe and the kitchen suddenly felt so much smaller.
"What?" The word came out embarrassingly breathless.
"Let me rephrase, for someone who doesn't hate me, you're doing an impressive job of avoiding me."
"I'm not avoiding you.” You turned back to the sink. "I'm doing dishes."
"Sure. The dishes." His voice got closer, and you could feel the heat of him just behind you. "Though I have to wonder why someone would work so hard to avoid someone they've never met before."
Your hands stilled under the running water. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"You've barely looked at me all day." He was close enough now that you could smell his perfume that had lingered on your clothes for days after that night. "Want to tell me what I did to deserve the cold shoulder? Because usually, I at least remember if I've pissed someone off."
Your heart pounded so loudly you were sure he could hear it, but at the same time the irony of his words made you want to laugh. "You haven't done anything," you said, which was technically true. He hadn't done anything wrong. Except maybe be too good in bed and then forget about it entirely.
"No?" His voice dropped lower, and you could feel his breath on your neck. "Then why—" He cut himself off. "Wait. Have we met before?"
You spun around, hands dripping water onto the floor. The motion brought you chest to chest with him, trapped between his body and the counter. "No," you said, too quickly, way too quickly. "Definitely not."
"You sure about that? Because you seem familiar—"
"Must just have one of those faces."
He moved closer still, one hand braced on the counter beside your hip, effectively caging you in. "Is that so? Because I’m sure I’d remember a pretty one like yours." You felt your breath catch in your throat, every nerve in your body screaming. He was going to kiss you, wasn't he? You should probably do something. Like move. Or breathe.
But then he simply stepped back, his smile widening. "Sorry. Must have mistaken you for someone else,” he said and the loss of his warmth felt like whiplash, leaving you cold despite the summer heat that still lingered in the air. You watched him retreat towards the door, casual as anything, like he hadn't just turned your world sideways.
Through the open door, laughter spilled in from the deck, breaking the spell that had held you captive. Satoru paused in the doorway for a moment, silhouetted against the warm light from outside, before disappearing back into the noise of your friends.
You stayed at the sink, trying to convince yourself that the heat in your cheeks was just from the summer air and ignoring the way your heart refused to settle in your chest. What had just happened? You had no idea. But one thing was painfully certain.
This weekend was going to be a long one.
𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟
Next morning, you decided to get up early and have your coffee on the beach before anyone else was awake. Sleep had been hard to come by anyway, with too many thoughts of certain one night stands keeping your mind racing.
Dawn was just beginning to break over the horizon, painting the sky in orange and gold watercolours and the ocean stretched out before you, quiet and calm, each small wave catching the early light like diamonds.
You'd wrapped yourself in an oversized cardigan against the morning chill, bare feet buried in sand that was still cool from the night before. And of course, because the universe hated you, that's when Satoru appeared.
"Couldn't sleep?" he asked, settling into the sand beside you without invitation.
You clutched your coffee mug tighter. "Something like that."
"Yeah, me neither." He stretched his long legs out in front of him, and you definitely didn't notice how his shorts rode up slightly, definitely weren't thinking about how those thighs had felt under your hands. "Keep having these weird dreams."
"Oh?"
"Mmm." As he turned to look at you, the rising sun painted his profile gold, catching his eyelashes. There was something different about him in this light — softer somehow, more like the man who'd asked you to stay than the one who'd cornered you in the kitchen last night. "About a girl in a black dress. Red lipstick. The most amazing laugh I've ever heard."
Your heart stopped.
"Funny thing is," he continued casually, "I can never quite see her face in the dreams. But I remember how she tasted. How she felt pinned beneath me. How she clenching around my fingers. How she said my name when she—"
"Stop," you whispered.
"Why?" His voice was softer now. "Because you don't want to talk about that night? Or because you thought I wouldn't remember?"
You stared at the ocean, unable to meet his gaze. "You didn't seem to yesterday."
"Don’t be stupid. I recognized you the moment you walked into the beach house."
Your coffee nearly slipped from your hands. "What?"
"Did you really think I wouldn't remember the girl who stole my favourite shirt on her way out the door?"
Heat flooded your cheeks, you totally forgotten about the shirt. "Then yesterday, in the kitchen—"
"I wanted to see how long you'd keep pretending." He smiled, the bastard had the audacity to smile at you when he revealed that he was playing you the whole time. "You're cute when you're nervous, you know that?”
"You're mocking me."
"Mocking you?" His eyebrows rose. Then he leaned closer to you, but you still refused to look at him. "I spent six months trying to find the girl with the kind of laugh that makes you feel drunk just hearing it, who left before I could ask for her number—"
"It was just one night," you interrupted.
"Was it? Because I distinctly remember asking you to stay."
"I couldn't."
"Couldn't? Or wouldn't?"
You finally met his gaze fully, and immediately wished you hadn't. Because he was looking at you the same way he had that night. He was enjoying this, wasn't he? Playing with you, teasing you, making you feel like a flustered schoolgirl.
"Does it matter?" you asked.
"You're really a bit slow, aren't you?"
You wanted to protest, to tell him exactly what you thought of his arrogant everything, but then Maki's voice carried across the beach, "Breakfast! Come and get it before Yuji eats everything!"
𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟
The breakfast table was just as chaotic as the dinner the night before. Fifteen people crammed around the table had that effect, especially with Yuji already piling his plate high with pancakes while Nobara complained about him taking too many.
You'd barely settled into an empty chair when Satoru slid into the seat next to you, as if he hadn't just admitted that he'd been playing jokes on you the whole day before.
"Can you pass me the syrup?" he asked innocently, but there was nothing innocent about the way his thigh pressed against yours under the table.
You handed him the bottle without looking at him, trying to focus on pouring your coffee without spilling it everywhere. Which was made all the more difficult when his hand found your knee under the table.
"So what's everyone's plans for today?" Maki asked, passing around a plate of fresh fruit.
You tried to concentrate on the conversation, you really did. But Satoru's hand was inching higher up your thigh, and your brain was shorted out. You kicked him under the table, aiming for his shin.
He didn't even flinch, just smiled wider and continued whatever conversation he was having with Megumi about later activities, all while his fingers danced along the hem of your shorts. You felt a sudden surge of heat, definitely not from the summer sun.
"You okay?" Nobara asked suddenly. "You look a bit flushed."
"Fine!" Your voice came out higher than intended as Satoru's fingers skimmed just slightly under the edge of your shorts. "Just... hot."
"It is pretty warm this morning," Satoru agreed, his tone perfectly pleasant even as his thumb pressed into that sensitive spot on your inner thigh that he somehow remembered. The bastard. You kicked him again, harder this time.
"Did someone just kick the table?" Maki looked around suspiciously.
"Must have been the wind," you said stupidly.
