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celestie0 · 13 days

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gojo satoru x reader | oneshot smut [18+]

title. around the clock

Hooking up with your little brother’s babysitter? That sounds more like a bad porno than a sensible decision.

ᰔ pairing. babysitter/boxing au - underground boxer & babysitter!gojo x college student!reader (f)

ᰔ summary. when underground boxer gojo satoru becomes a little strapped for cash, he gets a day job as a babysitter for a five-year-old kid named yuuji who most definitely has adhd (but that’s besides the point). the kid’s mom gave gojo two rules, and two rules only: don’t accidentally kill my son, and do not flirt with my daughter. he’s pretty sure he’s got a good hold on the former, but he’s got no self control over the latter.

ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fem!reader, smut, casual sex, lil bit of fluff, lil bit of crack, slight age gap (reader’s 22 & gojo’s 27), cum play, creampie, unprotected sex, praise kink, slight degradation, gojo is a sleazebag that cares?, sort of porn-coded smut except there’s a lil bit of lore so it’s kinda porn w plot, uhh having sex with risk of getting caught, gojo beats people up at night & then plays father figure to a 5 y/o during the day, mentions of violence/alcohol/drugs/blood/cigarettes

ᰔ word count. 12.6k

a/n. hiiii friends jeez it feels like FOREVER since i've posted some good ol' smut (still has plot tho xd)...hopefully you enjoy n see ya at the bottom! lmk if i missed any warnings! if you asked to be tagged but didn’t get tagged it’s bc you have your tags off aaa :( even when some ppl tried to fix it i still couldn’t tag them i’m sorry!!

alsoooooo so very much love to @starmapz for beta reading this for me :”) really helped me w my posting nerves haha. she is also a wonderful jjk author pls go check out her works!! 💕 ART CREDITS: @/3-aem

➸ masterlist

2:34 pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): heyy um i’m sorry if this comes off kinda rude i just am kinda bad with this but i was wondering if you could text my mom for questions about yuuji’s care instead of me?

2:46pm Gojo Satoru: Oh 2:46pm Gojo Satoru: Yeah, sure

2:34 pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): sorry i know my mom doesn’t know much ab how to take care of him bc i was the one that took care of him for a while but i just really want to separate myself from that guardian role now that i’ve transferred to NYU yknow? :/ i think it’s not my place anymore. i just wanna be big sis now haha

2:46pm Gojo Satoru: I get it. Sorry if I was making you uncomfortable with my texts

2:48pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): no no not uncomfy by it, thanks for looking after him. it’s just i’m kind of busy n stuff so it can be distracting

2:49pm Gojo Satoru: Ok, got it

2:52pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): and it was kind of an issue with his last babysitter

2:53pm Gojo Satoru: Oh?

2:55pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): yeahhh like he would keep textinf me n stuff uhh kinda weird things… i told my mom about it and she was super pissed so she fired him

2:55pm Gojo Satoru: Weird things?

2:56pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): yeah he was always “accidentally sexting me” n like he sent me a dick pic once sooooo yeah

2:56pm Gojo Satoru: Who tf 2:56pm Gojo Satoru: I’ll go beat him up

2:57pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): oh no no its fine lol 2:57pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): please dont beat anyone up 2:58pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): i’m not saying you’re like him tho i just think maybe less texting unless its an emergency okay?

3:00pm Gojo Satoru: Are you sure because I will totally go beat him up for you

3:01pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): NO I DONT WANT YOU TO BEAT ANYONE UP FOR ME 3:01pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): also no offense but you dont look like you could beat someone up

3:01pm Gojo Satoru: WHAT 3:02pm Gojo Satoru: Tf you mean “no offense” that’s literally the most offensive thing you could say to a guy

3:04pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): yeaa i mean you have muscles ofc but in the ‘ohhh i wanna look good for instagram’ way and not like real man muscles yknow

3:06pm Gojo Satoru: Ok princess next time you visit home and go on one of your stupidly large grocery hauls I’ll make sure you carry all those groceries in by yourself

3:06pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): NO 3:07pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): I WAS JUST JOKING 3:07pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): YOURE SO STRONG TY FOR ALWAYS CARRYING THE GROCERIES INSIDE 3:08pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): PLEASE KEEP CARRYING MY GROCERIES INSIDE

3:09pm Gojo Satoru: Nah 3:09pm Gojo Satoru: Should we be texting right now? I’m not sensing any emergencies here

3:11pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): pls. my groceries :(

3:16pm Gojo Satoru: I’ll let the kiddo know you say hi 👋🏼

The irony of it all was that, if Gojo really wanted to, he absolutely could beat the shit out of someone. And he has, hundreds of times, pseudo professionally. Although that isn’t something he’d admit to you, out of fear that you might relay that info back to your mom who would then become mortified that she’s entrusted her five-year-old son’s life to the hands of an underground boxer.

But he needed the money. A night-time job didn’t really make daytime money, not when they could easily replace him with the next dude the second he gets knocked out of the ring more than twice, let alone if he let it happen once. And although he sometimes made large sums, it wasn’t stable income. He needed a back-up plan, and so babysitting it was.

The babysitter working nights at unsanctioned dojos and gyms located in the back of cartel blocks, knocking teeth out of men twice his size, would put any decent mother into a coma or induce some episode of syncope, hence why it wasn’t something he put on his resume before he got hired. Not that he even needed to provide a resume; your mom seemed desperate to cover the position as fast as possible, that promotion at work was moving faster than she wanted to, and Gojo’s beneficial attribute that he possessed as a candidate to look after her son, compared to all the other potential hires, was that he had a penis.

He likes the kid. Yuuji. He’s got kind of a short attention span, and makes Gojo weary of his age. Hold up, that makes him sound like he’s geriatric, he’s really only the ripe old age of twenty-seven, but the immortality and infinite stamina that a five-year-old boy has on him is enough to have him huffing and puffing at the end of every single evening shift he takes on with the rascal.

Fighting is all sprint, and no stamina. Sure, there might be some more seasoned boxers that might disagree with him, but for someone as young as him in the field, it’s the tactic he’s been forced to gain. If he draws a fight on for too long, he'll get killed by a forty-two year old man with steroids clogging up his adipose tissue and enough testosterone to grow a full-body beard by the time the sun starts to set. No, his strategy is to knock them out within the first fifteen seconds. Use their weight against them, and whatnot. A tactic he’s found has worked, since he’s been undefeated thus far.

He can never wrap his head around it. The drug lords that run the rings who’ve gained millions the night before from selling crystal meth only to lose it all the night following in the second Gojo hooklines a solid punch to their betting boxer’s chin, making them see God & their Momma before they tap out (if they’re even able).

He doesn’t pocket much money from it, not anything compared to what the men who bet on him end up making at least, but it’s a decently solid sum. How lucrative it really is depends solely on what he thinks the value of his life is.

It’s not unheard of, boxers dying in the ring. Turns out, rich drug dealers care very little about the sheep they’ve captured to perform their entertaining little stunts. But Gojo wasn’t doing all of this to feel some sense of work-life pride, no, it was just sustenance. When basic needs are not met, humans resort to the most animalistic of all behaviors, and while he’s not proud of what he does, he can’t deny the fact that it’s turned him into an adrenaline junkie that gets a rush in his veins every time he knocks a jaw loose.

But balance was key. And hence why he’s a boxer by night, babysitter by day. For at least four days a week, he gets to pretend he’s the king’s most trusted appointed knight, or he’s the radioactive tyrannosaurus rex that wants to tyrannize all the other dinosaurs, or maybe he’s the evil power ranger (he always forgets which color that one was) that is determined to make the world a living hell by smashing mr. potatohead against the bunk bed post a billion times for all the other toys to see. Or whatever other imaginative hyperfixations Yuuji imposes on him in the later afternoon once he’s had his bowl of spaghetti-O’s and is ready to play. Lately, the kid’s been really into space. They’ve got all sorts of space toys these days. Back in Gojo’s day, he just had a good ol’ Buzz Lightyear.

“One rule, that’s it: don’t accidentally kill my son. Actually, one more rule. Don’t flirt with my daughter.”

There’s a part of Gojo that believes your mom kind of knows he’s up to shady shit at night, otherwise why else would she clause for him to not flirt with you if she didn’t read the slight swell to his eye and the healing gash across his cheek as anything other than this boy is trouble and I want him nowhere near my too-good-for-him daughter of reproductive capacity since that’s the exact tale of how I became a single mother in the first place. Or maybe he inherently looks like he’s up to no good? He’s not sure which angle is more offensive, and which one was more flattering. Well in any case, she entrusted Yuuji’s life to him, despite acknowledging the plausibility of harm, and that means she overall thinks positively of him, right? ……right?

The first night he met you, it was awkward to say the least. Gojo spends most of his nights performing deadly stunts for middle aged men with potbellies, and most of his days hanging out with a five-year-old (one who he’d argue is his only friend at this point). Sure, he’s got some people he sees occasionally back in his high school hometown when he can brave hearing about how everyone’s in college now or doing a masters or they’re working respectable nine-to-five day jobs meanwhile he has to lie to his Pops that he’s been working in insurance for the past two years. Listen, in fairness, he probably makes the same amount of money as an insurance broker would anyways, but he can’t exactly own up to the identity of his craft.

Anyways, the point is, he’s not used to seeing other people his age anymore. There’s the occasional hook-up with girls he hasn’t seen since Mrs. Tracy’s homeroom period back in sweet two-thousand-sixteen, or his twice-a-year hangout with Suguru where he only learns the day of where he's visiting from since the guy moves around more than Gojo can keep up with. But save for that, he mostly just sees your mom and then Yuuji.

So seeing you standing in the kitchen for the first time when he went to put Yuuji’s half-finished GoGurt back in the fridge was startling to say the least. When the sight of a woman startled him, he knew he needed to start getting out again.

You were on your tiptoes, reaching up to grab at something over the fridge, and wearing these ridiculously short shorts to where he could see the curve of your ass, his line of sight trailing down the skin of your bare legs. He couldn’t see anything of your form above your shorts, given you were wearing an extremely baggy t-shirt with NYU on it in big bolded university letters. As far as he knew, you were a senior at NYU, studying psychology, made dean’s list consecutively for the past three years given the way your mother posted all your stellar transcripts up on the fridge (he gets that she’s proud of her daughter, but doesn’t that kind of stuff usually end in grade school?) But other than that, it was all the information he had on you.

“Here,” he said, pressing his front to your back, maybe just to get a feel, as he reached over to you to finally grab the box of cereal you were swatting for, the one that he purposefully placed at the back because Yuuji learned how to climb counters recently. “Is this what you want?”

He had heard you gasp, spinning around on your heel fast, staring up at him with wide eyes like you weren’t expecting some random man to be in the house right now, and your first instinct ended up being to grab the knife out of the kitchen knife block and lunge it straight at his torso.

If it wasn’t for his boxer reflexes, he’d have ended up at the ER that evening. Or dead. All depending on the strength you could pack into a stab. But instead, he deflected it, though not without a gash to his torso through the fabric of his shirt, one that you spent the rest of the evening profusely apologizing for and eventually mending to with cotton balls and neosporin.

“I didn’t know you were my little brother’s babysitter,” you mumbled with a small wince on your face as you dabbed ointment on the wound while he pulled the hem of his shirt up to his shoulder. He’s never had an injury tended to before. It was nice.

“It’s fine, I get it, totally acceptable response to seeing a random dude in your house.”

He remembers the curl of your eyelashes while you stared down at his bare upper half, something he imprinted on his memory rather than the concern in your face as your fingertips traced the scars across his chest. He hoped they made you feel better about the one you just slashed into him, because after all, what was one more?

He knows he shouldn’t have, but he kissed you that night. Two minutes before your mom came home, and right after you bid him goodnight with one more apology, he backed you up against the door of your bedroom, his hands on your hips pulling you towards him, and his lips pressed against yours. Something seamless, from candid conversation that was heading towards an end, to full fledged making out against white-painted wood, his teeth nipping at your lip and he wondered just how touch-starved those university boys were leaving you given the desperate way you’d clinged to his shirt for dear life as he deepened the kiss.

The moment only lasted one minute and fifty-seven seconds, and in the remaining three, your mother’s key pushed into the front door and he had to pull away. Always, on the dot, 10PM, she was home. It was how he knew he had two minutes left to make a move in the first place.

So much for no flirting.

6:57pm Gojo Satoru: Bahahah I accidentally forgot where yuuji’s epipen is 6:58pm Gojo Satoru: [sent a photo] 6:59pm Gojo Satoru: Turns out this can-o-soup was just covering it in the cabinet

7:01pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): ??? why did you need to find his epipen

7:08pm Gojo Satoru: Oh he accidentally took a bite of my pad thai 7:09pm Gojo Satoru: I freaked cuz I thought it had peanuts in it but I remember I asked for it without any 7:09pm Gojo Satoru: shit’s crazy

7:10pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): WHY THE FUCK DIDNT YOU TEXT ME????????

7:12pm Gojo Satoru: YOU SAID YOU DIDNT WANT ME TEXTING YOU UNLESS IT WAS AN EMERGENCY ?

7:13pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): SATORU YOU THOGHT HE ATE SOMETHING W PEANUTS IN IT AND YOU FORGOT WHERE HIS EPIPEN WAS THATSS A FUCKIGN EMERGENCY

7:15pm Gojo Satoru: THE KID IS DOING FINE HES ALIVE JESUS LEAVE ME ALONE 7:16pm Gojo Satoru: [sent a photo] 7:16pm Gojo Satoru: See. he’s chill 7:17pm Gojo Satoru: with intact airways might I add 7:18pm Gojo Satoru: Also isn’t he a little too old to still be watching baby sensory videos?

7:20pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): yeah my mom thinks he has adhd :(

7:22pm Gojo Satoru: oh

He tried to keep his word though (although he doesn’t recall ever giving it) out of the respect he had for your mom. She was a hard-working lady, single mom of two who went from working three jobs to now being a major administrator at a big law firm near the outskirts of town. It was an underdog story if he’d ever heard one, and he loved an underdog story.

But a little texting here and there wouldn’t hurt, right? Or so he thought, until you told him to cut it out with the contact. Maybe you were just trying to be the good one in this situation. After all, hooking up with your little brother’s babysitter? That sounds more like a bad porno than a sensible decision. Still, he’ll eventually get your replies to his which shirt should Yuuji wear to the park? and look, the toothfairy gave him the butt of a joint and a couple thumbtacks for his front tooth. he’s ecstatic texts, although in a less timely manner than before when you weren’t trying to preserve propriety. And when you’d occasionally visit every other weekend, he’d do his best to keep his hands in his pockets, and you’d fill up your nights with hangouts with your hometown friends to avoid spending too much time with him at the house. A silent agreement to not fuck each other, it was.

