#come on. they’d fucking love each other
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we fuck like friends with benefits
𓂃۶ৎ fwb, nsfw, minors dni!
𓂃۶ৎ shinsou x fem!reader
𓂃۶ৎ god forbid i actually sleep, halfway through my blunt and it’s the night before class, tory lanez started playing and i felt inspired, sue me 🫦
“fuck.”
you collapsed next to shinsou, the both of you coming down from your high, a panting mess. the playlist you two made, playing in the background. you turned onto your side, now facing shinsou, your elbow dug into the mattress as your hand supported your head. “you’re looking at me like you want more than just a quick fuck (y/n)”
”you wish.” he chuckled at your salty remark, while you made your way ontop of him, straddling his waist with your thighs.
the next song kicked into the speaker, the familiar intro causing you to giggle. friends with benefits by tory lanez. “you can’t tell me this isn’t our song” as your hands rubbed his chest.
up. down. up. down.
‘i can’t jus’ let you go’
shinsou sat up, his back now against the headboard. “it most definitely is” he exhaled as he pushed your hair behind your ears. you hummed the tune you knew too well, the both of you looked into each others eyes, this was more than just a quick fuck.
‘you’re all that’s on my mind’
shinsou knew it the moment he fell in love with the way you came undone beneath him. the way you sunk slowly onto his dick while you rode him, your eyes rolling back as your mouth slowly fell open. but shinsou knew better than to fall for you.
‘i wasted time i know’
did you feel the same way about him?
‘wish i could jus’ rewind’
he’d have to live with the fact, that one day someone else would fall in love with the many things he did too.
‘while i was gone you left’
he knew exactly how to pleasure you, leaving you begging for more. someone else would fall in love with the same pair of eyes he did, they’d watch them roll back while you came undone all over their cock.
‘gone away for good’
he held you tighter. i guess he might as well make the most of the time he has with you.
you were infact, more than just a quick fuck to him.
#purring#why do my best ideas come AT THIS TIME#shinsou x you#shinsou x y/n#shinsou hitoshi x reader#shinsou x reader#shinsou hitoshi#hitoshi shinsou#bnha#my hero academia#mha x reader#mha smut#mha#bnha x reader#boku no hero academia#bnha smut#mha shinsou#shinso hitoshi#hitoshi shinso#bnha shinso hitoshi#hitoshi shinso x reader#hitoshi x reader#hitoshi#shinsou
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this is dark so i get if you don’t wanna go there but what would xaden, garrick, bodhi and liam be like comforting a reader who just went through a traumatic experience?
Don’t we all need a little comforting after this weeks past events in the fictional and real life non fictional world. I’ll try my best to keep this light, and full of comfort. Because I know they’d all be such gems at this.
Xaden:
I have not finished Onyx Storm so no spoilers but wow, I did not realize what a fucking sweetie Xaden is
Yes, I am late to the party on this, but I bring the best snacks so let me in lolol
I could see Xaden reacting one of two ways when he finds out about the experience
One - he loses his beautiful fucking mind and goes hard on revenge. Trying to keep calm while you explain but simmering on the inside. In fact he doesn’t let you finish before he gets up, kisses your forehead and walks to the door to take care of business. Whoever or whatever hurt you, its their last time
Two - he’s in comfort mode. Pulling you in to a deep hug, kissing the top of your head. Running soothing circles on your back or just listening quietly, giving you space to talk. He’s so fucking gentle with you.
I also think Xaden’s got a plan up his sleeve for you. If you’re at Basgiath and say, you go through something traumatic. You loose a member of your squad, you just get out of RSC interrogation, etc. You know you can’t break in public, so you’re holding it in. So, he takes you into the forests that surrounds campus after classes wrap and towards a clearing. Unbeknownst to you, you walk right into a warded dome that’s hidden to the eye. The dome is soundproof. You turn, realizing he’s on the other side and start pounding to get out. But Xaden is there, lifting is fingers to say “No one can hear. Grieve, scream, punch the barrier. You’re safe. Let it out. I’ll be here when you’re done.” He turns to give you privacy, and you spend the next fifteen minutes doing just that. When you’re done, you sign at him to release you, and he pulls you into loving embrace
Garrick
This man. This dimpled man right here
This sweet giant
Like Xaden, he’s thinking revenge. And will probably use the leverage he has either on campus and as Xaden’s right hand to see it through.
But what I love best about the made up facts I made for Garrick is that I bet he is the best diffuser.
I have a scenario I need to finish writing but i image that you’ve experienced the trauma and you’re not alright. You’ve been wounded during a patrol during the Riorson House days and you’ve fallen after getting stabbed in the side. You’re in shock, panic and pain taking over you. Garrick is at your side in an instant, cupping your face and in his hands, “Baby! Baby, look at me…there you go. You’re alright, you’re alright - no. No you’re not going to die. I’m here, yeah? You have to breathe, I know it hurts but look at me. Take a breath…good, good - don’t close your eyes, love. Keep them here, on me, okay? Don’t be falling asleep on these good looks, the boys will never let me down for this. Help is coming baby, Hold on…”
I’d be like “okay!” Lolol
Garrick also seems like someone who would give you space. He wouldn’t be constantly at your side but when you pass each other or at meals he’s always looking in your direction and waiting for you to give him indication that you’re feeling better or not.
Bodhi
A true sweetheart
Kind
Caring
Gentle
Compassionate
And maybe a little protective, but we need that now. And he’s ready to give it to us.
Bodhi is such a great combination of knowing what you need and giving you confidence to say what you want.
I totally imagining him sitting next to you saying “How can I help?” And if you’re too shocked or scared to say anything he’s asking, “I have a few ideas in mind, can I try something?” And the moment you nod he’s giving you exactly what you need to help feel calm and protected. He just knows you that well. If affection and touch is what you need, he’s pulling you close, and wrapping his arms around you, physically putting himself between you and the outside world. His embrace is protective.
He’s also in full caretaker mode. If we’re in the Aretia days he’s pulling you into his room, drawing you a bath in his private bathing chamber, setting out clothes for you to wear and helping you get in bed to rest. He’s bringing up food from the halls, and picking up on any missed assignments or missives.