You grabbed his wrist under the table, intending to push his hand away, but he just interlaced his fingers with yours and kept them there on your thigh. It was like he was asserting dominance, staking his claim, and you were suddenly trapped.
"Hey, are you sure you're okay?" Yuji asked through a mouthful of pancakes. "You're acting weird."
"Totally fine," you managed. "Just didn't sleep well."
"Hmm, me neither," Satoru chimed in, his voice all false innocence. "Must be all these weird dreams I keep having." You dug your nails into his hand in warning, but he just squeezed your hand in response, his grip tightening.
"Dreams?" Nobara asked.
"Oh, you know," Satoru began thoughtfully, "the kind that keep you up all night, thinking about... things that got away."
You were going to murder him. Slowly. Possibly with the butter knife you were currently gripping way too tight.
"That's... weirdly poetic for you," Maki said, raising an eyebrow.
"You wouldn't want to know,” he replied, and you felt his fingers inch just slightly higher once more, making you jump and bang your knee on the table.
"Jesus, what is wrong with you two this morning?" Nobara asked, looking between you and Satoru.
Under the table, you finally managed to grab his hand in yours and hold it still. But that backfired when he started playing with your fingers instead, his thumb brushing across your knuckles in a way that made you gasp. You definitely wanted to kill him. Right after you figured out how to breathe normally again.
"So, beach day? I wanna go snorkelling," Yuji said, thankfully drawing attention away from whatever was going on under the table, and everyone agreed. JJust then, Satoru freed his hand from yours and placed it back on your knee before trailing it up your thigh.
Okay, nope this had to end now.
"I need more coffee," you announced abruptly, standing up so fast your chair scraped against the deck.
"I'll help," Satoru offered, already rising.
"No!" The word came out too sharp, making everyone look at you strangely. "I mean, I'm good. Thanks."
You practically fled into the kitchen, your skin still tingling where he'd touched you. Through the window, you could see him chatting with the others, looking completely unaffected while you were here trying to remember how to make your heart beat normally.
When is this weekend going to end?
𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟
"You sure you're okay?" Maki asked, swimming up beside you. "You've been weird all morning. Is the sun too much?"
"I'm fine," you said for what felt like the hundredth time today. "I’m not used to be around so many people."
The water was crystal clear, stretching out in various shades of blue that seemed to go on forever. Everyone had eagerly jumped into snorkeling, with Yuji and Nobara already in a heated competition about who could spot the most fish.
You adjusted your mask for the tenth time, trying to focus on anything except how good Satoru looked in just swim shorts. He was a few meters away, the sunlight catching the droplets of water that clung to his ridiculously toned shoulders.
My God. You needed distance. You needed space to breathe, to think, to do anything other than stare at him.
"If you say so." Maki didn't look convinced. "But tell me if something’s bothering you, okay?"
If only she knew. "Sure."
"Guys, come look at this!" Yuji called from where he was floating near some corals. "Rainbow fish!"
Everyone swam over to where he was pointing, and you had to admit, the sight was beautiful. Countless colourful fish swam through the coral, creating a vibrant palette under the water.
You followed the fish as a sudden pressure against your calf made you flinch. Satoru. He had brushed against your leg. It could have been an accident, a mere consequence of the crowded water, but somehow, it felt like anything but. You knew better. Nothing about Satoru was ever accidental.
You drifted slightly away from the group, desperately needing to put some distance between yourself and Satoru. The vibrant corals blurred into streaks of colour as you swam further from the group, the shouts of Yuji and Nobara fading.
The water a bit away from them was deeper, a darker shade of blue. As you peered down, you noticed the sandy ground was dotted with small stones, and a different kind of life seemed to thrive here. Sea anemones swayed gently in the current, and schools of silver fish, smaller than the ones near the reef, darted in and out of the anemones.
You floated on your back for a moment, gazing up at the sky, a vast expanse of pale blue flecked with fluffy white clouds as the sun warmed your face. It was so peaceful, and you were happy for the small pause amidst the chaos of the house.
"Beautiful, isn't it?"
You startled at Satoru's voice right behind you, nearly inhaling water through your snorkel. He'd somehow managed to swim up without you noticing, and now he was close enough that his arm brushed yours in the water.
"What are you doing?" you hissed, pulling your snorkel out.
"I know a better spot.” He nodded towards a more secluded area around the curve of the beach. "If you're interested."
You glanced back at the others, but they were all absorbed in whatever Yuji had found. "I don't think—"
"Come on," he said, already swimming away. "Don't you trust me?"
"Not even a little bit." But found yourself following him anyway.
He led you around a small outcropping of rocks, the current tugging gently at your fins, to a quieter part of the reef. His hand on your arm gently guided you through the water. The water here was somehow even clearer, as if a veil had been lifted, revealing a breathtaking underwater scenery with colourful coral formations that created a labyrinth of archways and caverns with small fish swimming in between.
"How did you—"
"I came here earlier this morning," he said, treading water close to you. "While you were pretending to ignore me after breakfast."
"I wasn't—" You cut yourself off as he dove under the surface, the sunlight playing across his back as he swam deeper.
You followed him down, your breath taken away by the sight. This part of the reef was like something out of a documentary. Swarms of tropical fish swirled around you in ribbons of colour, and the coral itself seemed to shine in the filtered sunlight.
When you surfaced, Satoru was watching you with an annoyingly knowing smile. "Worth following me?"
"It's alright," you said, trying to sound unimpressed even though you were anything but.
He laughed. "You're still trying to play hard to get?"
"I'm not playing anything."
"No?" He swam closer, close enough that you could see droplets of water clinging to his eyelashes. "Then why did you follow me here?"
"To see the fish.”
"The fish." His voice was amused. "Sure. That's why you've been watching me all morning?"
"I have not—"
"You know," he cut you off, moving even closer, his body brushing against yours in the water. "You're pretty when you get all flustered. Just like that night in Tokyo. Same flush you had when I made you cum three times.”
Ha? Had he been keeping count or what? You frantically tried to replay that night in your head — there was the first time against his apartment door, then on the kitchen counter, and... oh god, he was right. The bastard had been counting. The smirk on his face told you he knew exactly what you were thinking about.
You splashed water at him. "We are not talking about Tokyo."
He wiped water from his face, grinning. "No? Should we talk about this morning instead? About how you nearly jumped out of your skin when I touched your—"
You dunked him mid-sentence.
He came up spluttering, pushing wet hair from his eyes. "Okay, I probably deserved that."
"You definitely deserved that."
But he laughed, and despite yourself, you found yourself laughing too. There was something infectious about him, something that made it hard to keep your walls up, dissolving your defenses with unnerving ease, like mist beneath the morning sun.
"We should head back," you said finally. "Before they come looking for us."