4:55pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): send pic of yuuji pls i miss him :(

5:04pm Gojo Satoru: [sent a photo]

5:08pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): IS THAT BLOOD?!?!?!?!

5:09pm Gojo Satoru: chillllllll it’s fake. We’re working on his halloween costume

5:09pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): WHY DOES IT HAVE BLOOD?!?!?!?!?!?

5:10pm Gojo Satoru: He wants to be a baby xenomorph and I'm his parasitic host. You know that iconic chestburster scene from the old school alien movies? yeah

5:12pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): satoru please for the love of god just dress him up as a dinosaur or something

5:13pm Gojo Satoru: I’m not the one that came up with the idea, okay? It was him

5:14pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): because you let him watch adult swim with you before putting him to bed. you’ve deranged his brain.

5:14pm Gojo Satoru: He needs it. Builds character.

Gojo was living a double life, and if someone asked him, he’d say it was less of a Clark Kent way and more of a Bruce Wayne way, although in reality, he knows it’s close to neither. He’s no superhero with a concealed identity fighting crime, he’s a con artist that’s tricked a hard-working woman into hiring him just because he’s trying to save up enough money to get the fuck out of this godforsaken town, given he’s not knocked dead before then for the crime’s amusement.

But Yuuji looks up to him now. And Gojo’s grown attached to him too. He taught the kid how to tie his own shoes and piss inside the actual toilet like a real man. And that kid’s the only thing that’s made him question any of this. Maybe that’s what dads feel, suddenly held to all this impossible responsibility and the pressure to stop doing stupid shit so that you’ll stick around to see your kids get older. The thought that there are eyes on you now, eyes that are innocent and hopeful and learning, and because they know nothing at all, you feel the responsibility to protect them from everything. For fucks sake, remind him to never become a dad.

“Do you like my sister?” Yuuji had asked him out of nowhere one afternoon after he just got home from preschool, stacking a blue cube over a yellow one at the dining table.

“Uhh,” Gojo starts. He wondered if your mom had put a wire on the kid, so his answer was as diplomatic as he could manage. “Yeah, she’s cool. You’ve got a cool sister.”

“But. But.” Yuuji stutters, trying to find his big boy words. He stretches up higher to reach the top of his stack of blocks, but he only has so much arm real estate at the age of five. “Do you like her like you wanna kiss her?”

Gojo grabs the block from the kid’s hand, for a moment questioning Yuuji’s decision to want to put a blue block over another blue block, but he figures aesthetics are the least of a kid’s concern, and so he places the block where Yuuji wanted it.

Why does the kid know what kissing is anyway? Do kids know that kind of stuff at that age? Isn’t a kiss to a five-year-old just something their mom gives to them before they head off to preschool for the day? And not something that happens between adult men and women? Maybe he should stop watching that adult swim in front of him.

“No. I don’t want to kiss your sister,” he says, again, because he is suspicious of a wire. It was a lie and then some, because he wants to do a lot more than just kiss you.

Gojo lifts the RedBull he was nursing up to his lips and watches Yuuji in the corner of his eye as the kid stares at his growing stack of blocks with a concentrated expression on his face, his chubby fingers squeezing tightly into little round dimpled balls, like he’s putting together all his tiny brain cells together to form another coherent thought before turning to face Gojo on the chair.

“It’s ok. You can kiss her if you wan’ed to. You can marry her too,” Yuuji says.

Gojo almost spits out his RedBull. He barely manages to swallow it, a broken cough immediately leaving his throat when some of the liquid goes down the wrong pipe and he’s smacking a fist against his chest to knock the sanity back into himself.

“Where the fu—…where the flip did that come from?” he asks, blinking back tears from the rasp in his throat.

Yuuji’s small shoulders sulk as he sits back on his heels. “I want a papa.”

Oh fuck that hurt. Jesus christ, there was nothing more sad than that. Yuuji has literally never known what it’s like to have a dad, since his had left before he was even born. Gojo’s not really close to his old man by any means, but he had still been a fatherly figure in some pivotal moments when he had needed it growing up. Kids need their dads. And he’s seen enough people lose their way without one to know that the value of them is really underestimated.

He’s also kind of shocked that Yuuji really did think of you as his motherly figure. Maybe since it had always just been him and his dad, Gojo learned how to self sustain from a young age, and he and his dad became accustomed to just looking after their own interests to avoid the headache of tending to one another. My land is my land, and your land is yours, and there was the occasional Saturday night spent together with his dad’s millions of beer bottles emptied dry on the carpet in front of the 1992 box TV as the two shared a greasy pizza from the place down the street. That was the extent of family solidarity that he knew.

But he can’t imagine being barely eighteen and having to take care of your little brother all by yourself because your mom was too busy trying to put food on the table and was too poor to hire a babysitter. Your mom tried so damn hard to keep you away from the single teenage mother life, but somehow ended up giving it to you by proxy in the end anyway. It was no wonder you wanted space now that Yuuji’s a little older and your mom can afford a babysitter. No matter how much you might love your sibling, being their effective guardian out of pure necessity had to have taken a toll.

Gojo clears his throat before he speaks. “Buddy. If I married your sister, we’d be brothers. I wouldn’t be your dad.”

Yuuji’s eyes light up at the word brother. “Brothers? Me and you?”

“Yeah. Bros.”

The kid giggles, all bubbly with cheeks rounding fully and eyes sparkling. Gojo reaches out to ruffle at his hair before Yuuji gets down onto one stubby leg at a time from the chair then bolts towards the kitchen.

“Juice!!” he yells somewhere around the corner out of sight.

Gojo sighs, staring at all the toys he pulled out for Yuuji to play with, all left in a scattered mess across the table. He gets up out of his chair and heads towards the fridge. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll get you your juice, you little demon.”

The conclusion he comes to, and it might read like an obvious one, is that kids don’t really know the reality of life, hence why adults hide so much from them.

This is what he thinks of tonight when he wraps his worn out boxing tape around his hands and his wrist, tightening it with his teeth, and he can smell the sweat and grime from them. The back of the underground gym had an old dated locker room, and as Gojo stretches his neck side to side while sitting on the stiff metal bench, he eyes the peeling red paint of the locker in front of him, blurring vision making it look like spilt blood.

His phone pings with a text. He shuffles inside his duffle bag to look for it while his other hand scratches at his bare chest.

1:07am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): hhhhhhhhhiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii 1:07am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): omgomgomg sor y i’m

He blinks at the screen, confusion flashing across his face. He types one letter, but then he sees three dots and a speech text bubble in the bottom left, so he waits for you.

1:09am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): i drunk :(

The corner of his mouth ticks up slightly.

1:09am Gojo Satoru: Yeah I can tell

1:10am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): at a apartyyyy

His eyebrows raise slightly, the thought of you tipsy on some frat party couch flashing through his mind, yet of all things you could be doing at that frat party, you’re texting him? Must be a really boring party.

1:11am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): whyyy are you aawake?

1:12am Gojo Satoru: Couldn’t sleep 1:12am Gojo Satoru: Don’t you have a midterm in the morning?

1:14am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): wtf hwo do you knwo that

1:15am Gojo Satoru: Your mom keeps your schedule posted on the fridge

1:15am yuuji’s sister (no flirting): im so fucked;’;(((

He snorts. He’s got a bit more life experience than you, five-ish years to be exact, more than enough time to master the no-hangover hangout, but just before he can offer you some advice, he sees another text from you.

1:16am yuuji’s sister (no flirting): can i tell u smething

His gaze flits up to the ceiling briefly, and he hears commotion outside the thick walls of the locker room. The previous fight was over, and fast. The guy must’ve been knocked out in under twenty seconds tops, which means that Gojo was next up against whatever superbeast just beat him up.

1:17am Gojo Satoru: Sure

He stands up, placing his phone down on the bench before he flexes the muscles in his arms a couple times to get the blood flowing into them. And there’s the noise of another ping. Actually, four.

1:14am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): sonetimes 1:14am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): i thikn of 1:14am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): when u kisse me 1:14am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): *kissed me

His eyes widen slightly, irises dry to the ashy cigarette smoke from outside lingering in the air, and his heart rate picks up a bit. An adrenaline junkie with close to no fear in his veins due to the way his amygdala’s been fried to a crisp from years of boxing, yet he’s got his breath hitched from the memory of your soft lips against his. It makes the blood rushing through the muscles of his arms rush somewhere down south instead.

Loud banging on the door of the locker room jolts him out of his trance, and he’s stiff around the edges once more.

“Satoru! You’re up, man,” he hears Danny, the fight coordinator, yell at him from the other side of the heavy & poorly-installed steel door.

Gojo sighs, glancing down at the texts on his phone. To respond, or not to respond. You’re off your face, clearly chatty from the alcohol, and he knows for certain you’ll regret every life decision you’ve ever made once you wake up in the morning and see the self sabotaging behaviors you’ve engaged in tonight. He knows that responding to you might put you at ease rather than straight up ignoring you, but the feeling will pass, and he has a match to win with no more room left to stall.

He makes his way out the locker room, pushing past the crowded halls of people underneath dim flashing club lighting, some dudes angrily jerking to face him when he pushes past them with a stiff shoulder, only for their eyes to widen when they see just exactly who pushed them.

There’s strippers in the ring, doing some routine for pre-match, and Gojo narrows his eyes at the man he sees laying back over the rubber boundary rope, head tipped back up to the ceiling with a wicked grin on his face. So that was his opponent? He’s never seen the guy before. Was he from a different district? Different district talent was tough, you had no background info on them, while they’ve been preparing to be here for weeks. Hence why boxers tend to do better when they visit a different district than they do in their own. There have been rules made to limit these types of fights, mostly over outrage that it was unfair to bid on them, but they were also usually more entertaining to watch. Gojo’s got a sick feeling to his stomach as the strippers clear the ring.

“Hey,” Gojo calls out, grabbing Danny by the back of his collar and dragging him towards him and away from the girls stepping down onto the floor, “what’s in for this fight?”

Danny glances up at the ceiling. “Tarp’s bettin’ tonight, so it can’t be anything less than ten grand for you. I’d say tops fifteen?”

Gojo narrows his eyes further, then glances off into the ring again. The man stands up, and Gojo gets a better look on his face. He’s got short hair, neon green in color with a dark fade underneath and tattoos all over his face. But those eyes. They were freakishingly red, and it made him uneasy. He knows the type. The type of boxers that do this to genuinely hurt people for thrill. Make no mistake, Gojo understands he’s made himself out to be like that too, gaining some kind of rush out of this profession, but this type of fighter was different. The type to literally continue smashing a dude’s face into the floor until they’re a bloody mess even minutes after the winning call, and no referee to stop it because that’s the kind of action the spectators wanted.

Danny reads his line of sight. “That’s Gale. Newton’s new boxing toy. Came outta nowhere about a month ago. He’s undefeated so far in his district, and Newton specifically wanted to see you up against him tonight,” Danny tells Gojo, resting his elbow up on his bare shoulder. “Chances are he’ll compete with Tarp for final bid if you win this one. I’m talking twenty-five grand in the next if you can knock him out in this.”

“Uh-huh,” Gojo acknowledges, rolling his shoulder so Danny’s elbow falls from it. Forget the money, he just wants to make it out of this alive.

He sets his foot up on the square, ducking through the dividing boundary straps and the tacky caution construction tape that the gym thinks creates an exciting ambience. He hears the static of the speakers as the announcers call out Gojo’s name, then this other guy, loud bass club music booming through Gojo’s chest as he tries to take a few deep breaths through the thick air of this low-ceiling arena.

The dim overhead lights flickered, casting shadows over the makeshift ring, and the crowd pressed tight around at every perimeter area, yelling and pushing, one even tosses a beer bottle on the square and it shatters, spreading glass all across, a few shards reaching Gojo’s feet and he looks down at them with a shudder. A fight immediately breaks out in the crowd over something related or possibly entirely unrelated, and he’d have no way of knowing as he swipes the shards away with his heel.

The influential men always sat up on higher seating, off towards the back in their own VIP section where they suck in the smoke of fat cigarettes and peer through 100% tinted sunglasses to assess the boxers they’ve bid thousands on. The light reflects off the golden grills of their teeth with every snarl at any passerby that gets too close, like a lion in its den. That’s what the sanction was called. Lion’s den.

Gojo sighed, eyeing the twisted grin of this Gale guy across from him. Was that his real name? Usually, foreign district guys get nicknames. Gojo’s always thought the nicknames were tacky, and he’s accumulated some of his own over the years, but to his ears, none of them ever really landed, although The White Fox admittedly was kinda nice. Reminded him of throwback shooting games.

He sucked a breath in through his teeth, holding his hands up in front of his chest in weak fists, storing energy in them in the form of pure anticipation alone, and then the bell rang.

His opponent lunged towards him immediately, fists flying in a barrage of reckless strikes, and Gojo’s eyes momentarily widened in the briefest moments of hesitation he had been allowed before ducking and dodging every one of this guy's shots, then jumping a step back to create distance.

Fuck. He was fast. Not just boxer fast, athlete fast. There was a difference. And it wasn’t a good one to be up against.

Gojo picked up light on his feet. He couldn’t win this one fast, that much was certain. One single careless or reckless move, and he’ll get tackled. He knows that by the malicious look he sees on that guy’s face, grin wide like he’s some cannibalistic beast.

Stepping back towards the center, Gojo purposefully set himself up for Gale to swipe a vicious hook towards his head, before Gojo last minute ducked down, crouched to the floor, and swung his leg out to knock the guy off balance by his ankles, and he falls onto his back with a loud thud!

There’s a moment of momentary silence from the crowd, right before Gojo put the man in a torso-lock, twisting him in a way a human body should absolutely not be twisted, hearing the grunts of pain and the crack of spine even through the shouts of the crowd.

He can hear it. Kill him! Knock his fucking teeth out! Snap his neck like a goose, man! FIN-ISH HIM! FIN-ISH HIM! FIN-ISH HIM!

He feels like throwing up.

Gojo looks up at the referee, who wasn’t really a referee, just there to run the clock when there was action and only barely stop it before near death. “This is enough, right?” he asks.

The referee nods. “1-0, next round.”