He will also just cancel his schedule if you need him to. If part of taking care of you is being with you, done. Everyone else can wait.
At bedtime, he’s curling up next to you, kissing your shoulder and rubbing your back to help you sleep. If you need space, the bed is your’s and he’s curled up on a chair at you side for when you need him.
Also I know his bedside manner is just top tier. The way this man will give your verbal affirmation after verbal affirmation. Yes.
Like Garrick can help bring your emotions down, Bodhi is helping to lift you up
Liam
Very much like Xaden i believe
But i think what Liam excels at is distracting through storytelling.
If you’re feeling overwhelmed with the trauma. Whether you are healing body or mind he’s sitting next to you, carving up something and just talking. He’s got a story for every emotion you may be feeling. If its grief, he’s telling you about the days when he lost his parents, or losing contact with his sister. If you need a funny story to distract you, he has one of those.
I can imagine he throws Xaden under the bus if you will, sharing a funny story when they fostered together at Xaden’s expense, “And if Xaden can fall on his ass and get scared shitless, you can too, love. We’re human after all.”
Though, he’s also giving Xaden praise as well, “If I didn’t have Xaden…I dont know how I would have gotten through those years after my parents, after being taken away from Sloane. But, just like Xaden was there for me, I’m here for you. I’ll always be.”
#fourth wing#the empyrean#xaden riorson#garrick tavis#bodhi durran#liam mairi#tyrrish men headcanons you didn't ask for
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friends who beat the shit out of cops together
#jays art#across the spiderverse#spiderverse#hobie brown#spiderpunk#spiderman#splatoon spyke#spyke#gerard keay#gerry keay#come on. they’d fucking love each other#also i got lazy on hobie’s arm lace shit hope u don’t mind </3#wait i forgot to tag these hold on#tma#the magnus archives#oh and they're all british#AY I FORGOT IS SPIKES. FUCK#whatever just pretend hobie has another jacket w/o spikes so his friends can safely lean on his shoulders#explanation for who these three are in rbs btw ^^^#BTW JUST TO CLARIFY: spyke is a hippie hobie is punk and gerry is goth. hope this helps#actually correction i'm not sure wtf spyke's deal is but he's a shady backstreet dealer who runs an MLM so.#1k
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Anyone who knows anything about Steve Rogers knows he’s the most stubborn person in the world (especially when it comes to people he cares about) so tbh I really can’t see a reality where he gets to vormir to return the soul stone and calmly accepts that his partner and closest friend of the last eleven years is dead and gone and moves on rather than getting there and doing something reckless and insane to try to get her back
#like be fr#which one sounds more like steve rogers#especially after he gets there and sees fucking red skull again#the stubborn little angry chihuahua inside of him would’ve come out in full force#I just feel like he’d just instantly flip into oh this mf is going *down* mode#and be fr#he’s the king of doing something reckless and insane for a loved one cmon#(and tbh she would be the queen but now we’re getting off topic)#idk I just feel like marvel always kinda tried to downplay the importance of Steve and Natasha’s friendship/partnership#and I hate it#bc they spend most of their time in the mcu together#and they obviously care about each other sm#I just wish we’d gotten more of them#whether you just loved their friendship#or were hoping they’d be more#you know he wouldn’t let her go without a fight#steve rogers#natasha romanoff#captain america#black widow#avengers#avengers endgame#anti endgame#mcu#marvel#romanogers#capwidow#stevenat#steve and natasha
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sorry to get angsty on main but I really wanna see a crossover fic where Five Hargreeves meets Bruce Wayne and the topic of, y’know, what would you do for your family, the morality of killing in a given context, etcetera comes up. And a bit of dialogue just going like
Bruce: But once you cross that line, where does it stop?
Five: It doesn’t have to stop — they just have to live.
#batman#five hargreeves#tua#crossover thoughts#dc crossover#tua crossover#unironically I think witnessing that interaction would fuck Jason up even more#I also think Bruce would have a ton of complicated feelings about Five#but Five would be so indifferent to him as to border on being insulting#Five would not adopt Jason because he already has a bunch of self-destructive ppl to protect#but they’d have a dynamic of mutual respect#I just think they’d understand each other on a viscerally tragic level#they make eye contact and recognize the strain of loving people who can never love them back with the same insane level of devotion because#that level of devotion IS fundamentally insane#and they recognize the willingness to cross certain lines but no desire to do so but also every reason and motivation that means they do#and then they break eye contact and it never comes up again#jason todd#in the tags lmfao#Constantine would either see Klaus and nope the fuck out or be Very Interested dealer’s choice
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“you finally got adopted” really got to me because how long do you think eugene and lance hoped and hoped and hoped that they would get adopted, but they never did. and then they gave up and ran away. but he finally got adopted 🥺
#bluebird.txt#can edmund adopt lance too#i know the show lowkey doesn’t give a shit about lance (YOU GOT JAMES MONROE FUCKING IGLEHART ARE YOU SHITTING ME) but like#they’re brothers come on#also like at that point no one really raised eugene so kind what IS the difference between getting adopted and suddenly meeting someone you#never knew and having a parent-child relationship with them (even if you are biologically related)#shrugs#tangled#that ‘you finally got adopted’ is so important to me#honorable mention to baby lance in the weird parent episode. eugene had ONE moment of ‘aw lance used to love animals when we were kids’#and it was cute to see him like reminisce (for one second) about his and lance’s childhood and like see how well they know each other#okay honorable mention also to the buddy song. THAT FUCKING SONG. IS SO FUCKING GOOD.#but i do wish they’d have (and maybe they do later in s3?) more genuine moments#rather than solely (up til end of s2 at least) silly things#well actually [cracks knuckles] if i have to make a sixth fanfic google doc so be it.#be the found family sibling hurt/comfort you want to see in the world
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Satoru and Suguru having a competition over who can impregnate their sweet shared lover first, please?
𝐚. 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: oh my goodness???....you got my attention.