"Probably," he agreed, but made no move to leave. Instead, he floated closer, until his chest pressed against yours. "Or we could stay here a bit longer. I could remind you of all the other ways I can make you wet."
Heat flooded your body. "Satoru..."
"Yes?" His hands found your waist under the water, pulling you flush against him. One thigh slipped between yours, and you had to bite back a gasp at the friction. "You know, I still remember exactly how you sound when you're trying not to moan my name."
"We can't." But your body betrayed you, arching into his touch as his fingers skimmed along your ribs, dangerously close to your breast.
"Can't?" His lips ghosted over your lips, his thumb tracing circles on your hip under the water in a way that made you think of how those fingers had felt inside you. "Or are you afraid you won't be able to keep quiet this time?"
Before you could answer, Nobara's voice carried across the water. "Where did you guys go?"
You pushed away from him quickly, already swimming back towards the group. "Coming!"
"This isn't over," he called after you, and you could hear the smile in his voice.
"It never started!" you shot back, but you were smiling too.
𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟
Satoru spent the rest of the afternoon driving you absolutely insane.
After snorkeling, he'd positioned his beach towel suspiciously close to yours, spending an unnecessary amount of time applying sunscreen to his chest and arms. His movements were deliberately slow, borderline pornographic, fingers sliding over muscle in a way that had you remembering exactly how those muscles had felt flexing under your tongue.
You knew without a doubt he was putting on a show for you—every movement a reminder of how those arms had looked braced above you as he'd fucked you against his apartment door, how they'd felt pinning your wrists to his sheets.
During lunch, he'd somehow ended up next to you again, his bare thigh pressed hot against yours under the table like this morning had taught him nothing. Except this time, his hand didn't just rest on your knee. It spent the entire meal tracing patterns up your thigh, fingertips dancing dangerous close to where you'd been aching for him.
Your breath caught every time his hand "accidentally" slipped under the hem of your shorts, remembering how those fingers had curled inside you, how they'd made you beg.
The afternoon beach volleyball rematch was even worse. He kept finding excuses to touch you—steadying you with a hand on your waist when you stumbled in the sand (the same way he'd gripped your hips while taking you from behind), reaching around you to grab the ball (his breath hot on your neck like when he'd whispered how good you felt around him), his chest pressing against your back, closer than needed (making you remember how it felt to be pressed between him and that apartment door).
But dinner? Dinner was pure torture.
He'd shown up freshly showered, hair still damp and tousled in that way that made your fingers itch to grab it (like you had when he was between your thighs), wearing a dark blue linen shirt that he hadn't bothered to button properly once more and spent the entire meal finding new ways to make you squirm.
He'd catch your eye across the table and slowly lick sauce off his thumb, making you remember exactly how that tongue had felt when he'd spread you open. When passing dishes, his fingers would brush against yours unnecessarily long, making you shiver. At one point, he'd stretched his arms above his head, his shirt riding up to reveal his lower abs that had you gripping your fork so hard your knuckles turned white.
He knew exactly what he was doing, too—you could tell by the smug look on his face throughout the whole dinner.
Thankfully, no one else seemed to notice anything amiss. They were all too busy with their own conversations, completely oblivious to the way he was systematically dismantling your sanity with nothing more than glances and touches.
Every time you thought you'd gotten yourself under control, he'd do something else — run his fingers through his hair the same way he had when you'd been on your knees in front of him, or bite his lip in a way that had you crossing your legs under the table. By dessert, you were a mess of sexual frustration and murderous impulses.
He was enjoying this, the bastard. Testing your control, seeing how far he could push before you broke. And the most infuriating part?
It was working.
𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟
After dinner, everyone wandered into the living room in various states of food induced laziness. You'd barely managed to claim a corner of the big couch when Nobara disappeared into the kitchen, returning with an armful of wine bottles and a certain look in her eye that spelled trouble.
"No one move," she announced, setting the bottles on the coffee table. "I have an idea."
"Your ideas usually end with someone crying," Megumi commented from his spot on the floor.
"Or arrested," Maki added helpfully.
"Or both," you muttered, trying to ignore how Satoru had somehow appeared in the armchair closest to your corner of the couch. He'd rolled up his sleeves during dinner, forearms on full display, and you were having a hard time not staring at his fingers. Fingers that you knew from experience felt so good in your mouth to keep you from—
"Never have I ever!" Nobara's voice cut through your dangerous train of thought. A collective groan rose from the group.
"Not again," Megumi said, already trying to get up.
"Sit your ass down," Nobara commanded, pushing him back down. "We're bonding."
"We bonded plenty last night," you Yuta tried, but Nobara was having none of it and before you knew it, everyone agreed.
"Okay, I'll start easy," Yuji said, clearly excited despite his earlier protests. "Never have I ever cheated on a test."
Several people drank, including Satoru—and you, okay let’s be real.
The questions started innocent enough. Never have I ever broken a bone. Never have I ever been arrested. Never have I ever dyed my hair. But as the wine flowed, the questions got progressively more suggestive.
"Never have I ever kissed someone of the same gender," Maki said, and half the circle drank. "Never have I ever faked it," was Nobara's contribution, and several people groaned but drank.
You were starting to feel a bit hazy, the wine making everything feel warm and soft around the edges. Which was dangerous, because Satoru kept looking at you like he was remembering exactly how you'd sounded that night when you definitely hadn't been faking anything.
"Never have I ever," one of Yuta’s cousins announced then, "had sex with someone in this room." For a moment, no one moved. Then Yuta and Maki drank, of course. And then Satoru raised his own glass slowly and took a long sip.
"Who?" Nobara shrieked, looking around the circle. "Satoru just drank, so someone else here has to—" Her gaze swept over everyone suspiciously.
"Someone's lying," Maki sang, already tipsy enough to find this hilarious. "Come on, fess up!"
You kept your face carefully neutral, even as you felt Satoru's eyes burning into you. You wouldn't give him the satisfaction. Not this time.
"Maybe it was before any of us knew each other," Yuji suggested, but Nobara shook her head.
"No way. Look at his face!" She pointed accusingly at Satoru. "He's got that look. You know, that 'I know something you don't know' look."
Satoru just smiled lazily from his armchair, swirling the wine in his glass. "Maybe I just like keeping you all guessing."
"You're a dumbass," Nobara said, but the group's attention was already shifting as Yuji launched into the next question, something about falling asleep at work.
You released a breath you hadn't realized you were holding, but made the mistake of glancing at Satoru and he gave you a look that sent a shiver of heat through you over his wine glass.
God, you were going to murder him. Slowly. Painfully. Preferably with the very wine glass he was currently smirking into.
Who did he think he was, just casually drinking like that, nearly exposing everything? He could have at least warned you, given you some sign he was about to blow up your secret. But no, he'd just taken that deliberate sip, probably getting hard on watching you squirm as you tried to keep your poker face.