Gojo lets go of his opponent, leaving him there to heave for a moment before he gets up onto his feet again. Just needs one more, and he’s a winner. Ten grand in his pocket, and he won’t have to come back here for a couple weeks.

Gale gets up, swiping at the spit that had trickled out the corner of his mouth down to his chin, and he had an enraged look on his face. The second the bell rang for the second round, he exploded forward towards Gojo with even more fervor than before, gritted expression with a thirst for violence fueling the storm of punches he was throwing towards Gojo but he tried to remain calm, light on his feet, swiftly duck and avoid before he can find another opportunity to clear a sharp, clean jab right to the ribs—

sometimes, i think of when you kissed me

Gojo misses his strike, leaving his guard wide open, and Gale takes the opportunity to land a solid punch straight to his jaw, sending his mouth guard flying straight out of his mouth into the air, and knocking him backwards onto the ground with a thud and then he finds himself staring up at the rusting metal ceiling and a ringing in his ears that almost matches the roar of the crowd.

His head is in a haze, dizzy like where one second could feel like a millennia. He feels a soreness underneath his chin, a pain that radiates to his mouth, and he briefly swipes his tongue over his front teeth to make sure he still has all of them.

What the fuck was that? That intrusive thought. There’s no intrusive thoughts allowed in life or death situations, not when he was always just one smash to the head away from a permanent concussion. But, fuck, he can’t help it. Can’t help thinking of you. Even when his vision has gone blurry and he should really be weary about what happens next in this ring, his mind’s just thinking about you, at some frat party, tipping back shots of tequila and waiting for a text-back in response to your tipsy ones. Were you even waiting up on him? Have you already passed out on the couch, or were your friends dragging you back to your dorm? Or are you fucking some other dude right now? Has he got his hand up your top, squeezing at you, sleazily feeling you up before spilling beer all down your shirt, and are you kissing him back with the same enthusiasm, your phone now somewhere long slipped between the cushions of the couch and out of sight?

Even though it’s still sore, he tenses his jaw. Grinds his teeth, even. Tasting blood somewhere along the line of his gums, he realizes his lip is split. He licks at it, the flavor of copper more rich on his tongue, and he clenches his fists tightly. Why’s he thinking of that right now? It just pisses him off, the thought of you with some other dude. Maybe that’s what he needs to win this fight. Spite. Although he’s not sure why the guy across from him at the ring has to pay for it.

He lifts his head up off the ground, and while it felt like years he had been down, a glance at the timer tells him it’s only been a solid four seconds. A solid four seconds that his opponent had to fully charge a lunge towards him with the look of death in his face, raising his elbow up into the air in time with his leap, ready to come straight down, and Gojo’s eyes widen at the sight above him from where he’s still lying on the wood.

“Shit—” he cusses, rolling his body over to the side so that the dude falls straight down onto the floor rather than elbow Gojo in the fucking ribs, and then he gets back up on his feet.

Stakes were high, he has to end this, he has to end this now, and he flexes the muscle in his right bicep, channeling everything he has into this one blow, and before Gale even really has a chance to turn around and face him again, Gojo’s already three-fourths set up a knockout undercut that he drives straight up the guy’s chin, with so much force it has him lifting up off the floor, a vertebrate stretch to his spine before he’s sent flying backwards and slammed against the tight rubber lining of the ring to where he was half hanging over it.

The room fell silent for a split second, then erupted in a roar as the referee fell to one knee beside Gale, checking him for any semblance of consciousness, and when he found none, he waves the match off.

Gojo’s eyes flit up towards the lion’s den, the only opinions that he really needed to care about were sitting in those mahogany chairs with glasses of scotch swirling around in their hands, and he sees some of them looking straight at Gojo before leaning towards one another and discretely talking about something he can’t make out because he doesn’t know how to read lips.

He feels someone tug at his arms from behind, pulling him to crouch down and he balances back on the balls of his feet. He glances down through the ring at the floor. Danny was leaning against the wooden surface of it. “Dude. Go.” He jerks his head towards Gale, who still laid there sprawled across the now stretched out rubber perimeter bands. “Go fuck him up. Knock a few more teeth out, I don’t know, get some more blood out of him.”

“What?” Gojo huffs, yanking his arm away from Danny’s grip. “The fuck are you saying?”

“I told you, man, Newton’s here and he’s got his eye on you. Go give him a show,” Danny says, “do it.” And when he sees clear frustration on Gojo’s face he sighs. “Twenty-five grand, consider that, will you?”

Gojo sneers at the man, an awful taste in his mouth as he spits blood towards Danny’s feet. “Go fuck yourself on his cock if he wants a show that bad.” And then he ducks underneath the bands and hops back down onto the floor, pushing past people who were trying to grab at him and pull at him and lift him up and even throw him down until he made it through flashing hallways and back to the locker room.

He shuts the door behind him, sliding the bolt lock into the frame so no one can follow him inside, and then he leans his weight back against the chilling steel before tipping his head back until it hits the surface too.

He lets out of a few deep breaths, then stares down at the sting he finds over his knuckles. Red and blistering from the last punch he delivered, and he’s almost certain he broke a bone in his hand. Fuck. It was bleeding across the cuts, too. He had to figure out a way to get it all healed by tomorrow, as if that was humanly possible, just because he doesn’t want Yuuji questioning him about it.

Yuuji. For fucks sake, when has he ever thought about the kid this much? When has he ever thought about much of anything when he’s out here or in the ring? He’s a babysitter by day. He’s a “part” of your family when the sun is up and normal functioning society is breathing their lives into the clean air. That’s it. He’s no five-year-old’s caretaker in front of all these primetime drug lords, and he certainly shouldn’t be thinking of you when facing big, burly men he’s aiming to rough up, all within the dead hours of night. So then how come these thoughts are on his mind at all times, twenty-four-seven, around the clock?

He heads further into the locker room, glancing down at the bench where he’d left his phone, then picks it up, neck craned all the way down to glance at the screen as he holds his phone by his hip because he doesn’t have any energy to pick it up any further towards his eyesight.

He sees your messages. You never sent any follow-up ones, just your horrendously typed out sonetimes, i thikn of when u kisse me *kissed me across the span of four texts, and Gojo runs a tired hand down his face.

He tips his head back to groan at the ceiling, guttural with no basis other than a release of all the pent up frustration of every sort, then he types in a couple messages to you,

3:23am Gojo Satoru: That’s nice 3:24am Gojo Satoru: I think about fucking you all the time

—and then tosses his phone into his duffel bag to call it a night.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

You’re awoken to your alarm blaring heavily, and you whack your arm across your nightstand table beside your tiny twin-size bed to hit the snooze button, then rub your eye with a loose fist while smacking at the residual taste of alcohol you have on your tongue.

“Mm…” you mumble to yourself. And then the thirst hits you. The overwhelming, intense, unquenchable thirst that leaves your mouth feeling like the Sahara desert before you grab your twice-dented Hydroflask from the nightstand, twist the cap off and chug about twenty ounces of water in one breath.

You let out a deep exhale and fall back into bed, your hand resting on top of your water-filled tummy, and you stare up at the ceiling of your dorm.

Last night was horrible. You knew you shouldn’t have gone to that frat party, especially given you have an exam in—you checked the time on your phone—about an hour, and an hour was not enough time to recover from the raging hangover headache that’s pounding through your head. But your roommates insisted you went, and so go you did. You never knew what to expect, always torn between shaving your pussy before you go or throwing on a stained pair of sweatpants to keep the guys away instead. Sometimes, it was a combination of both. But last night, you ended up drinking more than you usually do, and that always led to poor, poor, poor decisions, in which all the sense of pride you had in yourself was washed down with the puke that you hurled into the upstairs toilet.

You grab at your phone again, briefly seeing that your friends had sent you some photos from the night. You immediately swiped off to the side to dismiss the notifications, because as far as you were concerned, you never wanted to see those photos in your life.

And then, in the briefest of moments, you saw a familiar name in your notifications that made you heart skip a beat.

Gojo Satoru (yuuji’s babysitter)

With an immediate gasp, you pulled your phone to your chest and held it there, blinking up at the pale yellow ceiling, your heart picking up in rhythm.

Oh fuck.

That was right.

You drunk texted him last night.

You drunk texted your little brother’s hot babysitter.

Fuck.

Mortified was an understatement, possibly because you don’t even remember what you said, and so you don’t even want to see what he replied with.

You groan, rubbing both your hands across your face then kick your sheets back with your feet like a child having a temper tantrum because you were so embarrassed you had even texted him at all last night. I mean, he was hot. A little older than you, really gorgeous eyes, tall, and, yeah, you gave him shit for the Instagram muscles thing, but that’s only because you thought he’d find it cheeky that you were trying to humble him despite the fact that he’s more toned and ruggedly sculpted than any other man you’ve ever met. You didn’t want to have a flustered schoolgirl attitude because it would just seep through to his ego.

In any case, he was hot, there was no denying it, so can you really blame yourself? But still. There was collateral with this. You had to see him every other weekend. He knows your family, even your extended since they invited him to Thanksgiving dinner a couple weeks ago. A high-risque drunk text recipient if he ever was one (of course he has been, look at that face). Why couldn’t you have just drunk texted ECON160 guy from last semester who Clit DJ’d you underneath your desk at the back of the lecture hall instead?

The thing that made you nervous about Gojo Satoru was that he was just so…confident? Like, in that I was raised to be this way confident and not that I fought inner demons my whole life to barely end up this way confident, y’know? Never had to fake it ‘til he made it, he just was. At least that was the kind of energy you got from him, and unfortunately for you, it was nerve wracking but enticing all at the same time.

You sigh. “Stupid. Stupid. Stuuuuuupiiiiidddddddddddd. You. Are. So. Stuuuuuupiiiiddddddd,” you sigh, running your hands through your hair to grip at the strands.

You pull your phone away from your chest, and finally brave yourself to read the texts from your notifications screen, but not without blurring your vision a little to further stall. And then you finally refocus it to read them. The first one you see has you gasping—

3:24am Gojo Satoru (yuuji’s babysitter): I think about fucking you all the time

It has heat spreading across your cheeks, and you blink at your screen, then quickly swipe up to read the previous messages with rushed glides of your index finger on the screen to see that he had sent it to you in response to your barely coherent texts about how you still so often think about that time he randomly pressed you up against the door of your bedroom to kiss you that night you first met him.

I think about fucking you all the time

At 3 in the morning? He decided to send that text at 3 in the fucking morning? That was the devil’s hour. What’s he trying to tell you?

Oh come on, you’re not stupid. And you know he isn’t either. The sexual tension was palpable, it was there since the day you two met and you almost stabbed him, and also everytime you were visiting the house, and his shoulder brushes against yours when he’s trying to get past you in the kitchen, or when you’ve got Yuuji in your arms and the kid is clinging to Gojo’s sleeve because he wants him near him at all times. There’s even sexual tension over the phone, in those stupid texts he sends you all the time about meaningless child care stuff, and honestly, those little updates made your day.

But… you don’t know much about him, and your mom would kill you if she ever found out you wanted him. And she’d probably pulverize him if she found out he ever made a move on you. Cremated without leaving a trace behind would be an understatement. She thinks he’s no good and she thinks you’re too good. You know she’s warned him before to not get close to you, as if she was pre-emptively expecting him to try to get in your pants like it was some canon force of the universe, hence why he’s probably so fucking awkward around you whenever she’s there too. Like if he accidentally got caught staring at your ankles, your mom would light him on fire, so he’d rather not risk it by just avoiding looking at you at all.

Your mom has always been protective of you. Your father was a deadbeat, one she thought she loved, only to watch him leave. And she had to raise a baby all by herself. He re-entered your lives right before you graduated high school, knocked up your mom again with Yuuji, and guess what? Left again without a trace. To be doubly humiliated by a man is a fate you wouldn’t wish on any woman, but that’s exactly what your mom went through. It was a wake-up call for her, though. No more living paycheck to paycheck like you had been your whole lives up until Yuuji was born. The kid doesn’t even know how lucky he is with everything he has right now. Your mom worked her way up the corporate ladder and made something of herself and now you guys were comfortable, so it was safe to say she had some sort of right to look after her daughter, of whom she simply doesn’t want to follow in the same naive footsteps of her youth.

You get it. She wants to break the generational cycle. But it made being with men tough on all fronts, let alone dating. You could never bring a guy home because he’d never be enough, even if he cured cancer or could make you orgasm while doing a sixty-nine handstand. And while her overbearing paranoia over what you do or where you are or who you’re with has since dimmed slightly since you officially moved out to finish your last year of higher education at NYU, you can still feel her disappointment from a hundred miles away when you’re making out with some random frat guy on his beer-stained couch at eleven AM on a Tuesday.

But you got to college. You’ve already made it this far. You’re on dean’s list. You graduated high school as salutatorian. You’re the most highly decorated cello player in the state. You won Miss County pageant when you were sixteen for your philanthropic efforts towards feline leukemia. You did online community college for three years so you could stick back after high school and help your mom raise Yuuji, which meant that you had to forfeit your scholarship to Cornell. You’ve spent your whole life being good, you just wanna be bad for a little bit.

And if bad meant fucking the hot and mysterious babysitter, then so be it.

You pick your phone up, begin blasting what the hell by Avril Lavigne on your dorm room bluetooth speaker, then type a message to him that says—

10:34am you: do it then

—then shove your phone under the sheets and belt out the lyrics aaaall my life i’ve been good, but now, ahhhh i’m thinkin’ what the hell!!! while kicking your feet and clutching your pillow.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Gojo has no clue what divine entity has overcast their gratuitous spirit over him on this blessed Monday afternoon, but he’ll thank them for it later once his balls are empty.

He’s got you on your back, sprawled across the couch in the living room, the first fuck being a rushed one that you offered him with before he has to go pick Yuuji up from circle time at preschool, which wasn’t ideal, but he’s delirious at the sight of you underneath him right now. Your little NYU shirt, a tighter one this time, bunched up over your bare breasts, otherwise entirely naked other than the flimsy panties dangling at your ankle, and the view of the tip of his cock looking hot and heavy against the velvet of your cunt, slowly pushing in, feeling the warmth of your walls squeeze around him paired with the sweet moan that leaves your lips, makes him fall forward with a bracing hand dug into the cushion by the side of your head because the sensation feels so fucking good he can hardly keep himself upright.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he grunts, pushing himself in further to try and bottom out but he’s still got a couple inches he needs you to take, and so you curl your hips upwards towards the cieling to make more room for him, practically putting yourself into a mating press and soon enough he’s balls deep, “you on any birth control?”