⊹ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: Geto + Gojo x fem! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - canon divergence; implied geto is still a jujutsu tech sorcerer - satosugu taking turns with you - kissing; making out - lotus (geto) + eagle (gojo) positions - breeding kink - scratching - multiple orgasms - unprotected sex (psa: wrap it up, of get tf up) - cervix fucking - creampies - clitoral play (swiping) - pet names (angel, baby, my love, pretty girl, princess, sweetheart) - humor - mention of drool + heavy depictions of come/semen.
⊹ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.1k
“Oooh—Haahh! Ohhh, God, Suguu, y’ feel so good…!”
“You feel good, too, princess...Hgghh! Shit, Y/n—“
“Yo, can you hurry it up? You know I’m not a patient guy, Suguru.”
Gojo sucks his teeth while watching you get it on with Geto. It was one of those nights when they’d come home and surprise you together. Usually, one would be assigned longer shifts or missions (that one mostly being Gojo), and the other would return home to eat dinner and sleep with you. But there would be those days when they’d arrive home in unison and try to do whatever they can to have you enjoy these rare moments with all three of you.
Sometimes, it would be Gojo taking you guys to some delicious café that sells parfaits that you’d probably like or Geto having the idea to have lunch at the park and enjoy the sun together. But, of course, there’d be those days when simply being inside the apartment, talking about each other’s day, watching a random movie, and then snoring while spooning would suffice. Because it doesn’t matter what they choose to do; all three of you being at the same place is always the best!
Tonight, however, was one of those nights where they’d pull you aside, drown you in kisses and gropes, and carry you to the bedroom for a more intimate occasion. For tonight, Geto and Gojo wanted to fuck you in the hopes you’ll be with child. And what better way for the two best friends to go about such an eventful issue than by a competition to see who can fill you up the most?
Suguru has you propped on his crossed lap, your arms wrapped around his neck, and his hands kneading your asscheeks as you bounce on his cock and wail out his name in pretty notes. This was about the third round of the night, your cunt wet and filled with both Geto’s and Gojo’s cum. The fluids stream down with every jump of your hips from the base of his girth to his balls, the sounds of your union so filthy with the groans and moans that bounce around the bedroom walls.
Geto sighs and burrows his chin into your shoulder. “Hahhh, oh, stop your crying, Satoru. You finished your turn and didn’t hear me heckle while you and Y/n were doing it.”
The white-haired man grunts with more complaints, to Geto’s dismay. “Yeah, well, I’m not the one who takes longer to finish,” he persists, even if his raven-haired friend frowns. “I don’t want you to be the reason my dick falls asleep.”
“Tch, what you should be worrying about is finishing too quickly when it’s your turn. You act like being faster is better…Heh, maybe you can’t handle Y/n better than I do.”
“You son of a—“
“Hey now,” you’re the one who mediates the growing childish tension between your husbands, turning your face to lock Gojo in a spell with your gorgeous, hooded eyes. “Be nice, Toru; it’s Sugu’s turn now, so you can have me however you want when we’re done here, okay?”
Like a heart-struck fool, pink shades creep into the helix of Gojo’s ears as he happily complies with your request. “Okay, my princess.”
Geto rolls his eyes at his friend’s display; what a total loser. As if he has room to talk because once you turn back to face him and kiss his cheek, his breath hitches. “Come on,” you whisper. “Don’t let him ruin your fun.”
The dark-haired one chuckles before claiming your lips with his, “Wouldn’t dream of it, angel.”
As you two kiss, you rock your hips more to create a steady rhythm on top of Geto. His girth stretches your vagina nicely, and with his pulsing veins, you can feel them rub on the velvety texture of your inner walls. It’s good that the pace is at a respectable tempo, allowing you to feel him at your wits and pleasure truly.
But the best part of this position is how easy it is to stimulate your clitoris. Every time you rock your hips against Geto’s, the bulb rubs against his body and has your frame jolting. It feels so fucking good, having your cunt stuffed with his girth member and graze your walls deliciously while your precious button is being pressed.
The pacing soon goes in sync, his subtle thrusts as you bounce your ass on him while kissing. Your mewls are taken by his hungry lips, sucking on your tongue to evoke more cute noises, your hand coming to the back of his head to massage and grab strands of his onyx hair. He’s so romantic with you and your body, the position making this intimacy so much more personal. Your chasm frequently clamps on his cock when you pull your waist up, making the man below you hiss at the grip.
He breaks the kiss, “Shit, you tighten around me so nicely…”
“Really?” You giggle, laying more kisses on his cheek and ears. It sends shivers down his spine.
“—Khhh, damn it, I can’t...” Suddenly, Geto thrusts upwards in a faster notion, and you scream to hold on quickly and follow his cadence. “Fuck, you feel too amazing, sweetheart…!” You can’t reply to him appropriately; your only responses are narrowed down to high-pitched whines and squeals. His hands wrap around your back to keep your body close as he chases his climax, his hot face melting with the sweat of your shoulder while he pushes his cock to meet your cervix. “Hmng! Hmmnn, I’m gonna cum, baby…!”
“Ohooo, me too, Sug’ruu, me—Tahhh! Ohhh, Jesus…!” Your clit keeps bumping onto Geto, your nerves getting activated with every rut. Shaky moans leave your puffy lips, and your hand scratches his back at every jab of your delicate cervix. You bring him in for another kiss – this one a lot more rushed and steamy – and your orgasm hits you both from the erratic speed of your hips.
You two sigh heavily into each other’s mouths, your body sinking into Geto’s gentle hold as his cock ejaculates his semen into your throbbing slit. His hands massage your back while his pelvis rolls to grind his dick and have your walls clench onto him more.
With a soft sound, you remove your lips from his, smiling gently while you brush his bangs off to view his left eye. “You love to finish strong, Sugu.”
He chuckles before kissing your nose. “Can’t help it if you drive me crazy, my love—“
“Alright, round’s over!”
Before Geto knows it, Gojo’s already on the bed, yanking you off his best friend’s lap and laying you down with your back to the sheets. He voices his discontent, trying not to appear too upset. “Excuse you? Can’t let me have a moment?”
“Nope!” He shoves a middle finger to Geto’s face, and the black-headed one almost pops a vessel. “I practically went limp after watching you two for so long. So obverse from the side and let me have my fun.”
“So annoying,” Geto mumbles under his breath, yet the milky-haired one chooses not to listen with a huff and places all his attention on you.