That sick bastard.
𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟
Sleep was impossible. You'd been tossing and turning for hours, replaying the day's events in your mind—from that moment in the ocean to his deliberate almost-reveal during the game. The walls of this fancy beach house seemed paper thin at night, every small sound amplified in the darkness.
That's how you heard his door open around 2 AM, followed by quiet footsteps heading downstairs.
You waited a few minutes, telling yourself you were just thirsty, that going downstairs for water had nothing to do with knowing he was maybe down there. The wooden steps creaked softly under your bare feet as you made your way down.
Silvery moonlight streamed through the massive windows, creating silver patterns on the marble countertops of the kitchen. Satoru stood at the island, drinking water from a glass, looking unfairly handsome in just sleep shorts and a wrinkled t-shirt.
"Couldn't sleep?" he whispered when he spotted you.
"What's your game, Satoru?" You kept your voice equally low, padding closer. "That thing earlier? During never have I ever?"
"Game? I'm not the one who was afraid of drinking".
"Because unlike you, I don't feel the need to announce our business to everyone."
He set his glass down, turning to face you fully. "Our business? So you admit there's something to announce?"
"That's not—" You caught yourself before your voice could rise. "What are you trying to achieve here? With all the—" you gestured vaguely, "touching and teasing and almost exposing everything?"
He stepped closer, and suddenly the kitchen felt way too small, even though it was like three times the size of your Tokyo apartment. "Maybe I just want everyone to know that night wasn't as casual for me as you seem to think it was."
You felt the weight of his words settle in the quiet kitchen, heavy with meaning you weren't prepared to unpack while moonlight caught his features in a way that made him look softer, almost vulnerable.
"What are you talking about? It was only one night."
"Was it?" He moved closer, until you had to tilt your head back to keep eye contact. "Because I remember asking you to stay. I remember waking up to an empty bed and spent the next six months thinking about why you left."
"I... you were just saying that in the moment. People say lots of things in the moment."
"Do they?" His hand came up to brush a strand of hair from your face. "Is that why you ran? Because you thought I didn't mean it?"
You swallowed hard, trying to ignore how your skin prickled where he'd touched you. "Satoru..."
"You know what I think?" His voice dropped even lower, barely a whisper in the quiet kitchen. "I think you're scared. Not of me, but of the fact that you wanted to stay too."
"That's not—" But the words died in your throat as his thumb traced your jawline.
"Then why are you down here?" He was close enough now that you could feel the heat of his body against yours. "If it was just one night, just something casual, why did you follow me down here in the middle of the night?"
The counter pressed against your back—when had you started backing up?—and Satoru's arms came to rest on either side of you, caging you in. Position achingly familiar, reminding you of how this all started six months ago.
"I was thirsty," you said. You did not even believe yourself as you said it.
His laugh was barely a breath against your skin. "Liar."
And then his mouth was on yours, and god, you'd forgotten how good he was at this. His lips were soft but demanding, one hand sliding into your hair while the other gripped your hip, forcing you close against him. You gasped into the kiss, and he took the opportunity to deepen it, his tongue against yours in a way that made you forget your own name.
It was different from that first night—less urgent, but somehow more intense. He kissed you like he was trying to prove a point, like he was laying claim to every moment you'd denied him these past six months. His teeth caught your lower lip, and you had to bite back a whimper, too aware of the sleeping house above.
"Still want to pretend this is nothing?" he whispered against your mouth, and you could feel his smile when your only response was to pull him back down for another kiss.
His hands slid down to grip your thighs, lifting you onto the counter. You wrapped your legs around his waist, drawing him closer as his mouth moved to your neck, kissing your throat just the way you like it, just the way he somehow remembered.
"Someone could come down," you breathed, even as your fingers tangled in his hair.
"Then I guess you'll have to be quiet." His teeth grazed your skin, making you shiver. "Think you can manage that? Because I distinctly remember you being quite vocal last time."
You tightened your grip on his hair in return, but that just made him groan softly against your throat. "You're stupid."
"Mm, that's not what you said in Tokyo." His hands slid higher under your shirt, thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts. "In fact, I remember you saying some very different things—"
You cut him off with another kiss, partly to shut him up and partly because you needed his mouth on yours like you needed air. His fingers teased along your ribs, your back, your thighs, touching you everywhere except where you desperately wanted him to.
But then his fingers found the edge of your underwear, and you had to bite his shoulder to keep from moaning as he slid his fingers inside you, making you cum all over his fingers in seconds—just like that night in Tokyo.
You were done, dizzy, breathless, clinging to him as he stripped your shorts and underwear down your legs. He pushed one leg up your chest as he lowered you back down onto the marble kitchen counter, your other leg still wrapped around his waist. His forehead pressed against yours as he thrust inside, hard, slow, perfect angle—just like that night in Tokyo.
He tossed you around, manhandled you, fucked you against the fridge, threw you onto the couch and fucked you there too. He whispered your name, his voice husky against your ear, every letter a caress, even as he picked up pace, even as his hand closed around your throat, even as you bit into the pillow below to muffle your screams as he made you cum again. Multiple times. In various positions. Using his own cum as a lube for the next round—just like that night in Tokyo.
Afterwards you laid outside on the veranda in a big chair you both shared, gazing up at the stars scattered across the deep velvet sky, countless and impossibly bright. A second later his lips found yours and another second later you were on top of him, underwear pushed to the side and your head thrown back as he watched you chase your release on his dick—just like that night in Tokyo.
And his hand found yours, intertwining your fingers as he ate you out on the stairs just before you wanted to go back to bed, but he wouldn't let you, making you cum again before he carried you off to the laundry room to fuck you one last time for sure good mesure—just like that night in Tokyo.
𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟
Morning came way too early, sunlight streaming through windows you'd forgotten to close. Every muscle in your body ached in the most pleasant way, reminding you of exactly how many surfaces you and Satoru had christened last night.
Yeah. You were definitely going to be feeling this for days. You winced slightly as you sat up — apparently kitchen counters weren't the most ergonomic choice for certain activities, or the stairs, or the laundry room, or... Okay, we get it.
When you finally made it downstairs, moving perhaps a bit more strangely than usual, Satoru was already at the breakfast table. Because of course he was, looking absolutely perfect and fullyfull rested in a fresh shirt, casually sipping his coffee like he hadn't spent half the night making you bite down on your fist to keep quiet.
"Well, someone looks rough," Nobara commented as you lowered yourself carefully into a chair. "Too much wine last night?"
You caught Satoru hiding a smirk behind his coffee cup. The bastard didn't even have the decency to look tired.
"Something like that," you muttered, reaching for the coffee pot and trying not to wince at the stretch. Your thighs burned in protest of the movement, and you could swear you saw Satoru's smile widening at your slight grimace.