“Uh-huh,” you moan, eyes closed and head tipped back with one hand squeezing your own tit.

“I can cum inside then, yeah?” he asks you, pushing your knees to your chest, slowly drawing his hips back and you squirm underneath him.

“Let’s get there first, and then we’ll discuss,” you breathe out.

“I’ve been there for the past ten minutes, baby. I could cum at any second with the way you look and feel,” he informs you flatly, because it was just the truth and you had to know it, then he feels himself twitch inside, slowly working up to a languid rhythm, almost fearfully like your mom’s going to pop out somewhere around the corner with a camera crew ready like one of those retro TV shows just to humiliate him on national television for not keeping it in his pants like she’d told him to.

“Harder,” he hears you whisper, and he rolls his eyes shut to just focus on the feeling. The feeling of your nails grazing down the skin of his chest and his abs, tracing the scars he’s collected over the years, and he feels you tightening around him. He leans down to kiss you, fucking you properly now with the squeak of the couch springs echoing across the room, your hums of moans seeping through his lips until he’s fully taking them on with an open-mouthed kiss of sloppy tongue.

The fact that it was wrong felt right to him, and he realizes in this moment he’s lost all sense of control. He wasn’t just an adrenaline junkie that liked to rough up dudes, he was an adrenaline junkie that wanted to fuck you against all better judgement or moral compass. The way your tits were bouncing, the slap of skin on skin, his balls slapping against your ass while you wrap your legs around him tighter, all convincing him that any consequence made it worth it.

“Good,” he groans the praise, pinning your hands above your head as he rams his hips against yours, your cute moans and squeals sounding like literal music to his ears and he feels heat spread all the way up his neck, “goooood, keep squeezin’ me like that, fuck.” He slows down momentarily, just to take a moment and watch, really look and see the way his length disappears inside of your pretty self with every push forward, and then he works back up to a relentless pace that has you tipping your head back with a slack jaw and eyes closed tightly shut, sprained expression of pleasure spread across.

“Oh, oh my god, Satoru—” you mewled and he felt dizzy from the sound of his name from your softly parted lips.

“Fuck, I’m gonna—” His hand finds it’s way between your legs, calloused pads of his fingers brushing against your clit and you jolt underneath him, gasping as your hand shoots out to dig your nails into his bicep for purchase. “I’m gonna cum, better tell me where you want it.”

“In me,” you moan, “nowhere else.”

He presses his mouth against your cheek in a lazy smile, “Atta girl,” he drawls before pushing your ankles down as far as they’d go near your ears, folding you in half and then reigns all hell into your cunt. He should really care a bit more about your pleasure, but testing your flexibility like this with both his hands holding you down was doing sinful things to his brain, and besides, you had yourself covered with the messy circles you were rubbing over your clit. It was hot to see that too, your nimble pretty fingers so close to the place where he was pounding into you.

“Oh shit, shit, shit—” he grunts when starts to see blistering white in his vision, balls straining with a pleasure that was almost painful. The moment he finishes feels like hot flashes in his brain, a heat like the cum he begins to paint inside your walls in time with your release, thrusting over and over and over, each one more staggered as he lets off a long, drawn out groan that comes from deep within his chest with the feeling of you milking him dry and the sound of you enjoying every second of it. He can’t remember the last time he came this much or this hard and even after coming down from the high, he feels the remnant pulse of your orgasm around his now half-flaccid dick.

He leisurely pulls out, hearing you let out a soft whimper as he marvels at the sight of his cum slowly dripping out of you and down towards the couch, before he scoops it up with a couple fingers and pushes it back inside. You grip his wrist tightly, but you weren’t stopping it, that motion of him plunging it all back into you.

“Want a taste?” he asks, casually.

“Mhm,” you nod, face looking flush.

He pulls his fingers out of you, coated with sex, then plugs your pussy with the fingers of his other hand because he kinda likes the idea of you walking around all day with him inside of you, so he doesn’t want it getting out. He’s then pushing his other fingers past your lips, pleased to find he’s met with not even so much as a grazing of teeth, and he grins, “bet you take a dick in your mouth as good as you take it down here.”

Your furrow your brows at him, the pout of your lips seen in the way they were puckered to lick his fingers off clean, and when you release the suction with a smack of your tongue and his fingers were wet from your saliva now, his eyes narrow with desire. You push his face away with the heel of your palm to his forehead. “Flattery won’t make me suck your dick.”

“Alright. So? How is it?” he jerks his chin towards your face, pushing against your hand with his forehead until he’s hovering over you again, “taste good?”

“It’s cum, Satoru.”

He shrugs. “Bad?”

“No,” you say, and you can’t make eye contact, “good.” You sigh. “Hot. I don’t know. Salty, sweet. I’m the sweet. You’re the salty. And this conversation is obscene.”

He kisses you, capturing your lips softly, tongue darting out to taste what’s on yours. “I like it that way. Dirty. Nasty. Obscene, whatever.”

There’s the slam of a car door heard from the driveway, and the two of you instantly make eye contact with round eyes.

“Sa—” you stutter, “Satoru.”

He gets up off the couch in a panic, and heads to the window of the living room fully butt-ass naked, then peers through the blinds to see—

Your mom was making it up towards the front door, rustling with her keys in her purse. And the last thing he sees before he turns around to face you is her pushing the keys through the lock.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit,” he cusses, finding his boxers off of the floor, hopping on one foot with his cum & slick coated dick flapping around and slapping against his thighs unceremoniously as he tries to get one leg in through them and then the other. You’re trembling as you hook your panties back into place, pull your shirt back down your torso, and even in his extremely panicked state, he’s still sad he can’t freely stare at your tits anymore. You’re rummaging for your skirt in a haste, looking everywhere for it, and he finds it underneath the coffee table before tossing it to you and then he side-to-side hops towards the coat closet while he pulls his sweatpants up over his ass, in time for you to quickly run and shut the door of the closet closed just before the front door of the house swings open.

The inside of the coat closet is dark, barely enough space in there for a six-foot-four two-hundred-and-twenty pound man, but it’s better than being balls deep inside his boss’s daughter on the couch when said boss just came home from work.

He hears conversation on the other side of the door, albeit muffled, and he presses his ear to it to hear better while he tucks his dick into his boxers from where it was hanging over the waistline.

“Mom! You…you’re home so early,” he hears you squeak out.

“Yes,” your mom says, “The rest of my meetings today are online, so I figured I’d come home when there’s less traffic.”

Gojo feels you lean against the coat closet door.

“I see, I see, how was your day at work?” you ask with a tremble in your voice.

“Fine.” And then nothing. The silence could mean that was all she had to say, since your mom wasn’t really a woman of many words, or it could be a silence that means she’s suspicious about something. “Darling, why is your skirt flipped up and tucked into your panties? Your whole butt is showing.”

Through the wood of the door, he hears you softly gasp. “Oh, um, I just went to pee. Must’ve—…must’ve got caught when I pulled it back up.”

“I see,” your mother says, and Gojo can hear her dropping her heels down near the shoe rack at the entrance. “You know, I really don’t like those short skirts you wear often. Maybe it’s just your generation, but I think it looks tacky and cheap.”

“Mom,” you say, in as stern of a voice as you can manage without sounding embarrassed.

Your mother sighs. “In any case, where is Satoru? I still would like him to go pick up Yuuji. I don’t have the patience to sit in preschool & daycare traffic right now.”

“Oh gosh, I don’t know,” you chirp, and then he hears you let out a small oh no before you lean even more weight against the door, this time somewhere lower, and he realizes you’re pressing your ass against it. His eyes narrow with a small frown, and then he realizes— his cum must still be trickling down your thighs. You couldn’t put your panties on fast enough.

Shit. That’s hot. A little fucked up, but hot. He feels his dick harden against the fabric of his boxers, and he rests his forehead against the door, fringe stuck to his forehead with sweat as he slips his hands down his sweatpants and then gives his cock a firm squeeze. The thought of you discretely swiping his cum up your inner thigh and smearing it against your thin panties so your mom doesn’t catch sight of it dripping down your legs has him slowly working up to a rock-solid erection, and he almost lets out a broken grunt from the feeling.

“What?” your mother says, “what do you mean you don’t know?”

“I’ve just been watching TV this whole time,” you say, “last time I saw him…he was…um, in the backyard pulling weeds?”

He lets out a small scoff through his nose at your cover-up. Cute. And not bad.

Your mother sighs loudly, and he glances down at the strained veins on his dick as he tugs it through his hand, the tip rearing and appearing flushed and dripping with precum. God, you were just on the other side of this door. Less than a few inches away, and he’d be inside of you.

“I’m going to take a shower. Go find him and tell him to pick up Yuuji soon. But before then, change into something less revealing,” your mother says in a more or less detached tone, and he can hear the stomps of her footsteps up the stairs from above him in the coat closet.

The two of you wait at least a solid minute, and just when the coast is clear, he hears you turn the knob of the coat closet and slowly crack it open.

“Okay, I think she’s in the shower, I hear the water running,” you whisper at him, “you can go now—” You glance down towards his groin, your jaw dropping. “What—…Satoru, why the fuck is your dick staring at me right now?!” you whisper-hiss at him.

He pulls you into the coat closet, pushing your front against the door to where it clicks shut, and you gasp when his hands pin your wrists crossed behind your back and his dick presses into the plush of your ass.

“You talkin’ to your mom while your pussy’s stuffed full of my cum was the single hottest thing that’s ever grazed my lizard brain,” he tells you, flipping your skirt up and hooking your panties to the side, his index finger briefly brushing against your entrance to find it still leaking from the way your walls were pulsating from his words. And then he aligns his tip to your entrance. “Now keep quiet while I do this, ‘kay?”

“Oh—” you gasp, your cheek pressed against the door as you arch your back and push your ass out for him, “okay—” you say, barely vocalizing the first syllable before he’s already stuffing himself inside of you with one solid glide of a push, making you yelp loudly and he has to instantly cup a hand over your mouth.

“Shhhhhh,” he hisses at you, immediately starting to pound you from behind, “told you to— fuuuck,” he catches sight of his length covered with a mix of your glassy arousal and his white cum, now starting to cream at the base of his cock, “jesus christ—” he breathes out, squeezing the flesh of your ass harshly with his other hand and you let out another yelp, “I told you to fuckin’ keep quiet.”

“I’m—mff,” you muffle against his palm, “I’m trying but,” your hips move back in time with his, “feels good, feels too good,” you mewl, and his hand desperately yanks up the fabric of your shirt so he can squeeze at your breast.

“Yeah?” he grunts, hypocritical for telling you to keep it down when he was slamming his hips against your ass with so much fervor he wouldn’t be surprised if the sound was reverberating across the entire house, “you like it when I fuck you while your mom’s all clueless just up the stairs?” His rhythm falters, feeling his release building, and his hand reaches in front of you to rub your clit, making you drop your head against the door with tightly closed eyes. “Gets— you—wet, doesn’t it?” he torments you, his lips near your ear as he slams his hips against you harshly with every enunciated syllable.

“Mhm, mhm,” you easily agree, or maybe that’s because it’s all you can really articulate, and he angles his hips up so his balls slap more fervently against your clit, making you scream into his palm while he picks up the pace of the circles he draws on your clit and in one, two, three— beats of his pounding heart, he feels you come undone around his cock, gushing wetness leaking out of you, he can feel the mess of fluids splattering on the skin of his thighs due to each of his heaving thrusts as he cusses out a fuuuuuuckkk before spilling his cum inside of you, a short-lived and thicker release this time that has you mewling from overstimulation, and in a few following thrusts, he’s given you everything he had to give.

His eyes open, he wasn’t even aware he had shut them in the first place, and he glances down at where the two of you were joined. Rings of arousal coat the length of his half-pulled-out dick, and the second he retreats all of it, a bulging push of his cum seeps out of you, dripping and pooling all over the hardwood floors.

“Holy shit, I wish I could take a picture of this,” he says, taking a step away to commit the sight to memory, your legs trembling and still slightly spread, ass pushed out and when you wiggle it a little, he lets out a huff of an exhale because he just can’t believe how sexy you are. Are all college girls like this? He’s never been to college, his old man’s been trying to get him to go for years, but maybe this is what finally convinces him.

“No pics,” you breathe out once you catch your breath, standing up straight slowly, “that’s my one sex rule.”

He takes a step closer to you, flipping your skirt back over your ass while you shimmy your shirt down to cover your chest. “That’s the only rule you have? Anything else goes?” he asks.

You spin around to face him, his eyes briefly flitting down to the still exposed skin of your midriff. “I have a feeling I’d be making up more specific rules if it was with you.”

He smiles, his hands grabbing your hips before pressing you up against the door again. “I also had a rule. It was to not fuck you. Wait, no, to not flirt with you. Which, technically, I didn’t do.”

You blink your eyes at him. “You’re kidding, right?”

“What?” he asks, genuinely confused, “I didn’t.”

“Huh—” you scoff, “how do you think we got into this situation in the first place?? You didn’t just say wanna fuck? You were insufferably flirty with me.”

“Nahhh nah nah nah nah, baby, that’s not flirting,” he tells you, thumb running circles over your hips, “that’s, like—…I don’t even fuckin’ know how it worked on you to be honest, I was just being stupid.”

“Oh okay so I’m stupid.”

“I never said you were stupid?”

“Well you said you were being stupid so me falling for it must mean I’m stupid.”

“Pshhh. You’re cute. Pulling weeds, by the way? Adorable.”

Your hand slowly roams up the front of his shirt, the fabric bunching at your wrists until you uncovered up to his collar bone, and you stare at his skin. He tries to not let the way his heart’s beating faster show through the heave of his chest.

“Why do you have all these scars, anyway?” you whisper to him.

“Too many girls tryna stab me,” he tells you.

You roll your eyes. “Seriously.” Your thumb traces the one you had left on him.

“I—” He stops himself.

Does he tell you? Should he tell you? What, just because he’s seen you naked and you took his dick like a queen he’s supposed to open up to you about these things now? He doesn’t know. Maybe he could? Maybe you already suspect what he does at night. And if not, at the very least, I’m an underground boxer might make you think he’s hot? At the very worst, you’ll report him to the cops and he’d get fired as your little brother’s babysitter then thrown into jail, but not before the busted cartel gets him first.

“Maybe I’ll tell you some other time,” he says, his hand wrapping around your wrist and pulling it from his chest, “no hyper personal details until you’ve had my dick in your mouth at least once or twice. That’s my one rule.”