“Now,” Gojo turns to you with half-lidded cerulean eyes, a smile beaming too much that his dimples show up. He spreads your legs to evince your messy chasm; Geto’s come spilling down to the crevice of your butt as he massages your inner thighs. Fuck, so fucking nasty, it had him bite his lip. “You ready for more of me, baby?”
You titter, bringing your legs up your chest and spread to a V-shape. “Yes, Toru, thank you for being patient.”
He snickers while pushing his glans to meet your soapy folds, humming when the excessive come lubes your labia sufficiently for his cock to be inserted. The hug of your walls makes him moan, and you jerk as his left curve scratches the plush itch. “Fuuuuck, so warm and tight for me, baby.”
His arms support your legs in the air, and the position allows him to initiate with slow thrusts. Your purr at his movements; the curve has you howl with every push, stretching your pussy when he propels himself into you and rubs the upper wall of your vagina. Oh God, feels so fucking good…
You peer to where his dick is plunging into your cunt, silently awing at the mussy display of cum ringing around the base of his shaft and stringing to where your folds are. Holy shit, you chew on your bottom lip and move a hand to finger your clit, silently howling at the swipes you dance around your bud. “OhhhGod, hmmmm, right there…”
Gojo looks down and sees what you’re doing, and he chuckles, “Shit, you enjoying yourself, pretty girl? Hmm?” He ruts into you with sudden haste, and an abrupt hit to your cervix has you almost choking on air. “Like being filled up, huh?”
“Ahhh, y–yesss, I lov—Mmmph!!” He grinds his pelvis down, drilling his length deep inside to scuff your smooth walls. “I love y’r dick so much, Satoruuu…!”
“Awww, look at you playing with yourself,” the view excited him more, increasing his speed to pound into you. You cry out at the poke of your cervix, clamping onto him in response. “Ahhhh, there it is,” he coos while adding more weight onto you, making his rocks precise where he wants to hit. More shrieks fly out your lips, “Wanna be bred so bad, princess? Want me to fill you up again?”
Your head aches, ears ringing from the sloppy sounds of his dick rutting inside you, his balls smack your grundel with every push. “Ahhnn, mmoohhh, ye’sss,” you whisper.
“C’mon, angel, let me hear you.” Gojo places his forehead on your sweaty one, azure eyes examining your expression in a haze. “You want—Nnngh! Fuck…Want me to fuck a baby into you, yeah? Make you a mama? ”
“Yess, ’Toru, yesss!! Give me y’ur babiess, make me all fat and full!!”
“Heh, good, pretty girl; so good for—Khhckk!! Shit, shit, I’m gonna cum…” He brings his lips to yours, moaning to the kiss with you while his hips turn up to a volatile rate. Your whimpers are sucked and drunk by him, your eyebrows furrowed from the cyclical hits to your cervix and rubbing on your silky tunnel.
Your arms come around to his shoulders, beckoning him to deepen the kiss as your body gets ready for the orgasm that hits you like a train. Trembles climb up your frame, whines muffled, and drool slips out your mouth down to your chin. Your cunt contracts around his length, milking him into his own release and filling you with his essence, adding to the pile that squelches and trickles down to the sheets beneath you.
Gojo nibbles on your lip as he pumps every last bit of his load into you, his tongue twirling with yours until he removes his face from yours. He smiles, dimples greeting you with disheveled strands of snow-white hair sticking to his forehead. Too distracted by his charm for him to sneak in more harsh thrusts to your aching frame.
You gasp aloud, “—Ohooo! Satoru, nooo! I’m too sensitive nowww..!!”
“Mmmm, sorry, princess,” an apology with a smile doesn’t match, placing a kiss on your forehead as you wail for him while he ruts into your vulnerable slit. “You just feel too good, can never get enou—Owwww!!”
“What do you think you’re doing?”
Witness to the entire thing, Geto smacks Gojo with a house slipper before pulling him off you and throwing him to the side. The blue-eyed man looks at the other with an annoyed face. “I should be asking you the same thing, you psycho; what’s with the assault!?”
“Did you forget? Your turn is up,” indigo eyes narrow with a dark glint. “So why are you still moving?”
“Oh, quit yapping, giant earlobes! Can’t a guy squeeze in a few more before I get off…Or what, you scared I’d make them pregnant first? Your frail soldiers can’t compete with mine, is that it?”
“Hah, you tell me, blue-eyed snowflake; you’re the one still trying to fuck into them like you’re afraid your load isn’t enough. Poor guy; can’t be a sore loser too early, now.”
“Choke on my dick!”
“You first.”
The two bicker back and forth while you observe, unable to find the right cue to intervene as you’re still in a daze. You sit on your side, feeling the liquids inside you exit your frame and slide down your thighs.
As they fight, you remember that you had forgotten to tell them that you took a birth control pill earlier today after they texted about returning home together. It wasn’t until after dinner that they said they wanted to try and fuck and fill you to the brim, practically dragging you to the room before you could utter a word to them about the contraceptive.
…Oh well, surely they don’t mean to have a baby right this moment. Plus, there will be other times! So, for now, you watch your husbands argue before you while shaking your head with a smile.
requests/thirsts are open hehe~ 🧸
© 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲2024 – reblogs and comments are appreciated wholeheartedly ☆ header edit done by me + dividers by @/benkeibear.
#𝑯𝒐𝒔𝒉𝒊 ˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ 𝑾𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔: 𝑹𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒔#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen smut#jjk smut#jjk x y/n#jjk x you#gojo x reader#gojo smut#gojo satoru x reader#gojou satoru x reader#gojo satoru smut#geto x reader#geto smut#geto suguru x reader#geto suguru smut#getou suguru x reader#jujutsu kaisen x you#jjk imagines#anime smut
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Okay, but, Bruce gentle parenting the fuck out of the Justice League is literally such a funny concept. Like, the only reason it works so well is because of the overwhelming amount JL Daddy Issues; they’re all secretly desperate for some parental affection and Bruce is so naturally a Dad that he can’t help himself.