"Must have been some wine," Nobara said, eyeing you suspiciously. "I don't remember you drinking that much during the game."
"Are you sure you're okay?" Yuji asked, looking concerned. "You're walking kind of funny."
"I'm fine, really," you managed. "Too much wine, that’s all."
Maki, who sat next to you, leaned in closer. "Your 'too much wine' is showing," she whispered, pointing to your collarbone. Your hand flew to your neck, suddenly remembering all the attention Satoru had paid to that area—especially that moment on the stairs when you'd begged him to finish what he'd started before anyone heard them, while he sucked a very dark bruise right above your collarbone.
You quickly buttoned up your cotton shirt higher, but from Nobara's growing grin, it was too late. But thankfully, no one commented on it.
𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟
The rest of Sunday passed in a lazy haze, with everyone moving a bit slower thanks to varying degrees of wine headaches. Most of the day was spent sprawled out on beach chairs, hiding behind sunglasses and drinking coconut water that Yuta swore would help with hangovers (but, in fact, did not).
You dozed on and off under an umbrella, trying not to think about how your body still ached in several places from the night before, and enjoyed your last day in Okinawa before you'd return to work on Monday.
When evening rolled around and it was time to pack up, the house became a chaos of suitcases and forgotten phone chargers once more. You were struggling with your bag next to your car, trying to figure out the best angle to lift it into the trunk without stressing your still sore muscles, when Satoru suddenly appeared and took it from your hands without a word.
"I can manage," you protested, but he was already lifting it into your trunk with an effortless ease that really shouldn't be as attractive as it was.
"I'm sure you can," he said, closing your trunk with a soft thud. "But maybe I just want an excuse to do this."
Before you could ask what 'this' was, he pressed a small folded piece of paper into your palm. You opened it to find a phone number written in his surprisingly neat handwriting.
"Since you didn't stay for it last time," he said softly.
"What makes you think I'll use it?"
"Because this time, you want to stay just as much as I want you to." He leaned closer, his voice dropping so only you could hear. "Besides, I believe we still have a few surfaces in my apartment left to explore."
You shoved his shoulder. "Stop."
He caught your hand before you could push him again. "Use it. Please?" His voice held a note of softness, an unexpected tenderness that made your heart ache with a strange longing. You nodded, tucking the paper safely into your back pocket.
"Still not announcing anything to everyone tho," you warned as Maki called out that they were ready to leave.
"Yet," he said with an eye roll. Then, before you could react, he pulled you in for one last kiss. It was slower, deeper this time, his hands cupping your face as he kissed you, as if he was afraid he might forget the feel of your lips.
"Someone could see us," you whispered against his lips, even as your fingers curled into his shirt.
"I don't care," he murmured, one hand sliding down to your waist to draw you closer. "Let them see." He kissed you again, shorter this time but no less intense. "Besides, they'll find out soon enough when I take you to this little ramen place in Shibuya I've been wanting to show you."
You pulled back slightly. "Oh? Someone's confident about getting a second date."
"Third, technically," he said. "If we're counting Tokyo. And that thing against the washing machine last night."
"Those don't count.”
"Then I guess I'll have to make the next one special. Maybe dinner first. Then I can show you my apartment. Properly this time, not just the entrance hall and kitchen counter."
"Is that your way of asking me out?"
"That's my way of saying I'm not letting you disappear for six months again." He pressed a quick kiss to the corner of your mouth. "Use my number this time, yeah?"
"Satoru!" Yuji's voice carried across the driveway. "Stop making out and help me with these bags!"
Satoru laughed against your lips, stealing one more kiss before reluctantly pulling away. "Think about it. The ramen place. My apartment. All the surfaces we haven't used yet."
"Go help Yuji," you said, pushing him away even as you smiled. "Before he comes over here."
"Call me," he said, walking backwards with that stupidly handsome smile. "Or I'll just have to show up at your office. Make a big scene. Maybe bring flowers. Really embarrass you in front of all your coworkers."
"You wouldn't dare."
"Try me!" He finally turned then to help with the bags, leaving you to shake your head, your lips still tingling from his kisses.
The drive home felt different somehow. Every now and then, your hand would drift to your pocket, fingers brushing over the folded paper with his number, making sure it was still there as the familiar roads back to Tokyo stretched ahead.
The beach house grew smaller in your rearview mirror until it disappeared completely, taking with it the memories of lazy afternoons under the summer sun and heated nights. But other things lingered—the ghost of his lips against yours, the warmth of his hands, the way he'd looked at you like you were something worth waiting for.
Maybe you'd call him tomorrow. Or maybe you'd wait a day or two, just to prove you could. But knowing you, you'd likely message him the moment you set foot in your apartment.
A smile tugged at your lips as you pulled onto the highway, the setting sun painting the sky in strokes of rose and lavender. Whatever happened next, one thing was for sure — this weekend had changed everything.
And maybe, just maybe, that wasn't such a bad thing.
masterlist + support my writing
author's note — and that's a wrap on our beach house summer story ! thank you so much for reading :)) & thank you again to @/nanamis-baker for beta reading !!
for anyone wondering, yes, she kept the shirt. and yes, he definitely noticed when she wore it to their first proper date to that ramen spot in shibuya.
if you enjoyed this fic, please feel free to leave a comment or reblog. it means so much !! until next time. stay thirsty hydrated, my friends <3
ps: if you want to get notifications for future updates, you can join my taglist here.
tags — @fayuki @starmapz @starlightanyaaa @sxnkuna @cocomanga
@nanamis-baker @rosso-seta @sugurbo @chiyokoemilia @janbannan
@bloopsstuff @snowsilver2000 @ihearttoru @momoewn @yokosandesu
@90s-belladonna @fairygardenprincesss
© lostfracturess. do not repost, translate, or copy my work.
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"tell me you love me."
he gasped out, pounding away at your poor cunt. he needed to hear you say it at least one time. and if it wasn't for his cock knocking the wind out of your lungs every time it practically kissed your cervix, you would tell him you did, indeed, love him.
"i need to hear you say it... please..."
his arms were caging your head in one place, your legs thrown over his shoulders as he begged you to tell him you felt for him what he felt for you. you were folded in a way that kept you from going anywhere... from leaving. not that you ever would but this was just for extra insurance on his part. his breathy rasps squeaked at the end, signaling for his climax soon.
with his sweaty forehead pressed against yours, you looked up at him with teary eyes.
"i- fuck... i love you... ha!"
you cried out. and just from one little sentence, he completely fell apart. hot spurts of cum painting your walls, proof of his own love for you. you were the only one he wanted to do this with and he hoped that he was the only one for you too.
feat. tomura shigaraki, choso kamo, touya todoroki / dabi, rafayel.