You snort. “I could’ve guessed that rule from a mile away.”

He hums. And then there’s the sound of steps creaking down the stairs above the two of you.

You both make eye contact, eyes widening, internally yelling at each other: how the fuck did we get into this situation twice?!

This time, Gojo opens the door and stumbles out of the closet, leaving you inside of it, just in time for your mom to come down the stairs.

“Satoru. I was looking for you,” she says as she rounds the post. “Have you picked up Yuuji? He has to go for his swimming lessons soon.”

“Ah, nope, was just about to head out,” he says, letting out a cough to diffuse tension, “sorry, I was—” he points his thumb over his shoulder to behind him, “…pulling out some gnarly weeds.”

She narrows her eyes at him. “I see. Well, thanks. If you want, I can add a gardening stipend to your paycheck. Let me know.” And he’s not sure how to respond because he’s not sure if she’s joking.

He heads out the door, the keys to your mom’s minivan in his palm as he throws them up into the air and catches them a couple times. And just before he gets inside the car, he turns on his heel to face the house and pulls his phone out of his pocket to type in a message for you.

3:22pm Gojo Satoru: Send over those me-specific sex rules soon

[the end]

a/n. hope u enjoyed im shitting bricks posting this bc i haven't posted a oneshot smut since february but thanks so much for reading i appreciate u!! i got way too invested in the whole underground boxer thing 😂😂 but the fact i managed to keep everything under 12k is an accomplishment to me bc if u read my other fics you know i’m a yapper LOL i have another kind of a similarly written smut oneshot n it’s a lil angsty (totally different au tho) i’ll probs post that one next but yea i really like, hmm, i really like exploring entire characters within a short amount of time i enjoy writing the obscure lore drops xd it’s been kinda fun so far anywho much loveee hope to see u around! <3

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screampied · 5 months

Text

‘ I JUST WANNA HEAR YOU (S)CREAMMM ! ’

ᡴꪫ sum. what’s your favorite scary movie? is it carrie? psycho? or maybe nightmare on elm street? perhaps picking up the phone was a bad idea, but you don’t scare easily! or do you?

wc. 6.0k

warnings. fem! reader, ghostface geto & ghostface nanami, college au, threesōmes, unprotected, brief phone sēx, roleplay, dirty talk, praise, overstim, implied multiple ōrgasms, spit, manhandling, brēeding, hair pulling, oral (f & m receiving), cowgirl dp.

an. from this ask!

“hello.”

“hello?”

“what’s your favorite scary movie?”

you deadpan, almost as if you’ve seen this movie before. it was around close to midnight. you were the only one sober at some random frat party you got dragged to. everyone besides you were probably wasted or shoving tongues into mouths. sitting up on a cushioned bed, you hold the landline up to your ear. “mean girls two. bye.”

“….girl what? that’s not a—”

you hang up, averting your eyes back towards the tv screen that displayed some cheesy soap opera. about precisely thirteen seconds pass before the landline screeches a loud deafening ring again.

sighing, you answer it. “stop calling this number. prank calls aren’t funny.”

“no.” the voice replies, and it’s very deep—you swear you’ve heard something like it before. a best way to describe it was that it had a gruff pitch to it, baritone running all underneath it. his voice was also a bit sly too. “i just wanna talk to you.”

“bother some other girl. bye.”

“don’t hang up on me.”

for whatever reason, you don’t hang up. his voice sounded a bit stern—you sit up before growing quiet. you’re fully alert now.

“good girl. now, i’ll ask again. what’s your favorite scary movie?”

pressing your back against the comforter, your thighs squeeze together. with another vexed sigh, you say the most random movie that comes immediately to mind. “halloween.”

“pft. basic.”

“wha— you’re the one who asked.”

“oh, doll i’m just joking. but anyway, you like slasher movies, yeah?”

for whatever reason, the more you talked to this total stranger, you start to feel a sudden uncanny stir delve around your stomach. you weren’t scared, yet at least, but it was oddly peculiar. his voice sounds a bit familiar the more you listen to it. with how teasing the caller on the other line appeared, it was strangely intriguing. you kind of didn’t wanna hang up anymore, besides this party you were at was quite … not the best.

“not really. i am a jamie lee curtis fan though, i only watched because i make fun of the deaths.” you mumble.

“hmmm,” the voice hums through the other end. it’s as if he’s pondering what his next choice of words will be to you. “so…you got a boyfriend?”

you were taken aback by how abrupt the change of subject was. the man on the other end laughs at your awkward silence before you finally speak.

“no, and it’s not like it’s any of your business.”

“easy, girl. i’m just curious. besides, what if i wanna ask ya out?”

you grow quiet again before rubbing your neck, you were growing a bit hot.

“whatever. no, i don’t have a … boyfriend.”

“ooh. you hesitated there.”

you grumble. “shut up. i’m hanging up.”

the man immediately replies with a chortle.

“wait, wait. heh, serious though. you never told me your name, doll face.”

with an eye roll, you utter, “why do you wanna know my name?”

“because i wanna know who i’m looking at.”

“what?”

each word he spoke breaks through the phone due the deep mess of his voice. a few rough sparks from his dialogue punctures through the soundbox of the device. again, he did sound oddly familiar. you just couldn’t put your foot on it.

the man chuckles before responding in a more sly tone—changing the subject again.

“you know doll, you sound kind of out of breath. call me crazy, but before i called you, were you playing with yourself?”

your legs suddenly squeeze shut, you were wearing one of your borrowed hoodies and shorts underneath. any sane person would have hung up eons ago, but for whatever reason—you felt your heartbeat start to race. the more you listened to the deep voice on the other end, the more you started to grow more curious. what’s wrong with playing around for a little bit? besides, what’s the worst thing that could happen—you dying?

you scoff, thinking this was nothing more than a dumb prank call—you decided that playing along wouldn’t hurt. you had nothing else to do anyway.

“so what if i was playing with myself?”

“i bet you didn’t even make yourself finish, doll.”

his voice, the more it spoke in that rough pitched tone—you couldn’t help but press the landline up to your ear just a bit further. you furrow your curled up brows, lowering your guard a bit. probably foolish, maybe you’d regret this later, but alas, reality wasn’t on your mind at the moment.

“are you saying you can make me finish?” you mutter, growing amused now.

“oh i know i can. i can make you get off from just from my voice alone.”

he was toying with you, but it was too late to back down. you intake a honed breath before humming.

“okay, prove it then.”

he chuckles.

“mhm. take those panties off first. actually no, slide them to the side for me.”

you really felt like you were in a movie, shamelessly at this random guy’s beck and call. as the show played in the background, you press the middle part of your thumb against the volume button to turn it down four notches. the room was practically silent now, the only noises heard were from the blaring beat drops of edm music downstairs. sprawling your legs out, you creep a shaking hand between your thighs.

the voice grows quiet, you finally move your panties toward the side before slouching back against the pillow.

“you must be really bored. talking to a random girl at the m-midnight.” you exhale.

“heh, m-maybe,” he mocks your falter. “but i’m sure you’ll keep me entertained with that cute voice of yours.”

he was so smooth. smooth as if he was prepared for every word that flew out of your mouth. as your fingers glide against your now exposed entrance, you let off a shaky breath.

he was right, out of boredom you tried to play with yourself— yet, that didn’t work out because you could never make yourself finish. your attempt was basically useless. with a frowning pout, you reply. “now what?”

“finger yourself, silly. and i wanna hear, put the phone up against that pussy for me, doll.”

he was filthy.

you felt yourself start to throb before removing the landline from against your ear and placing it right against your doused entrance.

with heavy jagged breaths becoming more irregular, the person on the other line hears the wet sloshes of your cunt up against the phone. again, he grows quiet—it’s almost like you can make out his deep attractive breaths and it makes you pulse even more.

“bet you’re so nice ‘n soaked. sounds so sloppy.”

gnawing on the softness of your bottom lip, your thumb briefly skims past the nub of your clit and you whine. you were already a bit sensitive from before, starting to stroke your fingers against it. bringing the phone back up to your ear, you ease a single finger inside. it feels warm—you were slick, coating your own finger with a nice amount of your obscene arousal. it doesn’t take long for you to start to pant, slithering another finger inside of your cunt before moaning. it fits nicely, nice and snug.

“you sound so pretty. i want you to imagine those are my fingers, pretty girl. can ya do that?”

“y-yeah,” you start to stammer, feeling a sudden spongey texture inside of you—you gasp, not expecting to reach your sweetened g-spot so soon. it was a mere bumpy texture, gloopy gummy walls involuntarily accepting your two slender fingers with an open gesture. “fuck, ‘m still a bit sensitive.”

he guffaws lowly.

“yeah, i bet you are. poor baby can’t even make herself cum.”

you swallow, the playfulness in his voice making your thighs start to tremble a bit. with relaxed fingers stretching throughout your walls, you focus on your breathing. each pant that came out of your hot breaths seemed like it was gonna be your last. after a while, your toes start to curl up in pure pleasure—you moan, feeling a sudden rush of weightlessness nirvana overtake you.

“find your g-spot for me. tell me when you do.”

“i- i already found it,” you whine, a sheaf of nerves that store inside of your pussy pulsating at a rapid speed. your head throws itself back as you’re just moaning melodically. “fuck, why don’t you just come over ‘n finish for me already.”

the voice laughs again.

“yeah? you want me to come over instead? maybe i should use my tongue since your fingers are so useless, dollface.”

at this point, you didn’t really care. maybe making simple rational decisions today just wasn’t in your favor. the eerie voice, each second you spent listening to it the more aroused you became. maybe getting off to a pure stranger’s voice was embarrassing but you were feening. the air felt suddenly thick. so thick you could cut it with a knife. with your bottom lip being chewed on like gum, you briskly shiver. cold, wintry air wafts against your skin and you moan for the nth time. an unforeseen chill runs down your spine before you hold back yet another whine.

“f-fuck, just come ‘n finish for me. i can’t do it. please.”

he grows quiet for a solid good four seconds before replying in a cheeky tone.

“okay. turn around.”

your panting stops and instantly, you turn your head the other way—of course, no one was there. figures, the only things your eyes were met with was the wooden headboard. with a disappointed grimace, pulling your occupied fingers out of your cunt, you turn back around. as you’re about to speak into the phone again, you open your mouth before pausing.

there, you’re met face first with what appears to be some guy in an infamous ghostface costume. he was tall, staggering inches on him before you don’t see one but two. they both had the same getup, ghoulish ghost mask, a long black robe, and the same spectral, tilting head-stance.

one of them takes off a mask and it’s suguru geto, your roommate.

your eyes concisely widen. once he yanks off the mask, his silky well-kept black strands fly loose. no wonder the voice sounded a tad bit familiar. the other removes his mask and it was nanami, two of them—now you really felt like you were in a movie. “you always did say how much you liked scream,” and then you glance at nanami who had a sheepish expression. “don’t be shy now, someone’s gotta help ya finish.”

“o-oh,” you remember, sitting up against the bed. now you were embarrassed. just a few seconds ago, you were getting off to your roommate’s voice. suddenly, you felt even more hot. you did end up talking their ear off about your adoration for the beloved franchise, ranting about your cute little ghostface obsession.

truth be told though, you didn’t know they’d make it a sheer reality for you. the two of them get on the bed towards you before nanami brings a gloved hand to your chin. he strokes your chin softly, and geto moves underneath.

“sorry princess,” he whispers. “suguru wanted to scare you but i told him we should just show ourselves,” and as he’s speaking, you get lost in his soft, honeydew eyes. such gentle compared to geto who was a bit more—crazed. “he didn’t scare you too bad, did he?”

you moan once you feel geto run a thumb against your already exposed cunt. with a firm head shake, you huff. “no, n-not really.”

“aw what. i thought i was pretty scary,” and you whimper out once he blows against your folds. for a concise moment, geto stares up at you—dark eyes keeping a strong gaze on you. “tell us what you want, pretty girl. you want us to help you finish?”

you nod, feeling geto spread your legs apart further.

nanami, with a gloved hand purses your lips together, forming them into a tight squeeze before humming. “words, princess. use them, okay?”

the more you feel geto’s breath fan against your clit, teasing you—you were about to go feral. you stare up at nanami before letting off a sweet whine. “i- i want you both to help me finish,” you stutter out, stumbling over your pathetic words like you’d stumble with an untied shoe. “make me cum, please kento.”

he leans in to kiss your forehead and you hear geto scoff underneath. “i’m the one between your legs but whatever,” and you feel his soft lips kiss against your pussy. “kento, keep her distracted for me, will ya?”

“you’re so pretty,” he mutters, lightly lifting up your chin. as he wore black gloves—the fabric gently brushes against your lip, popping a thumb into your mouth. he doesn’t expect for you to happily take it in his mouth, sucking on it. “oh,” he breathes, a bit speechless. you stare into nanami’s eyes, swirling your tongue around his thumb in such an erotic way. lowly hooded eyes stare at him the entire time, you moan once you feel the flatness of geto’s tongue run against your sweet clitoral hood. his tongue—the texture of it was so cold, the moment he digs in he makes you know the pure definition of sloppy. all with his tongue, he slowly flicks it against your nub before delving his tongue deeper between your soddened folds. nanami pulls your chin to face him again before softly purring, “don’t look at him, look at me pretty girl.”

as your eyes focus back towards nanami, you could already feel your legs quavering. you felt hot, the lewd way geto drags his tongue against your pussy makes you gasp out three strained second puffs of air.

“k-kento,” you moan, pawing your hands at the low part of his robe. he watches, lowering his head at you before you reach there. nanami’s bulge, he has an abashed expression as he realizes what you were fondling at. “take it off.”

“ah, ask nicely,” he coos. your lips were now glossed with your own spit he smears against you as he pulls his gloved thumb out of your mouth. even though nanami was more tame than geto, his voice had a bit more dominance in it. he grabs your chin gently, cocking his head toward the side. “tell me what you want ‘n i’ll give it to you.”

your legs felt like they were standing on its last few hinges—geto’s tongue runs down your slit, taking a moment to depart his lips and spit on it, only to then lap it up again. a few annoyed grunts escape out of him partially due to his long strands of hair getting in the way. “so sweet,” he mutters, you whimper once he prods two fingers against your outer entrance. every few seconds he’d kiss near your thighs, leaving a few bite bite marks before focusing back towards your folds. “mhm.”

barely even able to keep focus, you gaze back up at nanami who’s standing near the edge of the bed—you’re laid back against the pillows with geto between your thighs. finally, a sweet mewl of words leave your glazed lips. “i- i wanna taste, ‘ken. wanna suck you off,” and he gives you a playful eyebrow raise, prying his pink lips open a few inches apart before you correct yourself. “pretty please.”