That gold star thing he used to do with Dick? Where he gave him a little star every time he kept himself safe during a patrol? Same thing works perfectly for Clark. He’s literally indestructible (but Bruce worries) so whenever he comes out unscathed from a battle (which is most of the time) he’ll hand Clark a little golden star sticker. Clark collects those things like they’re priceless artifacts and sticks them on his laptop.
The anger management therapy he did with Jason? Where he’d run through katas (a series of choreographed martial arts movements) whilst doing breathing exercises? Works like a charm on Diana and Dinah. They’re both super powered, so anything Bruce puts in front of her they’ll destroy, so going through a good old fashioned kata before a big mission will help them both focus without risking the destruction of the Watchtower.
The mindful meditation he did with Tim? When they’d sit in silence until Tim’s brain finally trained itself to know rest? It’s the perfect thing for Barry. He’s a speedster so his brain moves at about the same pace as Bruce and Tim’s (though maybe not quite as analytically); the post-mission meditation sessions are the perfect thing to help him calm down.
The art therapy he did with Damian? Where they’d paint memories that brought them pain/loneliness/loss/sadness because talking about it was too hard? Surprisingly, both John and Hal are into it. (Must be a Lantern thing.) Neither of them are great artists, but John paints about his time in the army and Hal about his time in the Air Force. They’ve both lost friends and comrades, have seen the worst of humanity up close, and just can’t always verbalize that feelingly of powerlessness even though their the galaxy’s greatest warriors—but they can paint it.
The silent chess games he’d play with Cassandra? Where’d they’d sit there and pick each others brains without having to say a word, could communicate an immense amount of emotion with the slide of a pawn? Great for Jon. He can’t talk into Bruce’s mind (not without considerable effort) and he can’t really talk to Bruce about everything that happened to him on Mars, but they can sit and play chess until they both have a mutual understanding of one another’s trauma.
All the crocheting he’s done with Steph? Where they’d sit in front of a fireplace in Wayne Manor and discuss their similarly complex relationships with their parents? Loved to do this with Arthur, of all people. They have to get waterproof Atlantean yarn, but the efforts worth the creations they make during Monitor duty, and it’s one of those rare time when Arthur can really vent about all of his troubles leading a life above and below sea, being a king, his love life—anything. Bruce will always listen.
And then, all of the soccer that he’s played with Duke? Where they’d let loose and just be competitive? Cyborg similarly appreciates this, but prefers football, naturally. Now, Bruce is too old to tackle a Mother-Box-Enhanced human, but that doesn’t stop him from covertly setting up pick-up football games on the front lawn of the Hall of Justice every other week.
So yeah. Bruce and his gentle parenting.
#bruce wayne#batfamily#batman#dc#justice league#dc comics#dick grayson#jason todd#tim drake#damian wayne#clark kent#diana prince#hal jordan#john stewart#justice league headcanon#Batdad
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I love to get 2 on
Tags: Satoru x fem!Reader, Toji x fem!Reader, mmf, polyamory, cursing, smut (fighting over who gets to breed you), dumbification, finger sucking, breeding kink duh, implied size kink, daddy kink, mdni.
An: this is so self indulgent of me to write but idc nothing else is intriguing me besides this thought. this will likely end up being a small series because i have sooooo many ideas about these two nasty fucks.
Having both Toji and Satoru as boyfriends was not for the weak willed because these two men are constantly at each other’s throats when it comes to your attention.
“Don’t look at him. Look at me. ‘m the one givin this pussy what she wants.” Toji’s husky voice growls into your ear, breath fanning across your skin before he grunts.
His hips are slapping against yours — fucking you deep into the mattress while his heavy cock slides in and out of your sloppy hole. Pornographic squelches are coming straight from your pussy, making you cringe, but both of your boyfriends seem to be going feral from it.
Satoru’s pale blue eyes roll as Toji once again steals the show away from him. His palm cups your chin, and he drags your focus right back to his swollen cock. His tip is a pretty shade of pink, and it’s sweltering — leaking beads of precum over and over while he leisurely drags his hand up and down his length .
“Don’t listen to him. Look at Toru.” He coos with a grin, loving how fucked out your face gets when Toji absolutely ruins you. “He’s just a placeholder, riiight~? You’re still going to let me breed you after.”
You’re so pliant for them, nodding your head like a dumb slut. Nothing else in the world is better than when they both take turns breeding you again and again.
“This placeholders ‘bout to make her cum again.” Toji taunts, gripping your hips with bruising strength as he rolls his hips just the way you like. His tip presses kisses of precum so deep inside you. You can barely breathe much less think.
“You better not, princess. Suppose to wait for Toru, remember?” Satoru’s voice grows stern, and his eyes bore into yours in an almost eerie fashion.
“C’mon, doll. Cum for daddy. I can feel you tightening around me. I know ya want to.”
It’s all so much. Watching Satoru fuck into his wrist while Toji’s tip is practically massaging your g-spot. You give Satoru a sorrowful glance before letting out a pleasured cry. Your hands fist at the sheets, and your toes literally curl as juices gush out around the base of Toji’s cock.
“Yeeaah, not bad for a placeholder, right?” Toji’s lips quirk up into a smirk before he presses a kiss to your lips, drinking down your moans just to rub it in Satoru’s face even more.
All it takes is one look from Satoru, and Toji slides out of you with a grin. “I got ‘er warmed up for ya.” Toji laughs as he and Satoru switch positions. You lazily part your thighs for Satoru, still trying to catch your breath from the soul shattering orgasm Toji just gave you.
“Nuh uh. You wanted to be a slut on his cock. ‘m gonna treat you like one.” His hands grab your waist, and he rolls you onto your stomach forcefully.
From the outside, everyone would probably guess that brooding Toji’s the mean one in these scenarios, but they’d be dead wrong.
Satoru, after a life of being spoilt, gets so rude and aggressive when he doesn’t get what he wants. Toji purposefully pushes him to that point — partly so he can watch you get railed deeply into the mattress until tears fall from your eyes.
The heel of Satoru’s palm connects with your back, and he forces your face and shoulders down into the sheets while his other hands guides his cock to your weeping entrance.
You grip at the sheets immediately, letting out a hiss as he buries himself all the way to the hilt in one fluid thrust.