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read literature. be present. make love. make tea. write a poem. cry. watch a sappy movie that makes you want to throw things at it. paint your nails. cook something. call your best friend. learn an instrument. wonder. take a bath. go for a walk. lie down on the grass. listen to the entirety of ur favorite album from 2016. take pics of sunsets. ponder. shamelessly dance in your room. curl up on your bed. make endless wishes to the stars twinkling in the midnight sky. think about nothing. think about everything. think about things so hard that you barely remember what happened moments ago and why you’re feeling the way you do
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𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐌𝐘 𝐖𝐈𝐅𝐄 .ᐣ (reupload!)
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a husband's call.
ᯓ 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 .ᐟ neuvillette, jing yuan, ayato, sunday x fem!reader (separate), feat. fu xuan, ayaka, thoma.
ᯓ 𝐜𝐰 .ᐟ GUESS WHO'S BAAAAACK, im so sorry for reuploading this even months after i returned, but hey guys look yet another fic that's prob been done before 😻, mentions of suicide, mentions of 'cheating' (literally nothing tho), mentions of torture and death (sunday is just a girl🎀), banter, fluff, crack, SFW, i am not very proud of this one (like wow my writing fell off here 💀), 2.7k words (yay a short one!!), god i love this trope, can y'all tell i really like sunday? 😔 rbs are appreciated!! <3
ᯓ NEUVILLETTE .ᐟ
𝐇𝐄 𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃 the residential wing of the Palais, swinging open the doors, marching in through the threshold and right for the parlour area.
The butler scrambled after him, frantic. “Monsieur Neuvillette, please, take a moment to calm do—”
“Where is my wife?” The Chief Justice’s voice thundered, and he continued storming through the halls. “I wish to see her. Now.”
“She’s—the Madame is in her study, Monsieur. She doesn’t wish to be distur—”
“No one is to interrupt us while I speak with my wife.” Finally, the Iudex stopped in his tracks and faced the butler. The usually calm, soft-spoken judge was icy and severe as he glared down at the frazzled attendant. “In the meantime, prepare the carriage.”
“Of course, Monsieur—but, may I ask why?”
Neuvillette heaved a sigh, and fatigue washed over his sharp features. “For the moment, please just do as I’ve ordered.”
“Oh, yes, of course…” The butler bowed three times before turning rushing off. “I shall have the coachman prepare it right away!”
The Chief Justice wasted no time in turning and heading down the hall for his wife’s study, and immediately entered without knocking.
You jumped in alarm at the abrupt slam of the door, and your book tumbled off your lap as you rushed to stand. “Neuvillette, what on ear—”
You hastily backed up as he charged toward you, startled and frightened. Oh no, what did I do? He looks furious!
“Do you know,” he began, extending a hand in a flash and grabbing your arm, pulling you toward him. Even though Neuvillette appeared utterly incensed, his grip was not bruising. It was gentle, and he swiftly curled an arm around your waist as he pressed you closely to him. “How utterly terrified I was when I received your letter?”
“What letter?” You placed a hand on chest, trying to calm him down. Those violet, slitted eyes of his were dark with untold emotions—fury, fear, and terror. You couldn’t fathom what had flustered the calm, gentle Chief Justice into such a raging state. What has happened to scare him so? You could feel his hands shaking as he gripped you tightly.
“This letter.” Neuvillette wrenched out a scrunched piece of paper from his coat pocket. “It is addressed to me from you. In your handwriting. Do you hate me so much, that you wish to torture me with such…such—”
“I never wrote this.” The contents of the letter was, yes, penned in your handwriting—at least, a very accurate forging of it—and it spoke of your apparent intentions to throw yourself off one of the cliff faces of Mount Esus. “What is this? A suicide note?” You continued reading, and you were supposedly expressing how discontent you were with being married to such an ‘exalted, unreachable’ man like Neuvillette and it had driven you into great depression.
Shaking your head, you looked up into the distressed face of your husband. “Neuvillette, I assure you, I would never write such a horrible thing as this. I’m not suicidal in the least. Not with you. You make me very happy.”
“I was scared. So scared.” The Chief Justice buried his face into the dip between your neck and shoulder, clinging to you like a frightened child would its mother. Rain lashed against the windows. One of his hands cupped the back of your head, fingers entangled in your hair. “I’ve never felt such terror in all my life. Who could be so cruel as to do this? What if they had kidnapped you, thrown you off the cliff, made it seem as if you really were miserable with me—"
You kissed the top of his head. “That won’t happen. How could you ever make me miserable? Do you know how long I prayed for a husband like you? You treat me like a queen.”
You could feel his erratic heartbeat drumming against your chest, and you threaded your fingers through his silvery locks gently. “Shall we spend the evening together? Just you and me? How about a weekend getaway?”
Butterfly kisses ghosted the skin of your nape and shoulders, and Neuvillette’s right hand dropped to clutch at your left hip. “Just as long as you’re at my side the entire time.”
“I’ll stick to you like glue,” you chuckled into his ear, and you wound your arms around his neck. “A little holiday in Liyue sounds nice. You need a break. How about it?”
“Mm,” The Iudex hummed appreciatively, emerging from your neck and he pressed his forehead against yours, closing his eyes. His unfairly long and curly lashes cast shadows across the apples of his cheeks. “Somewhere isolated?”
You tilted your head and pressed up into him further, eyes on his mouth. “Of course. I’ve been craving some real Crystal Shrimp. And proper Liyuean tea.”
“Oh, yes,” he chuckled lowly, and he leaned in, whispering against your lips. “…It’s stopped raining.”
“I should hope so,” you smiled up at him. “You’ve got nothing to worry about now.”
ᯓ JING YUAN .ᐟ
𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐑𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐑-𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐋 had been looking all over for you, and he was starting to get worried. He’d checked all your favourite places—garden, lounge, his office, your office, library, even places downtown—but you were nowhere to be seen.
I want to play chess with her. Jing Yuan always had to be around you. That was the fact of the matter. If you weren’t around, he was down in the dumps. He was so besotted with his wife, even after centuries of marriage.
After going around in circles for a little while, the General finally came across Yanqing. “Yanqing, do you know where my wife is?”
His retainer blinked up at his master. “Uh, yes, general. She’s with Fu Xuan, in the garden. Playing chess.”
“Without me?” Jing Yuan couldn’t keep the inflection of a whine out of his tone. I’ve already checked the garden, and she wasn’t there! But, that was a few hours ago now. Aheming, Jing Yuan righted himself. “Ehem, that is to say—thank you, Yanqing. Go take a break.”
Yanqing eyed his mentor warily. “…Yes, general.”
Ignoring his novice’s look, Jing Yuan immediately made his way back to the estate gardens and searched through the hedges for you. Soon, your lovely form came into view, and the General picked up the pace.