“better,” he murmurs, a hand of his reaching towards your head to give it a good pat. “good girl. go ahead, lift it up ‘n enjoy the meal.”

with a soft slackened sigh, you lift up the obsidian black robe. you’re met with ripped jeans, for some reason you just figured he’d already be sprung out for you. as geto’s still lapping up every drop of your taste, you unzip his fly before yanking down his pants. you were so impatient— and with geto’s demented pace, you were getting close. he chuckles, watching you struggle with the zipper for a bit before finally reaching near his boxers. they were a cerulean blueish color, his bulge was just appetizing. the entire shape of it, you felt yourself starting to drool the longer your eyes made direct contact against it. so rounded and full. with clammy hands, you tug them down before his thick cock springs out.

“it’s okay,” he whispers with a nod, watching you glance up him—a silent gesture as a way of asking if you could go further. nanami brings a hand towards the crown of your head, gingerly massaging his fingers through the crevices of your scalp. “you can be a little messy for me.”

a wretched whine that was raw rips from your throat once you feel geto’s tongue latch against your cunt. by now, he was sucking against your folds. the squelches were so sloppy, a hand of yours grab onto his hair for leverage and he shoots you a sly smile.

“don’t be shy girl, yank on it.”

dark pooled irises linger into yours for a long time before you get a good grip of geto’s hair, dragging him closer towards your entrance. over and over and over.

he giggles, hot breath ghosting against your folds and you throb even more. with dilated irises staring back towards nanami, you wrap your free hand around his length—he was so thick, such full balls that you just wanted to run your tongue all across it. he had a few veins skim down his beige, weighty cock. you could make out a few drops of lustrous pre-cum that decorates near his very tip. “u-ugh,” he shakes, the warmth that your tongue provides has him smothering his lips together. nanami watches, you’re slow but deadly.

pursing your lips together, you gradually start to sink him into your mouth.

geto’s still between your thighs, shoving two fingers in and out of you now—he surrounds your clit with his mouth, the suction he creates with just his lips was brutal. you’re moaning, even whilst your noises were pretty much muffled due to nanami’s fat cock. “easy,” he whispers, tapping a thumb against your cheek. “no teeth, okay? you’re doing s-so good.”

nanami groans, goading the same thumb against your cheek before you inch yourself further and further down. he has a shy smile at the way your hair forms in musses due to his tight grip. within no time, your throat’s already stuffed and few droplets of your own saliva trickles down the sides of your mouth. geto’s still making sure to thrust his gloved digits in and out of your soaked cunt and you don’t know which roommate to focus on.

“m-mphm,” was all you could manage out, your legs in a swift spread-eagle position. as you’re outstretched, you feel yourself about to cum. you’d recognize that feeling anywhere—the feeling when a swelling pool of heat residing inside your stomach tickles throughout your entire abdomen. that same feeling of nirvana courses through your veins as you’re now leisurely bobbing your head. every time you pull on geto’s long hair, he grunts—spanking your clit in response and that only causes you to whine for more. nanami strokes your face as he starts to feel his dick prod against the roof of your mouth. for a split second as you’re breathing through each nostril—you gag, long lashes fluttering in sync together.

your legs couldn’t hold still, geto’s continuously pushing you towards your limit before you whimper out. your tongue lathers over the splotches of pre-cum that paints nanami’s tip a pretty shade of snowy white.

he just couldn’t keep his eyes off of you, especially not with a face like that.

low eyes, sheepish smile, furrowed eyebrows. you’re convulsing profusely all in geto’s mouth, the sides of your thighs occasionally hitting against his face and he titters. “such a sloppy m-mouth,” nanami inhales deeply, and he starts to gently drag your head against his cock. he’s got your mouth filled with so many inches—your cheeks were all puffed up from his immense length, sheeny slobber emanating all down the sides of your mouth before he pants. “gonna make such a mess ‘n your mouth, princess. ‘s that what you want?”

you nod, feeling the vein that runs down his girthy cock twitch in your mouth. you moan, he’s feeling weightless—you’ve got his knees trembling, a hand’s still attached to your head like velcro before gyrating your tongue all over the crownhead of his shaft. “such a pretty face,” he gruffs lowly, swiftly pulling your hair side to side to take every inch. “s-shame i gotta ruin it a little.”

even nanami’s dirty talk was tame— it was cute to witness, the way his blond brows would tug into a furrow. he’s so pent up, and out of nowhere—you feel a sudden rush erupt within your cunt. before you could even react, you end up cumming hard. it shoots out of you like a rough wave, it’s such pure bliss that it takes you a few seconds to realize. geto’s making out with your pussy, slowly sliding his two protected fingers in and out of your sopping wet entrance and you shudder. “what a fuckin’ mess,” he hums, taking sight at how saturated you were. as geto laps his tongue against your folds once more, he stares back up at you and nanami. “aw. look at you two,” and he leans down to kiss your forehead. “slobbin’ everywhere, messy girl you are.”

your eyes go back up towards nanami, he’s sweating.

he felt as if the fabric of his robe stuck against his skin. while he’s holding it up with one hand, you sneak a stare at his abs, perfect washboard abs that looked quintessentially sculpted against his body. “g-gonna cum,” and he stares at geto, growing a bit flustered once all attention’s on him. “suguru, don’t just stand there. p…praise her.”

geto scoffs, kneeling beside you on the bed before moving a few strands from your face. “so bossy,” he grits before giving you your second head pat. he leans up close to your ear, grabbing the voice changer again and brings it up to his lips. “c’mon, doll. make ‘ken cum, yeah. doin’ so good for us. you’re gonna make him whine for you, heh.”

nanami’s legs felt like mush, he throws his head back, his long black robe syncing with his movements before he’s gently pulling your head against his thick cock. he shudders, welts of twinges close in on the undersides of his thighs before he finally finishes. it builds up gradually before you find him pouring into your mouth with a nice amount of parching hot cum. it’s hot, a good mass of satiny ropes coat the flat middle part of your tongue and you moan. “f-fuuuck,” he heaves through heavy lungs, it’s still trickling, you savor the taste. it’s bitterly sweet. he pulls out of your mouth before letting off a tremulous sigh. “good girl, f-fuck.”

“aw. don’t hog her, give me attention too,” geto sneers, softly grabbing you by the neck, making you face him. with his right hand, he squeezes your lips together with a rigid grip. “ah, don’t swallow yet. c’mere.”

with half-lidded eyes, you do—leaning into his touch before geto plants his warm lips onto yours. you’re caught by surprise for the umpteenth time today, prying your mouth open for him and he lolls his tongue down your throat. you let off a whine, feeling his gloved hands rub against every inch of your body. immediately, he tastes the candied flavor of nanami’s cum and it makes him groan. he didn’t even bat an eye—you return the kiss, feeling geto’s hand slither further down towards your ass. he caresses it, giving it a mean spank to make you moan out in ecstasy.

after a while, he pulls away, humming at nanami. “ken ken, don’t be so shy. you want a taste too?”

“yeah,” he mutters, needy eyes staring at your lips that were lubricated with your own sheeny spit. “can i?”

you nod, and he’s so gentle with you. a hand nimbly wraps around your throat before he brings you into a deeper kiss. geto’s still for his hands on you, strumming his fingers near your pulled to the side panties. you let off a soft pant, feeling the spiral of nanami’s tongue go against yours. he tastes sweet — savory even, his flavor was purely mouthwatering. a thumb drags down the passageway of your throat before he pulls away. it’s slow, a polished concoction of saliva departs from each mouth and you whimper. you were throbbing, desperate for more and they both knew that. if this— whatever this was was some sort of movie, you never wanted it to end. you never wanted the credits to roll because you felt like you were floating on cloud nine.

with the two of them, you were stretched in every way possible. if you could compare who was bigger, actually you couldn’t. throughout multiple positions, you felt as if you were gonna snap in half. they had you so stupid. pink tongue rolled out, full lungs of oxygen departing out such hot breaths of air, you were the definition of stupid.

cockdrunk at its finest. each orgasm that got ruthlessly snatched out of you had your head spinning, heart racing entirely.

you felt like something was creeping up behind your shoulder, chills. whenever you’d coax out yet another teeth-shattering orgasm, all you felt was stone cold chills. time after time, it felt like pure bliss—you thought you were in a whole new world, barely even able to move your thighs an inch. being sandwiched between the two of them, perhaps you were a little greedy but you just couldn’t get enough. geto’s degrading you whilst nanami’s whispering sweet pleasures into your ear, you’ve never felt more soaked.

you didn’t wanna stop—

currently, you’re straddling nanami. he’s got two rough hands gripping your waist, intaking every inch of your pretty physique. his stare sends you butterflies, his shaft was underneath you and only then pulls out. with a cute, “phew,” he swipes a sheet of sweat that expands across his forehead. you rode him so good that he couldn’t even figure out what to say. he was so flustered, tips of his ears a reddish hot before he watches geto creep behind you. “think she wants more, suguru.”

“bet she does,” he whispers, bringing a few sweet kisses near the inner corners of your neck.

you’re promptly sat up straight. the brief sounds of booming speakers roar from downstairs as you wrap your arms around nanami. geto licks near your collarbone before purring seductively. “say, doll. how ‘bout you try to take us both? would ya like that?” and with a gloved hand he gives your ass a squeeze. “wanna be the final girl ‘n prove your worth? our final girl?”

without an inkling of hesitation—you nod, mewling out a sweet, “yes, yes jus’ hurry up, sugu. ‘m still c…close.”

“so wet, so impatient,” he whispers once more, and with two hands he makes you sit up from nanami. you gulp—swallowing whatever sanity you had left, preparing to be quite literally double stuffed with your roommates. you aren’t so sure why, but the fact that they both still had on their ghoulish costumes made you pulsate a bit more. geto’s helping you slide back down onto nanami’s length before slowly making his way into you also. “god, you’re so hot in here. gonna fuckin’ swallow me whole.”

you moan, everything goes so slow—your cunt was a ticking time bomb. you clamp down on each before slumping into nanami’s chest. you’re met with kind eyes, he strokes your forehead before kissing the bridge of your nose, panting in a hushed voice. “eyes on me, princess. just relax.”

you wriggle a bit at the positioning—being on nanami’s lap, geto directly behind you, you’re quite literally being filled in every orifice by thick inches of cock. nanami’s words were soothing, filling up your tummy with a pool of fluttering butterflies. you keep your eyes on him, clenching down on geto a bit before you hear him hiss in response. “ugh. doll open up for me a little m-more, yeah.”

his voice was deepened heavily—you let off a cute gasp once they’re both finally in and a few shaky breaths exit past your lips. “hold my hand, i got you,” nanami coos, and that’s when geto starts to rock. he had more control between the two of you, the grip on your hips was firm and you let off a sweet babble. each individual entrance was stuffed, you swallow the invisible lump in your throat as you start to feel the sweltering friction of your thighs slap against nanami. “you’re so pretty like this,” and he kisses the temple of your cheek.

every kiss presented from nanami makes your heart race—being sandwiched between nanami and geto, you really did feel like the main character.

your lip tremors, grinding back and forth between each of them, you feel geto wrap his thick fingers around your neck.

whilst you’re still straddling nanami—you moan again and again, feeling a free hand of geto’s spank your ass. the stretch that you continuously felt had your mouth watering. you heard the harmonic pap pap pap’s until it rang throughout your ears. “fuck, ya like being stuffed don’t you, pretty girl? feel full enough?” geto rasps, pressing his body right up against you. you felt his hot temperature go against your skin. making you feel every amount of his heat. your brain’s swelling up with fog. giving him an inert nod, you hear him click his tongue. “didn’t say to nod your head, doll. i wanna hear that sweet voice.”

whenever geto lowers his voice a bit, you feel the abrupt tension arise between your legs. leaning against nanami, you whine out a, “hngh y-yesss, ‘m so full, sugu. want more, stuff me more.”

“let me stuff your mouth too then.”

and before you could come up with a reply, geto removes his glove—shoving your mouth with two fat digits. he grunts, watching as you’re so compliant with your throat being filled with his fingers. nanami stares at the entire scene in front of him, his dick idly twitching inside of you. your tongue runs down his fingers before your own spit starts to seep down the corners of your lips. it was messy—you were messy. your hips jitter and judder and you knew with having both holes stuffed you weren’t gonna last that much longer. it was probably the dozenth orgasm your pussy’s been introduced with and you could feel the creeping pleasure brew up inside your abdomen.

“suguru, ‘m gonna cum.” nanami groans, bringing his own hands to wrap around your waist. you lessen your tense from his touch before gagging a bit from the prodding of geto’s fingers way back into your throat. “she’s s-squeezing me so good.”

geto snickers, making eye contact with nanami. “are you? ‘ken, you’re more whinier than usual today.”

“shut up.” he grumbles, slapping a hand over his face in embarrassment — nanami wasn’t so known to be all flustered and abashed, but whenever he was, it was so cute.

you’ve still got a mouthful of geto’s fingers before he pulls them out only to shove them into his own mouth. he hums, sharp hips snapping into you repeatedly as his other free hand tightens its secured grasp around your hip. “mhm,” he groans, feeling himself reaching his peak also. “you taste like a final girl. so sweet like candy.”

with the piston of geto’s vigorous hips, you’re so loose that you feel the fleeting sensation of your cunt gaping.

its cavernous, you jerk forward against nanami before seconds later — geto groans, abruptly finishing two seconds early. even his moans were pretty, he tugs his fingers out of your mouth to wrap them around your neck. strands of black hair glue to his forehead and he puffs out a single breath. licking a stripe near your neck, he feels thick volumes of his cum ooze into your hole. it’s so sticky, you bring your hips to a slowing halt before nanami shoots inside you too.