“Fuck.” Satoru groans as if he’s genuinely mad at how wet you are — frustrated that Toji could get you this messy.
Toji brushes your hair away from your face, and his large palm rubs at your cheek gently — a tender reminder to keep your eyes on him while he jerks his cock right in front of your face.
“Just couldn’t wait, could you? I was- ngh.. gonna be nice to you tonight… since hah~ I’m trying to put a baby in you.” Satoru’s hips are forcefully slamming into your backside. He’s not moving fast, but his pace is punishing. “Toji’s already got a kid. It’s my turn.”
Your juices are seeping around his cock, forming a thin white line right around the base that makes Satoru’s cock twitch in delight. His hand slaps at the fat of your ass smack! before he’s pulling on your hips, making you meet him halfway just so he can make his thrusts count.
“Takin’ him so well. Keep it up for, daddy, yeah?” Toji murmurs before pressing a loving kiss to your temple.
Your mouth opens for Toji, and he gives you an affectionate chuckle before placing his thumb against your tongue to soothe that oral fixation you have. He knows that if he fucks your face, Satoru will have even more of a hissy fit and probably fuck you out of commission for a few days.
“Focus on him, doll. Looks like he’s making ya feel real good.” You nod, sucking on Toji’s thumb in between breathless whines and moans.
Satoru’s balls are so heavy, brutally slapping against your puffy clit with each thrust. Thwak! Thwak! Thwak! He’s been saving up for you, adamant that he needs to breed you. He’s the upcoming Gojo clan head after all; it’s natural that those old hags want a baby with his blessed genes.
All it takes is feeling your spongy walls clench around him like a vice, and Satoru’s jerking you up by your arms, forcing your back in to an arch to where the imprint of his dick bulges through your belly.
Both of you are so noisy when you cum, Toji thinks. He watches in slight awe as Satoru pumps you full with his sticky seed. He can tell by the look on Satoru’s face that you’re milking him for all he’s worth too, and it’s so fucking hot.
Toji pushes you back down into the bed. Both men aren’t good with words. They’re good at doing. He arches his hips out before rope after rope of white hot cum spurt from his tip all over your face, marking his territory.
After a moment of cleaning up and giving you small tokens of affection through praises and kisses, the men are right back at each other’s throats.
“Ya know, if you’re not able to keep up, I can breed her cunt, and let ya pass off my kid as yours.” Toji taunts with a smirk.
“Yeah, as if your first kid didn’t look like he came from your ass. Fat chance. Sweets and I are gonna make a pretty blue-eyed baby with white hair.” Satoru hums as he affectionately ruffles your hair. “Isn’t that right, pretty~?”
#jjk#jujutsu kaisen#jjk fanfic#fanfic#drabble#jjk suggestive#jjk gojo#gojo satoru#jjk smut#jujutsu gojo#gojo x reader#gojo smut#satoru x y/n#satoru x you#satoru x reader#satoru smut#toji x you#toji smut#jjk toji#jujutsu toji#toji x y/n#toji x reader#jjk x reader
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THE GRUDGE PROFESSOR!GETO for KINKTOBER 2023!
DESCRIPTION: everybody loves professor geto, and judging by the thousands of viewers you get on every live, a lot of people love you, too. but you and professor geto hate each other. you’ve had enough of his humiliation rituals, and decide to do something about it.
PAIRING: mean professor!geto x student!reader
WC: 5.3k i am an unstoppable beast
WARNINGS: 18+ MINORS DNI. fem reader, afab reader, teacher/student dynamic! adult age gap! (reader is in college, unspecified age), sw/camgirl!reader (don’t like don’t read! no shaming 😤), strong language, dirty talk, pet names (sweetheart, baby, angel, darling), reader calling geto "sir", unprotected relations, creampie, afab reader and terms
A/N: this switches between povs a lot so i hope that’s okay or at least readable lol! also i set out to write him so much meaner but he’s just kind of a simp... enjoy?
reblogs are very much appreciated i'll uwu for u :pleading eyes emoji:
it is said that those who cannot do, teach.
geto suguru could have done many things. he had the brains, the muscles, the features, the traits. the ambition to succeed in any field he desired. satoru says in a world ruled by the strong there is no place for humility.
but humility is not why suguru became a teacher. neither is ineptitude. no, he’d become a teacher because it was the right thing to do.
to use his gifts to help shape new generations, help unlock potentials long dorment and buried deep under years of a lackluster schooling system. geto suguru prided himself, above all, in being a righteous man.
but japan’s most upstanding citizen for 28 years in a row held a shameful secret. a secret in the shape of you.
he saw the darkest sides of himself on your face (eyebrows scrunched, eyes shut tightly, jaw slack as you—), your voice (higher in pitch with desperate moans that sound almost scared on the brink of your—), your body (taut and plump in all the right places, glistening with sweat, bouncing up and down on a—).
when you walked into his classroom that fateful day, the world tilted on its axis. his first thought was, fuck, then, it can’t be, then, most embarrassing of all, i’ll finally find out what she smells like.
(he did, when you went up to his desk to hand over your test. a whiff of vanilla, argon oil shampoo. too sweet, too youthful. and he’d watched you leave, tennis skirt flowing like a water lily, dick already chubby in his pants.)
it was slowly starting to consume him.
the first time you spoke in class, he knew he hadn’t been mistaken. it was really you. the cute, slutty girl he’d been milking his cock to for the better part of a year.
god, when you finally said his name. you would never in your wildest dreams think that he’d been imagining those words coming out of your mouth, of him coming out of your mouth, dripping out of you, all over you—
he was losing it. this was not like him. this was never supposed to happen, and he has to put an end to it.
everybody knew of geto suguru, the prodigy professor. already getting a phd despite not even being 30, handling the administrative slack for the department while managing office hours every day of the week, promoting student events, helping organize spirit weeks and charity drives.
everything he did, he did for others. those not as capable as him — which was most people. in other words, it was really, really hard to hate him.
but you damn well managed to.
and to think you were excited to take his class. everybody told you to run, not walk, to sign up for his twentieth-century Japanese philosophy chair.