“—Thrashing Jing Yuan,” Fu Xuan was saying, casually moving one of her chess pieces across the board. “He’s probably wandering around looking for yo—oh, General. Here you are.”
Two strong arms encircled your waist, and you were abruptly tugged into the warm chest of your husband. His shock of ivory hair brushed over your left cheek. “You promised you’d verse me later.”
“Oh, I don’t recall.” You grinned at Fu Xuan, who rolled her eyes at the General’s blatant affection as he nuzzled into your nape. “Did I? My goodness, must’ve slipped my mind.”
“Do you like Fu Xuan better than me?” he lamented, clutching you tighter. “You do, don’t you? Well, why not marry her, then?”
“I have your blessing?” You bit back your laughter, waggling your eyebrows at the huffing Diviner sitting across from you. “Well, then, don’t mind if I do.”
“Verse me in chess first,” your husband murmured, nibbling at your neck. “Then you can wed her.”
“No, I think I’ll see myself out,” Fu Xuan sighed, gathering up her things. She looked like she was about to throw up. “You two make me nauseous. Have fun, I guess.”
You bid her a chipper farewell while Jing Yuan petulantly ignored her, too occupied with you to bother paying respects to the Master Diviner of the Divination Commission. Patting his arm, you leaned your head against his comfortingly. “Alright, my future wife is gone now. We can play chess.”
Instead of letting you go and taking a seat across from you, Jing Yuan picked you up, sat down in your spot, and situated you nicely on his lap, before burying his face back into your chest. “You’re a tease. I practically turned the entire Luofu upside down looking around for you. For hours. Hours, you hear? Only to find you cheating on me with that pink-haired Diviner.”
“Cheating’s a bit of an overstatement, my dear. You want to play chess, or are you going to fall asleep on me again?”
“Chess, of course.” He made no move to follow through with it. The man was practically purring into your chest. “I won’t go easy on you.”
“Like you ever do.” You lightly massaged his scalp with your nails, running your fingers through his lovely hair, making him preen at your attention. If this man was a cat, he’d be purring like an engine right about now. “Sure you’re not going to take a quick nap first?”
“Absolutely.” Jing Yuan’s cheek was laid on your right breast, a fully innocent gesture. “Shall we?”
“We shall.” You continued gently massaging his head, feeling quite content yourself. You gave the man one minute before he fell asleep. And you were right.
You let him sleep. It was bliss—peaceful, sitting together like this. Something that, even after centuries of marriage, you could never grow used to.
ᯓ AYATO .ᐟ
“𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐈𝐒 my wife, Thoma?” The Yashiro Commissioner rummaged about his coat sleeves and pulled out two bobas, striding through the halls of the Kamisato Clan’s estate with purpose. “I have some bubble tea to share with her.”
Thoma smiled to himself, following behind Kamisato Ayato. “She is with Lady Ayaka at present, my lord, in your chambers. I do believe your wife will be overjoyed at your return.”
“I’ve missed her dearly.” Ayato hurried along, taking a turn and making his way toward your shared bedroom. “If you would accompany Ayaka for the rest of the afternoon while I spend time with my wife, it would be much appreciated, Thoma. I’ll get you some boba another time.”
“Don’t worry about it, my lord.” The head housekeeper tried not to grin too much at his boss’ unending antics around his beloved wife. “All that matters is you having a relaxing time with Her Ladyship.”
“Absolutely right. See? This is why you’re so reliable, Thoma. You always know exactly what to say.” Lord Ayato is in a particularly good mood today. No wonder. He just arrived home from a long trip overseas and the first thing out of his mouth once he set foot in Inazuma again was his wife’s name.
The duo stopped before a door and Ayato swiftly lifted a hand to knock. There was a shuffle, quiet words from the two women behind the door, and the patting of socked feet upon wood. The door slid open, and there you were—still in your jinbei.
“Ayato!” you exclaimed, flinging your arms around him. “It’s been months! You’re finally home! Oh, how I’ve missed you.”
“Are you alright, my dear?” Ayato didn’t get a chance to thank Thoma for quickly plucking the two bubble teas from his hands so he could hug you back. “You sound stuffy, like you’ve got an awful cold.”
You sniffled, and then coughed. Then you snivelled again. “Yes. I caught the flu two days ago. Ayaka’s been keeping me company.”
There was a soft flash of grey-blue and there his sister was behind you, beaming up at her brother. “Welcome home, brother. I trust you are well?”
“Quite well. I did not expect to come home and see you sick as a dog! Have you been taking the appropriate medicine?”
“Ayaka almost throttled me trying to get the horrid stuff down my neck.” You turned and waddled back to your and Ayato’s comfortable futon, sitting up against the pillows. He followed after you like a lovesick puppy, accepting the two bobas from Thoma. Sighing, you put your face into your elbow and coughed. “It’s…” You wheezed again. “Working.”
“We’ll leave you two to it.” Ayaka placed a hand on Thoma’s shoulder and they turned to leave. They both smiled back at both of you. “Rest up. Both of you. Brother, make sure she drinks that tonic.”
“Will do,” he said, ignoring your aggravated groan. He brushed back your hair from your forehead, and the door clicked shut. “Want some boba?”
“I love you,” you immediately said upon him handing you your bubble tea. “Marrying you was the best decision ever.”
“As long as I have boba on me, huh?”
“I can make a few exceptions.”
Ayato smiled, poking your cheek, before leaning in, heading right for your mouth. “Can I have a ki—”
A hand smacked him away. “No! You’ll catch my cold. And I’m all snotty at the moment. Drink your boba.”
“I can just get sick with you.” He shrugged. But he yielded to your request and crawled in under the covers next to you, chewing away at some tapioca pearls. “Now, tell me. What have you been up to while I was away?”
“Keeping the entire Commission afloat,” you snarked, no bite behind your words. “It was so boring without you. I didn’t have anyone to go horseback riding with in Chinju Forest.” You had a sip of your bubble tea, wiping your nose with a tissue. You relished the caramelly taste. “Anyway, how did the meeting go? Since you acted as Ambassador to the Dawn Winery, was it?”
“I did, and the relations went exceptionally well, if I do say so myself. Inazuma is bound to have an onslaught of dandelion wine within the next month.”
“Wonderful. I could use a good glass of wine.” You sighed and relaxed against your husband’s shoulder. “…I’m glad you’re home.”
“I am, too.” Ayato nuzzled you. “Are you warm?”
“Very.” You closed your eyes. You had another sip of boba. He laced your fingers together, and you smiled. Even bedridden, you were content as could be.
ᯓ SUNDAY .ᐟ
𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐘 Head had his icy moments, but nothing compared to this. Every staff member was scared witless, shaking as they were dismissed from his presence, leaving him and his victim alone. The poor soul on the receiving end of Mr. Sunday’s placid wrath was visibly shaking.