“f-fuck, sugu,” nanami grunts, feeling his thighs stick underneath you. he was panting heavily, each breath that ran from his lips sounding more and more wearied. “damn, so m-much.”

everything spurts into you at once. they mirror each other inside of you perfectly. callused stubby fingertips of geto’s squeeze your neck softly, watching as you’re just being filled with bulky strings of cum, it floods your cunt until it drizzles further into your womb. you’re drooling, it feels so hot, sweltering hot. it sticks against your entrance before your arms wrap around nanami. “so f-full,” you whimper, and he returns the gesture by brushing his thumb against your waist. droopy eyes hang low before nanami pulls you into another deep kiss. you decided—this was far better than some dumb party. the cottony fabric of the ghostface robe pricks against your skin as you lean into his heinous touch.

you shift your weight against nanami’s lap, feeling geto pull out before he leans down between your legs. “spread your legs,” he mutters, and in the midst of your tongue roaming down nanami’s throat, you part your thighs—gasping once you feel geto’s own tongue lap against the freshly created mess. he makes little tiny licks, tasting the ropes of crisp cum that’s sloppily easing out of every entrance—you pulsate before he chortles, warm breath ventilating against your sobbing pussy. “so messy. don’t want any spillin’ out. gotta push it back in.”

you’re moaning, after a while you break away from nanami’s lips before he strokes your cheek lovingly, a cute drowsy look before he huffs, “did you hear me, pretty?” and he gently pokes your cheek. “you always do this..”

confusion hits you before your eyes suddenly open—you jolt up, both of your roommates beside you, gawking at you with a look of deadpan. you’re leaning against geto, the third movie of scream playing in the background—it was near the ending where the killer was being revealed. you sit up, staring down at your legs and you were fully clothed—there was no geto eating between your legs, no being stuffed with nanami, nothing.

“hellooo, earth to roomie,” geto waves his hand in your face, you stare at him before furrowing your brows. “you okay? you fell asleep on me again. what’s got ya so spooked? looks like ya seen a ghost.”

so it was a dream?

a mere glimpse of your lewd imagination—?

you have a sudden sheepish look, running your fingers near the nape of your neck. “huh. oh, i’m fine. i thought the movie would be over by now.”

nanami rubs your back. “we still have like twenty minutes left,” and then he looks at you with a concerned look. so gentle—so tender. “are you sure you’re okay? we can watch a rom-com if you want.”

“i’m okay,” you insist, slumping your head back against geto.

that was weird, out of all the dreams you’ve had throughout your life—none of them ever felt as surreal as that one. for some reason, you were still aroused though. you were a bit out of breath and felt chills run all over your body.

abruptly, your phone rings,

“sugu, can you pass me my phone?” you sigh, trying to relax. you were pretty bummed you weren’t at that party getting stuffed with your two roommates but instead—in your generic dorm watching a scary movie.

he hands you the phone, grabbing the remote to turn it down a few notches.

once you take it, succinctly, your eyes scan across the screen—it reads that it’s from an unknown number. not really thinking much, you decide to answer, swiping the green button to answer. “um, hello?”

“hello.”

“hi,” you rub your eyes. “can i help y-”

“what’s your favorite scary movie?”

rolling your eyes, you peer at your two roommates beside you, nudging them and peeling the phone away from your ear for a moment. “very funny, suguru.”

geto gives you a look of confusion and nanami mimics the same. he shrugs, averting his eyes back toward the movie. “very funny what.”

and suddenly you’re laid back, an unbelieving expression was expressed on your face as you were left with a weird feeling. if it wasn’t them then who—

that same chill eerily creeps up your spine before you put the phone back near your ear. it’s that same low voice you heard from before, each word it speaks pitches deeper before you grow quiet at its final haunting response,

“oh baby, i’m not suguru or nanami..”

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dekuneho · 19 days

Text

let me ☆ ( prohero!katsuki x fem!prohero!reader ) — you underestimate how gentle katsuki can be, if you needed it | smut

( warnings. ) minors and ageless blogs dni ! fingering, praise, soft gentle sex iktr, reader is going thru tough times & katsuki takes care of you, timeskip!katsuki — 18+

You underestimate just how gentle Katsuki can be.

The instant your fingers click on the lock, Katsuki is already a step behind, his presence a looming force over you like an unshaken shadow. There must be something on your face; Katsuki frowns as he studies it intently, fingers ghosting over your arms, like he’s trying to read between lines that you haven’t even drawn in yet.

"Something happened." He doesn't phrase it as a question, sounding sure of himself. “What?”

"I'm safe," you swear to him, pulling your coat off. "No bruises or anything. See?"

He ignores your extended arms, pinning your gaze with his own. "What," Katsuki demands.

"Katsuki—” You sigh and attempt to push past him. He just rears back and keeps his eyes trained on your face searchingly. "Katsuki, I'm too tired to deal with this."

His brows dip downward further. "I can't help you if you don't tell me."

You falter, struggling to maintain this flimsy display of strength — he knows you too well for that.

He waits. Patient, gentle, like he’s so sure that he can carry this burden with you. You know he can. It’s that fact that makes you think, Of course not. Of course you could never be too tired of him. He never tires of me, too.

“I don't—” you say, looking away, “I don’t know if I can keep doing this anymore. Am I even doing anything right?”

There must be some other reason — Katsuki is evidently fumbling at the threads to tie it all together in his head, but as of the moment, that is all you’re feeling. You don’t know if you can keep doing this. Your limbs want to sag to the ground, knowing it has to prepare again to face the brunt of tomorrow — but you have to care for it, too, or else you’ll wake up dead. Katsuki doesn't deserve that, even if you’re falling apart.

"Everything is just so hard," you continue, the surge of emotions you'd been desperately keeping a tight leash on bursting at the seams; "None of it makes any sense. I don't know if I'm doing anything right."

Katsuki's frown eases. "C'mere."

The next breath you take comes out wet and shaky. The next step you take gravitates to him.

Katsuki pulls you to his chest as you sob. He buries his nose into your hair, rubbing shapes into the small of your back. It almost feels like he’s coaxing it out of you with every touch. You cry violently, lungs spasming, everything pouring out finally — and throughout it all, Katsuki doesn’t split away, even as your tears and snot leave a disgusting patch on his shoulder. If anything, he keeps you enveloped in his warmth, as if he can tell that it helps even without being told.

“N-nothing happened,” you sniffle, trembling, and Katsuki pushes off just enough to see your face; “But it was so overwhelming. I just — I dunno.”

“Baby,” Katsuki starts. You’ve never heard him speak so softly before, low and rough and embodying gentleness that you don't know if you deserve. “Let me take care of you tonight, yeah?”

That sounds good. God, you want him to do that so bad. But looking so weak in front of someone so remarkably strong like Katsuki is embarrassing. You're not some child needing to be told that you're doing good and everything will be all right — needing to be coddled because you had a bad day.

“I want to,” Katsuki says; you feel as though he can read your mind. "Let me."

"…okay." You nod, averting your gaze. "Please take care of me."

And so Katsuki helps you bathe, kisses your knuckles, pulls one of his shirts down that reaches to your mid-thigh, brushes your hair out of your eyes, feeds you dinner he's cooked, and kisses you again. All the while, it's silent. Peaceful. It should unnerve you that Katsuki hasn't spoken a single word since, but you revel in the comfort of hearing his measured breaths instead.

It’s like you can hear him think: You’ll be okay. So let me take care of you. Let me help you be okay.

You feel like you're melting out of your own body, sinking into the comforter's embrace on your shared bed, losing tension in Katsuki's scent and affection.

“Pretty,” Katsuki mumbles, his hand crawling down.

Then you go still when Katsuki watches your expression as he glides a finger in between your legs.

Your cheeks burn. "I — w-what—"

Katsuki hums, thoughtful. "You're already…"

Well, it happens that today is a day of many discoveries. It turns out, Katsuki's hands can be so soft as he works shampoo through your head, and you get horny seeing how attuned your boyfriend is to your needs.

Katsuki can be so gentle with his hands. Of course you’d been thinking of how gentle he can be elsewhere.

"You want me to?" Katsuki asks, slipping a hand under your shirt. His heated fingers caress your waist, his thumb rubbing circles that trickle hotness down elsewhere.

You aren't sure why you feel so shy. You've done worse with each other. "You don't have to. If you just feel like you have to—"

Katsuki lifts an impatient brow. "You think I wouldn't want to?"

You squirm, suddenly aware of the empty ache that is longing for Katsuki. "W-well—"

Katsuki kisses under your right ear before he tugs on your underwear and flings them off to the side. He pulls back to devour your lips in a kiss, swallowing your noise of surprise. Your hands find home in his hair and he thumbs on the source of your heat.

You jolt and choke on a moan as he increases the mind-numbing friction. "Let me take care of you," Katsuki says; "let me, say yes."

"Yes," you cry out in his mouth. You feel floaty with the surge of lust shuddering through your entire body. "Please."

When you break away, you see his pupils wholly overtaking his iris, not even a hint of red. Katsuki licks over his teeth as he stares like he hasn't already eaten dinner. Like he’s doing himself a favor. You wrap tentative fingers around his wrist to guide his hand to your cunt, twitching because it knows it's going to be filled so well with Katsuki here.

Katsuki would make it so good; you know it. You know it so well. He’d know how you want it — need it.

He groans as you feel yourself get wetter. "Baby, shit — you needed this, yeah?"

"Katsuki—"

"I know." Katsuki rubs on the sensitive bud of your clit, kissing your jaw. "I know. Relax, baby, relax for me. Make it feel good. Just like that. Yeah, fuck, like that."

You feel dizzy. Katsuki teases one finger in, watching your face with rapt attention. You're so wet that he slides in easily; he could slip in two more just like that. But Katsuki is focused on making you feel the sensations instead, taking it slow, one by one, leaving you a fluttering, whining putty under him.

Katsuki’s heavy breathing makes you tighten around him involuntarily. He curses, patience rescinded. "One more?"

"Yes, please please — more — ah—"

He curls his fingers, and you tremble and whine, white-knuckled, gripping him, trying to meld yourself into him. Katsuki echoes your sound in a rasp, "Mm. You hear yourself? Fuckin' gorgeous."

It should be embarrassing that you're close already, yet who can blame you with Katsuki overwhelming your senses with every inch of his body — all over and inside you? His fingers are hot, and you're burning up, a coil in your stomach begging to be released.

Your legs shake as your back arches. "Kats — Katsuki — ah, please, please. Please, I'm—"

Katsuki kisses you through all of it. "I know. I know, baby. Don’t gotta beg. I gotcha — give it to me."

You thought you'd already exhausted all your tears, but Katsuki whispering in your ear and coaxing an orgasm out of you so tenderly pulls heat into your eyes. You forget about the weight on your shoulders. Right now, you can only think of how you could fall and Katsuki would catch you. You cry as you break, pulse jumpstarting, and Katsuki takes care of you all over again.

#ᥫ᭡ dekuneho #&katsuki #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bnha #bnha smut #bakugou smut #bakugou katsuki smut

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nereidprinc3ss · 7 months

Text

light of the morning

in which spencer sneaks into bau!reader's hotel room and they share a little more than just the bed

18+ (smut) warnings/tags: softdom!spence x sub reader, munch!spence, unprotected piv sex (dont do that), creampie (hate that word btw) praise, mentions of having to be quiet because morgan is right next door LOL, fluffy, established co-workers/friends with benefits, soooo idiots in love a/n: here is the promised smut. i am literally kicking my feet and twirling my hair and giggling and blushing at my own writing. I'm gonna have a freak out. requests are open like my legs

It’s late when the knock finally comes. Late enough that you’re dozing on the bed above the covers.

It takes you a moment to reorient yourself—you’re rubbing your heavy eyes when you finally get the door.

"Hi."

"Hey," says Spencer, hands awkwardly shoved into his pajama pants pockets. It’s funny, really. He never gets any better at this.

You step aside and he enters the room, looking around as you close and relock the door.

"Did I wake you?"

"How could you tell?"

"You’re in pajamas. And you look tired. I mean—you don’t look bad. You never look bad, I just meant… you don’t look tired but you’re not—I didn’t mean to—"

"Relax," you yawn, putting him out of his misery. "I was joking. I know I look tired." You glance at the digital clock on the nightstand. "It’s late. We have to be up early tomorrow."

"Yeah, I got, uh, sidetracked. Sorry."

He was reading. If it was anyone else, you'd be offended--but a sinkhole could open up under Spencer's feet and he probably wouldn't notice if he was absorbed in a book.

You shrug, a knowing smile lifting the corner of your mouth.

"It’s fine. But I don’t know if tonight is a good night. I really am exhausted."

His eyebrows dart up.

"That’s fine. That’s totally fine. I’ll just, uh—"

When you don’t move from in front of the door, he pauses, unsure. You bite the inside of your cheek, studying his rangy frame and choice of clothing. Blue pajama pants, slippers, grey CalTech zip up hoodie. It feels wrong to describe a 6'1 man as adorable, but that’s how he looks in his sleep clothes. There’s a very real chance, you find yourself thinking, that you are the only member of the BAU to ever see him in something other than slacks and a button-down. He looks so cozy that you kind of really want him in your bed even if he’s not doing anything but sleeping. The invitation slips out before you can think too hard about it.

"You could… stay, anyway, if you want?"

His mouth parts slightly, and those eyebrows raise again. There’s a moment of awkward silence and you are very much beginning to regret your offer, wondering if you somehow violated the sanctity of your co-workers/friends with benefits situtationship. Clumsily you try to backtrack.

"Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, you can—"

"No, no! You didn’t, I just don’t want you to feel obligated to invite me to stay in your room. I’m right across the hall, I can go back if you want me to."

You smile awkwardly, silent relief replacing the brief anxiety.

"It’s fine. It’s not like we haven’t shared a bed before." And not like you wouldn’t have ended up doing it tonight anyway, if things had gone as originally intended.

He chuckles, looking to the floor and nodding. The blush on his face does not go unnoticed by you. "Fair enough."

It’s incredibly endearing how nervous he still gets after six months of this little arrangement.

"Do you wanna get your stuff, or…"

"No, that’s okay. I’ll just go back early tomorrow. The chances of someone seeing me leave your room are significantly higher if I do it so soon after entering."

You squint, unable to tell if he’s fucking with you or if that’s an actual statistically sound probability. And then you realize, blissfully, that you don’t really care.

"Okay, well. Make yourself comfortable. I’m just going to brush my teeth."

Once you’re enclosed in the bathroom, hotel vanity lights blinding you as you brush, you find that there is a jittery sort of apprehension buzzing in your chest. But that’s silly. As you yourself pointed out, the two of you have shared a bed many times over the past few months. But the sleeping together is always a byproduct of the sleeping together. Never have you shared a bed in a completely decent, virtuous, strictly non-sexual manner. It’s always been a matter of convenience—less bother if he doesn’t have to worry about sneaking back into his room in the middle of the night when you’re both exhausted. Or maybe that’s just what you’ve been telling yourselves.