“oh, professor geto is just the best,” they’d said. “he makes it sound so interesting and engaging, he gives the most life changing assignments, he really cares about us.”
bullshit.
the first time you stepped into that classroom, suspiciously full for a philosophy class, you felt a shift in the air almost immediately.
and sure enough, professor geto suguru was eyeing you down like he’d just seen a ghost. it made you self conscious, like he’d taken one look at you and decided right then and there you were too dumb for the class.
it made your blood boil. sure, you stood out a little bit from the actual philosophy majors, but that doesn’t mean he gets to judge you. he literally doesn’t know you!
but fine, first impressions are tricky like that. for all you knew, you could’ve been misjudging him right there.
however, with each passing day, you grew more and more assured in your suspicions.
you knew the man had it out for you, always calling on you to answer when he knew you weren’t paying attention, never grading your papers above a B even though you did everything right, somehow managing to fucking avoid you during his excessive office hours.
his looks were almost the most infuriating part of it.
his beautiful face constantly set in that nonchalant look, his big veiny hands always gesticulating, his huge fucking arms straining the fabric of those dress shirts, his ear gauges and man bun contrasting the prim and proper image the rest of him conveyed.
under different circumstances, he’d make your mouth water. under different circumstances, you’d imagine him going down on you all night long, singing praise about how good you taste and how tight you are.
but in this timeline, you absolutely loathed him. and he loathed you too. why? you didn’t know.
but you knew for a fact that it was personal.
“i don’t care,” megumi said around a mouthful of meatball, cutting your monologue short. “i’m not doing it.”
you sigh, melting into your chair. “megumi. please. i am literally begging you, i just need some hard evidence so i can go report his ass.”
he eyes you curiously. “report him for what?”
“i don’t know. bullying? sexism? whatever the hell his problem is,” you pick at your food, huffing in annoyance.
“you’re overthinking it,” megumi replies, dismissively.
“okay, how about this,” you lean forward, putting an elbow on the table. “if you write the assignment for me, i’ll get your dog that expensive halloween costume you’ve been wanting.”
megumi lifts an eyebrow.
“you need to get one for each,” he says simply.
you grin. “deal.”
suguru really does give it his all to make your life with him a living hell. pulls out all the stops, years of friendship with gojo satoru paying off as he comes up with ploy after ploy to get you to drop his class.
it feels bad, being mean to you. but for the hidden, twisted parts of him, it feels delicious.
watching you huff and puff, all hot and bothered when he corrects your answers on the spot. watching you nibble on your pen at the increasingly difficult exams he hands out. letting himself wonder if you missed a stream this week because you were too busy cramming for a make up test.
he knows he’s pushing you to your limit, and even if there’s some sort of sick satisfaction in seeing you so agitated at his hands when it’s usually the other way around, he doesn’t enjoy upsetting you.
the problem is, suguru knows it’s either he gets his shit together or he continues tormenting you, and, well.
the spirit is willing but the flesh is so, so weak.
he knows it’s getting worse, too, because he’s not infatuated by you only when you’re undressing on his screen, or all dolled up in class.
when you tie your hair up in a ponytail, when you suck on a hangnail, when you lick your thumb to erase a smudge on your paper… all of it drives him wild.
he can’t teach with a permanent half chub anymore. this has to end, one way or another.
you sit down in front of your computer, adjusting the camera before turning it on. soon, viewers start trickling in, little dings notifying you of their messages.
you smile, waving at the screen.
“hi everyone! i know i’m a little bit late today, i hope you can forgive me…” your eyes scan the chat, giggling at the compliments. “‘you look tired, sad face’, ah. i’m sorry. i guess i’ve been a little stressed lately.”
your robe falls over your shoulder as you readjust your position. a few donations come in, accompanied by supportive messages.
“you guys are so nice. it’s not a big deal, it’s just this dude giving me a hard time at college.”
you absentmindedly trace your collarbones, reading what your viewers are saying.
“you’ll kill him for me? that’s so sweet,” you joke. “nah, it’s not a student. it’s a professor. exactly, ynlover444, a grown ass man picking on me!”
you sigh deeply, allowing your body to finally unwind and relax on your chair. you prop a knee up against the armrest, giving your viewers a little peek in between your legs. you’re wearing one of your favorite sets, trying to get in the mood after the week you’ve had.
“ugh, sometimes i wish i could just…” you suck in a breath, clenching your hand into a fist before releasing it. “sit on his face and get him to shut up, you know?”
you laugh at the countless me firsts that flood the chat, bringing a finger to your lip.
“anyway! enough about that horrible man,” you reach beside you to grab a box your viewers know all too well by now. “let’s get to the fun stuff, shall we?”
as always, satoru is no help.
“why don’t you just fuck her?” he asks, eyebrows arching above his sunglasses. “ya gotta just fuck her.”
suguru clears his throat before taking a drag of his cigarette. “i’m not fucking a student.”
satoru shrugs. “everybody does it. besides, you basically already do.”
suguru wonders, not for the first time, why he ever told his friend about his situation. about your streams, that he’d stumbled upon randomly and innocently and had gotten instantly hooked, about you barging into his classroom like an angel at hell’s gates, about you you you you, everything about you.
“that won’t fix anything.”
satoru clicks his tongue, swirling his soda inside the can.
“poor, naive suguru. did you not just tell me about what she said on her stream?" and yes, regrettably, suguru had told him. "it’ll fix everything.”
suguru doesn’t even let himself consider it, except he does.
at this point it’s no secret that he’s thought about being inside you, but now that you’re here it’s just too real and too risky and completely fucking wrong.
it goes against the entire life he’s built for himself.
he’s lost. he wants you so fucking bad, wants you close, wants you so far away, wants to ravage you and never have to see you again.
it’s fight or flight. if he got you alone, it could go either way, he realizes that.
suguru wonders what part of him will win by the end of all of this.
your heels clack on the linoleum floor of the hallway as you approach professor geto’s classroom, megumi’s graded paper clutched tightly against your chest.
the thing about megumi is that he's a star student. he’s never gotten anything below an A on any of his essays, makes the dean’s list every year, tutors his seniors. so the big, bright B- on the page tells you everything you need to know.
damn right it’s personal.
you don’t even bother knocking, slamming the door open while still trying to contain your indignation.
geto is sitting at his desk, piles of papers sprawled on top. he has his white dress shirt rolled up to his elbows and a surprised look on his face that would be cute if you didn’t want to slap it right off.
he says your last name like he’d been expecting you all his life.