“Now.” The Head of the Oak Family stood with his hands held tightly behind his back, staring frostily down at his target, halo glowing, having just recited his incantation for the light of the Harmony, calling on THEM. “I will ask you once more, and you will have no choice but to answer honestly. Question: where is my wife?”
“I—I don’t know! I swear—argh!” An expensive shoe pressed down on the sobbing man’s hand harshly, Sunday’s golden eyes frozen to a murderous amber. The man clutched at his head in agony. “It hurts! It hurts! Please, stop!”
“It won’t hurt if you tell the truth.” The Family Head’s voice remained as calm as an arctic sea. “Yet, you continue to refuse. Must I bloody my hands to extract my wife’s true whereabouts from you?”
“N-No, just—please…” THEIR light was shredding at the man’s thoughts. “I really don’t know!”
“Question: is your hirer a lackey of the IPC?”
“Argh—yes…” Sunday’s victim fought for breath.
“Is my wife alive?”
“…Yes…ugh…”
“Is she unharmed?”
“…I don’t…know.”
“Do you know where she is?”
“…I don’t—hngh! Yes…”
“Where is my wife?”
“I can’t tell you!”
And then the man let out a wail, mental state driven to the brink. Sunday’s fists tightened into two white-knuckled balls. “Oh, yes, you can, and you will. The Harmony rejects you. THEY reject you. Tell the truth.”
“Sh—She is…your wife is…”
“Where?”
“She’s on Penacony. Hidden in a…ugh—warehouse. Guarded. Not in the Dreamscape.”
“Where is this warehouse?”
“That…I honestly don’t know. That’s all they told me.”
Sunday narrowed his eyes, glacial, before whirling around and marching for the doors. He flung them open, and called his men in.
They stood to attention. Sunday coldly regarded each of them. “Send this man back in pieces to the IPC. Warn them that if they do not reveal my wife’s whereabouts within the next twelve hours, they will have a very big problem on their hands.” He threw a repulsed look back at the screaming man. “Shut him up for good. Make sure that all IPC delegations and influences in the Dreamscape…” The Family Head approached his desk. “Are cut off, imprisoned—or, better yet, killed.”
“Yes, sir!” One man back knocked the IPC thug out, dragging him away.
Sunday coolly clicked his pen. “Send a clear message that consequences for any inaction on their part will be dire. I want my wife back, and I want her back by tomorrow.”
all rights reserved © kisstrela 2024. do not copy, repost, redistribute, translate, plagiarise or modify my work(s) in any way on any platform. thank you.
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pornstar!shiu who started out as your agent. he’d book your gigs, stand and watch with cigarette in hand as you were fucked on film for a fat check that he’d take a cut of.
pornstar!shiu who would take you out for celebratory drinks after landing larger acts—be it a shoot for a dirty magazine or a collaboration with the current biggest name in adult film. shiu is good at getting you in—and he doesn’t much mind watching your artwork either.
pornstar!shiu who helps you set up a secondary source of income: an onlyfans. he helps you garner an audience, set your prices and start looking for guest stars. he lines a few up, lets you pick from them and even pours them a drink when they come over to film. shiu lets you have privacy with these shoots, but insists on staying in the house just in case anything goes sideways: they never do, though. most of the guys you film with are put off by the look shiu gives them when they first walk in. mean.
pornstar!shiu who slowly starts to get sick of accommodating the men you film with. it's just work, sure, but he doesn't get jealous like this of the girls that his other client Toji works with. he doesn't watch their videos back on repeat to make sure their hands don't wander where they aren't welcome. he doesn't fuck his fist at night thinking about him. it's just a you thing.
pornstar!shiu who gets an email one day from a well known pornstars agent practically begging to hitch up a collab between you and him. satoru gojo is a name shiu has heard plenty times before, be it through the business side of being your agent or through his computer speaker when he's edging himself to mindless porn in the dead of night. he knows he fucks good, seen it first hand.
pornstar!shiu who knows you're excited for this shoot, to finally get to try out the guy known for giving real orgasms in hopes of a more raw shoot. shiu almost feels bad when he tells you, twenty minutes before your shoot, that gojo can't make it. that he's sick with something nasty and you'll have to reschedule if his calendar opens up for you.
pornstar!shiu who listens to you whine about how you promised your online audience something good tonight. nods as you beg for him to find someone else on such short notice. he pretends to scroll through his phone and send a few texts as you stress your pretty mind over leaving your followers hanging. shiu can't help but smile at your desperate pout when he tells you that no one can make it on such short notice... but that he does have another idea, albeit an unconventional one.
pornstar!shiu who, within twenty minutes, has your face pressed into your pillows and his hand forcing your arch so he can fuck you just that little bit deeper. the moans you let out, even though they're muffled by your satin pillow, are nothing short of pornographic. it's fitting, and pulls a smile onto shiu's face because he's hearing better moans from you than he thinks gojo could ever pull. and god you feel better than he'd ever imagined: he wonders how he'll ever lay down for another person again know that he's felt you wrapped around his cock.
pornstar!shiu who insists it's just a favour: just work. he's given you five orgasms and a dirty movie to show for it too. you two fuck for an hour and he showers at your place before helping you edit and post it over dinner. it's casual, nothing awkward, but when the comments start rolling in about this new man that makes you cum like none other has, you swear he blushes.
pornstar!shiu who quickly becomes a regular on your page. goes from being your agent to somewhat of a partner in film. over the course of a few weeks, you have more money than you know what to do with: people keep subscribing to watch you cum on his cock in the mindless way it seems only he can pull from you. your library grows daily, with videos of him fucking you on the kitchen counter, whipped cream eaten straight from your chest, to videos from his perspective as he takes drags of a cigarette while you get your fix from your lips wrapped around his thick cock. he's somewhat of a pornstar himself now.
pornstar!shiu who, for someone who insisted this was just work, gets into the habit of kissing you through your orgasms. or conveniently forgetting to press record so that your marathon sex session on his couch stays for his eyes only. or starts leaving things at your house on the off chance to have someone else over to film with, so they'll see his hair gel or large shoes by the front door and realise you're spoken for, even if he doesn't have the right to speak for you.
pornstar!shiu who's asleep in your bed one night, his cock still nestled deep inside of you after making love to you for the first time. you're littered with lovebites and your mind is hazy with feelings you never thought you'd have for your agent of all people. the night is dark, and as you're cockwarming the man who is much more than just a co-star to you, your phone dings. he stirs, and you check it to find a message from Satoru Gojo, who is asking after you. he says he's upset you didn't get to film together the other week but he hopes you're feeling better. your sickness seemed pretty nasty, from what your agent said when he cancelled on your behalf.
what a shame!
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