You rinse your mouth out and exit the bathroom, flicking off the light and finding that Spencer has indeed made himself comfortable. The hotel room is dark and he’s already under the covers, fiddling with his phone.

"What time should I set the alarm for?" He asks, looking over at you as you crawl into bed, drawing the covers over yourself. "I was thinking 6:23. That should give me enough time to—"

"Sounds perfect," you affirm, wiggling under the blanket as you get comfortable. He schedules the alarm and sets his phone on the bedside table, dousing the room in complete darkness. Your eyes stay open despite, waiting for them to adjust. A few moments of utter silence and stillness pass, and you can tell Spencer is completely stiff next to you.

"Spencer."

“Yeah,” he answers immediately. Like he’s even more wired about this whole situation than you are.

"You know you don’t have to avoid touching me at all costs, right? I’m not a leper."

He looses a nervous laugh.

"I know. We’ve just never really done this."

You frown at the darkness.

"We’ve definitely slept in the same bed before."

"Yeah, but… this feels different."

That, you can’t argue with. Can friends with benefits share a bed just to be near each other? Does that blur some line? And why does it feel more intimate than the sex?

Screw it. If there is one thing you don’t want your relationship with Spencer to be, it is uncomfortable. Uncertain, you can work with. But not uncomfortable. You reach for him, hand sliding under the duvet—and find his hand already waiting for yours.

"I don’t think it’s that different," you lie, interlacing your fingers together slowly.

"Prolonged physical non-sexual contact does have measurable health benefits…" the words are murmured, like the moment is fragile and he doesn’t want to shatter it.

"Can’t argue with the facts," you breathe, trying to modulate the shakiness of your voice. But you have a feeling you’re doing about as good of a job at concealing your nerves as he is. He shifts.

"Can I…"

"Yeah."

Your heart is pounding as he slips one arm under your neck and the other around your waist, pulling you close. Instinctually you curl into him, slinging your top leg over him as you’ve done before, but always dismissed as post-sex brain chemicals making you feel all warm and fuzzy. A neurological reaction that is so solidly scientific, neither of you ever questioned it. But it feels bigger now.

He exhales as you settle against each other—a sound of relief that mirrors your own. He’s so warm, so safe as he envelops you, physically and sensorially. In such close proximity, so clear-headed, you notice each layer of his scent. Toothpaste, lavender, vetiver, detergent. You sort of feel like a creep, but you can’t deny how comforting it is. Nor can you deny the pirouette your heart does when he begins minutely rubbing your back, like he’s not even thinking about it.

"Goodnight," you whisper into his shirt.

"Goodnight," he whispers back.

You fall asleep pretty quickly after that.

------------------------------

It’s unclear what wakes you up—maybe it’s the blue-grey dawn light filtering in through the filthy window (doubtful, it’s still mostly dark) or maybe it’s the blinking green digital clock on the nightstand. 5:02 AM. Your alarm will go off in an hour and 21 minutes.

Sometime in the night you shifted, turning over in your sleep, but Spencer is still holding you close. The arm slung so casually over your waist is slightly domineering, but you manage to rotate again and face him once more. Mere inches away from his face you can see every detail. His expression is so peaceful, it makes your heart ache.

But you’re just friends.

Perhaps he felt you moving, because his eyes flutter open and you watch as they flood with consciousness. He takes you in, takes in his arm over your waist. For a split second you’re nervous he’ll pull away.

"What time is it?" His voice is scratchy with sleep.

"Five."

"Why are you awake? We have over an hour til the alarm goes off."

"Sometimes waking up early is okay."

His eyes flicker between your own, and momentarily you’re paralyzed as you realize this is a limbo state for the two of you in which you’ve never operated. You don’t know what’s acceptable. You don’t know what to do. Being close to him feels so good, that the idea of separating hurts. But you don’t want to make him uncomfortable, or—

He leans forward and kisses you softly. In the blue light of dawn, rather than frenzied and hidden in the dark, a desperate tear of clothes and teeth and hands—it’s almost freeing. All the anxiety you were feeling just seconds ago begins to melt.

Friends.

"You looked anxious," is his whispered answer after he pulls away a moment later, like a kiss is the simplest remedy in the world. He brushes a lock of hair behind your ear. "We should go back to sleep."

"I don’t want to go back to sleep."

The corner of his mouth twitches as he studies you.

"No? What do you want?"

Emboldened by your mutual indiscretion, it’s your turn to kiss him. You feel him smile against your lips, hand finding the back of your neck and raking up through your hair to pull you closer.

The delirium of sleep seems to have softened you, filed down the rough edges of your boundaries and kicked away the lines in the sand. What’s a kiss or two when you’ve just woken up? A small, innocuous display of affection while you’re still barely conscious. Nobody could fault either of you for that. People don’t think clearly when they’ve just been asleep.

So what if your lips part against his, and his other hand finds its way under your shirt to stroke the bare skin of your waist and hips? So what if you hitch that leg over him again and press closer?

Spencer breaks the kiss, still ghosting over your lips.

"I thought it wasn’t a good night?"

"It’s not night time anymore, is it, genius?"

You sneak another kiss, nipping his bottom lip gently as you pull away.

Instead of whatever array of responses you were expecting, Spencer smiles slightly, eyes almost sparkling in the faint light. The hand on your hip moves to your face, gently thumbing across your cheek. He begins to say something, and stops himself—biting his lip to hold back the words.

"What?" you ask, heart dropping. Illusion fracturing.

"I was just—" he begins, pausing for a moment before the words all come out in a rush. "I was just going to tell you how beautiful you are, but I don’t know if that’s something I should say, or if it would feel too… I don’t know…"

He trails off. A rare instance in which he doesn’t have the words.

You do. Intimate. Real. Romantic. And he’s right, it does feel too much like all of those things. But that doesn’t mean you don’t like it, perhaps more than is strictly good for you.

"It’s fine. Thank you."

He continues chewing on his lip for a moment.

"Did I just ruin the mood?"

"No," you laugh, "not at all."

"Thank god," he sighs, surging forward again.

"Since when do you thank god?" You manage between kisses.

He moves to press his lips to your jaw and down your neck.

"Do you want me to talk about the historical and cultural transition of religious expressions into ubiquitous secular colloquialisms right now?"

"Kind of," you breathe.

"No you don’t," he murmurs against your neck as his hands find the hem of your shirt. "You want me to take your clothes off."

Well, he’s not wrong there.

You help him tug the shirt over your head before leaning back into the pillows as he situates himself over you and lavishes more kisses down your neck and collarbones, pausing to suck a mark only when he knows it’s low enough to be covered by your clothing later.

You gasp when his lips brush over your nipple, before running his tongue over the sensitive skin. He glances up at you, and though his mouth is occupied, you can see the humor in his eyes. He loves how sensitive you are—how easy it is to get a reaction out of you.

Of course, you continue to prove him right when he takes the other into his mouth, trying to hold back your little whimpers as he darts his tongue over the peak. Maybe somebody else wouldn’t hear them, but Spencer does. He’s hyper attuned to the sounds you make. Something of a catalogue has begun to form in the back of his mind; he knows exactly what each noise means and how to get them out of you.

Once satisfied, he moves to press a kiss to your sternum.

"You’re gonna be quiet for me, right?" Another kiss above your bellybutton. "Because Morgan is sleeping right on the other side of that wall, and we don’t want to wake him up."

"I’ll be quiet," you promise, somewhat breathlessly. Spencer’s mouth trails lower until he’s pulling your shorts down your legs, leaving you completely naked. He tosses them somewhere on the floor and hooks your legs over his shoulders.

"Good." He plants one last kiss to your thigh and the next one lands right between your legs.

You regret the need to be silent almost as soon as he drags his tongue over your clit. It’s not like the two of you have ever had the privilege of making a lot of noise, as the hotel rooms are always so close to each other, but it doesn’t make it any easier.

Instead you opt to rake your hands through his hair and try to take deep breaths. But he knows exactly what you like—he knows starting light and slow, teasing around your most sensitive spot will work you up to the brink of insanity, just like he knows gentle circles make your back arch and elicit the prettiest little moans.

"More," you beg, and the hands wrapped around your thighs rub soothingly, reassuring you that if you can just be patient you’ll get what you want.

He takes your aching clit into his mouth, sucking lightly and you’re forced to clap a hand over your mouth, muffling the sob of pleasure you can’t hold back. Spencer keeps it up until you’re practically riding his face, teasing your dripping entrance with the tip of his tongue when you get too close.

"Fuck, please, Spence," you whisper through your fingers, hips rutting in your desperation. Somehow it always ends up like this—with him in charge and you begging. Not that you have a problem with it, of course.

He hums into you, and if the way his tongue moves back to circling your clit with newfound fervor is any indication, is apparently satisfied with your entreaty.

You gasp and try to control your breathy moans, but his mouth feels so good on you that your vision is going out and you’re losing touch with reality ever so slightly. You use the last of your brain power to bite down on the back of your wrist, hoping it adequately muffles the noises you make as you come on Spencer’s tongue and he greedily continues lapping at you. There’s really no way of knowing—your ears are ringing anyway.

When you come to a moment later he’s peppering kisses on your thighs, rubbing your hips gently.

"So pretty," he murmurs, climbing back up so your lips can meet again. "Everything about you is pretty."

You paw at his shirt, signaling that you want it off as you moan at the taste of yourself on his tongue, feel your slippery arousal staining the kiss. Spencer helps you, sitting up briefly to unzip his hoodie and pull off his shirt.

You’re the one to drag him back down, and you notice that he pulls the covers back over the both of you in a sweet gesture he probably didn’t even think about.

"Need you to fuck me," you beg, reaching down to try and undress him further.

"So crude. What happened to my nice, sweet girl?" He mumbles against your neck, but helps you with his pants anyway.

"You must have me confused with someone else."

"Doubtful."

You don’t have much time to consider what that could mean before he’s running the head of his cock over your clit and you’re gasping into his mouth, saying please like it’s the only word you know.

"There she is," Spencer croons, slipping inside you slow enough for you to feel every inch but quick enough for it to expel all the air from your lungs. Once he’s opened you all the way up, impossibly deep and close, you’re seeing stars, barely breathing. His head has dropped to your shoulder but now he drags his lips up your neck and jaw. "We okay?"

It’s been a while, you realize, since that last case in Maine. He always takes some getting used to. Hardly able to think around the pressure of his cock you nod, trying to string together a few words.

"Fuck, I need a second." The words come out choked, but you manage. Spencer rubs your hip, his lips brushing yours as he speaks.

"Relax, sweetheart. I don’t want to hurt you."

He curses to himself, dropping his head momentarily. You’re so fucking soft, and warm, and perfect, he can’t think straight. But he has to try because he has to take care of you.

"Spence," you gasp, failing to verbally communicate the intensity of the physical sensation.

"I know, baby," comes his sympathetic coo. "You know you can take me. Deep breaths."

"Mhm," you squeak, trying to take follow his directions and soften your muscles. Spencer keeps rubbing soothingly over your hips, stomach, whatever he can get his hands on, really, pressing kisses all over your face and telling you how good you are, how perfect you feel for him. After a few moments he feels you fluttering around him and experimentally pulls out halfway, before pushing back in equally as slowly. Your jaw drops as he begins to leisurely fuck you, arms wrapping around his back. He gets deeper than you expect every time, rubbing you raw and stretching you out in the most delicious way.

"Perfect, baby. Such a good listener, did exactly what I asked."

You cry out when he begins fucking you impossibly deeper, but still so slow and sweet.

"You feel so fucking good for me," he groans. "This is what you were made for, huh?" You agree enthusiastically, eyes fluttering shut.

"Only for you."

Just three words—but he wasn’t expecting to like hearing you say that as much as he does. A strong desire to possess you overtakes him—one that he’ll probably have the decency to feel guilty about later, but for now feels fucking fantastic and intoxicating.

"Only me?"

You moan an affirmation.

"Good. I don’t want anyone else fucking you, do you understand me?"

"Yes!"

"I’m the only one who gets to touch you," he breathes, speeding up ever so slightly, "nobody else is going to feel you like this. Such a good girl, spreading her legs for me at five in the fucking morning. You’re not doing this for anybody else, baby."

"Uh-uh, please, pleasepleaseplease Spence—"

He knows what you need, reaching a hand down between your bodies to rub your clit.

You gasp an airy, high pitched curse, hips twitching but unable to escape the near-punishing rhythm of his own. It’s obvious that your orgasm is close, but you can’t even warn him, too overwhelmed with pleasure. He kisses you, swallowing your moans that have probably become just a bit too loud given the whole hotel thing.

No words are exchanged between the two of you as you near the finish line for a change, open mouths slipping against each others in what is too messy to be called a kiss. Your orgasm body-slams you, a choked silent scream as you tighten around Spencer and he seems to come at nearly the exact same moment—deep inside you, slowly rolling his hips in a few more strong thrusts as he finishes.

You let out a delayed moan at the sensation of being filled up, still pulsing around him as he comes to a halt, buried inside of you. He drops his head to your neck, and you can feel each breath against your flushed skin. Other than the panting, you’re both silent for a while. Spencer seems to gather himself sooner than you do, finally breaking the quiet.

"You okay?"

All you can manage is a little squeak, at which he looses a breathy chuckle. His hand slides to your hip, gently stroking the skin with a thumb.

"Need your words, angel girl."

"I’m okay," you coo into his shoulder, but he has to strain to hear it above his own breathing.

"Yeah? Why so quiet?"

But it seems that at least for the moment, he’s gotten all the words he can out of you. When he tries to move, you whimper indignantly, clutching onto him tighter.

"I really did a number on you this time, huh?" He laughs when you nod into him. "Are you falling asleep?"

"Mhm," you hum dreamily, little puffs of warm air slowing against his neck.

"You can have…" he cranes his head to check the digital clock, "48 minutes."

"An hour."

He settles his weight on you once more, pressing a chaste kiss to your throat. His voice is low and gentle as he admonishes you.

"I said 48 minutes."

But it doesn’t matter—you’re already asleep, or close enough to it. Spencer takes the opportunity to shift you to your side, and the way you wrap around him like a vine even unconsciously makes his heart ache. He really should go now—the earlier he gets out of your room the less likely certain complications will arise—but how can he possibly leave you like this? A vulnerable, dreamy girl with tangled hair haloing around her on the pillow case, clinging to him with blind trust that he’ll watch over her as she sleeps? No—there’s no way he’s leaving yet. Instead, he brings you closer. 48 perfect minutes will go by far too quickly, he’s sure.

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