“to what do i owe the pleasure?”
your jaw clenches as you take a few loud steps towards him. you slam megumi’s paper down on his desk, leaning over.
“professor geto, i demand an explanation. a real one, this time.”
the man takes a deep breath, lips twisting disapprovingly. he smoothes the paper over.
“as i already explained in my notes right here, the structure is fine, but i couldn’t help but miss a more in-depth analysis of the four nodal concerns of philosophy that we talked about in class, such as—“
“no,” you interrupt. “just no. you know you’re bullshitting me and i’m sick of it. this paper deserved an A!”
“miss—“
“what’s your problem with me?” you spit out. your eyes finally meet and there’s nothing in geto’s that could answer your question. your chest is heaving, lips wobbling and hands shaking, trying to contain your anger.
geto clears his throat, visibly uncomfortable. “like i said, your paper could’ve used a bit more—“
“no it fucking couldn’t have, because it’s not my fucking paper, it’s fushiguro’s fucking paper and the only reason you gave it a B is because i was the one who handed it in!”
he sits up, straightening his posture.
geto sounds austere when he asks, “do you realize how much trouble this could be for both of you if i reported it?”
you can’t believe this man. he’s been picking on you the entire semester and when you finally confront him about it this is what he chooses to focus on.
“are you fucking kidding me?” that earns you a stern look from him, eyebrow raising taller than that fucking high horse he sits on. “professor geto. what did i ever do to you?”
there must be something earnest in your voice because geto sighs, getting up from his chair.
he walks until he’s standing in front of you, leaning against his desk and crossing his feet.
“do i bother you?” is all he says. it surprises you.
you jut your chin out. “as a matter of fact, you do.”
the man hums.
“i bet that’s really difficult for you,” he speaks like he’s sympathetic, like he understands. he sounds almost sheepish when he says, “i bet sometimes you wish i would just shut up.”
you blink rapidly. “no, it’s not like that. it might shock you but i genuinely do enjoy your class, it’s just that—“
“or maybe you wish you could shut me up,” he continues, ignoring you. “maybe going as far as to say that you could… sit on my face to get me to shut up.”
your mouth goes dry.
before your brain can fully process the shift in the atmosphere or the fact that your professor is maybe possibly hitting on you, you realize where those words are coming from.
it’s what you said. about him. on stream. right before fucking yourself on your hot pink dildo.
you can’t speak, can barely even look in his general direction.
you had really thought things couldn’t get any worse. had barged into his office with nothing to lose, almost hoping he would cordially invite you to remove yourself from his class permanently.
but now? now you have no idea what’s going to happen to you.
“i…” you start, the words dying in your throat. geto chuckles, crossing his fat fucking muscly arms across his chest.
he says your name, low and syrupy. “is it true? you’d like to?”
you can feel your face flush hot in embarrassment, and you shift your weight from one foot to the other, wishing desperately that you’d never walked into his classroom.
you have half the mind to apologize to him, right now.
“it’s just a figure of speech,” you try. geto clicks his tongue.
“what a shame.”
your wide eyes shoot up and meet his. “w-what?”
he smiles sweetly.
“it’s a peace offering. you can take it, or we can forget you ever said anything,” and isn’t he just so slimey, actually, when he’s the one who brought it up. he had said it, and now…
now you can finally allow yourself to look at him.
those delicious, broad shoulders, the ever-present bored look, the stubborn fringe that falls out of his bun.
you could so easily forget what you came here for.
“so, like, a truce?” you ask, taking a daring step forward. geto nods, uncrossing his arms. “and you stop treating me like i’m fucking dumb?”
he tilts his head. “i think you’re a very smart young lady. determined. entrepreneurial…”
“geto—“
“professor geto,” he corrects you, hands reaching out to graze your hips. “you’re intelligent. i just like to push my students.”
you both know that’s a lie, but it’s okay, because now you know exactly why you got under his skin and it makes your own burn.
you run a hand down the line of buttons on the front of his shirt, looking up at him through your eyelashes.
“then… push me, professor.”
it’s so incredibly lame, the porn line you hit him with, but to your surprise it works, a low groan rumbling deep in geto’s chest.
he swiftly closes the distance between the two of you, grabbing both sides of your face and crashing your lips together.
it’s ravenous, the way geto dips his tongue inside when you gasp in surprise. you moan against his mouth, slipping a leg in between his two.
he’s half hard already when he rubs up against your thigh.
geto picks you up with ease and sets you down on his desk, and it’s so fucking cliché, the papers crinkling under your weight, the pens clattering to the floor. but it turns you on beyond belief.
you share a few open mouthed kisses, an exchange of tongue and moans and hot breaths between your lips.
if you were honest with yourself, you'd admit that you've fantasized about it before. a silly idea, at first, something you'd just blurted out mid-stream.
but that little seed had been planted, and when you got yourself off that night, you might've imagined for a moment that it was your mean professor's cock squeezed tight inside you, making you come undone.
geto slips his hands under your skirt, grabbing your ass and pulling you closer to him. you line up your crotch with his, moving your hips in tight little circles that make the both of you groan.
his fingers are tugging your underwear down, down, the soft patch sticking to your gooey cunt. he lets the soaked fabric dangle from your ankle, grazing the back of his knuckles on your core.
“mmm, fuck,” geto breaks the kiss, swallowing. his pretty lips are flushed and shiny, parted around his panted breaths. “you always get this wet or am i special?”
he’s smirking, the bastard, leaning back in to kiss your neck.
god, you smell so good, like lotion and perfume and sunshine and sin.
“shouldn’t you know?” you sneak your fingers up into his bun, pushing your chest against him. he works his lips expertly on your skin, using just the right amount of teeth, of pressure.
geto hums against your neck, kissing a line up to your jaw. he snakes a hand under your skirt, thumb pressing down hard to rub on your clit, two fingers slipping inside.
you immediately clench, a soft, drawn out mewl leaving your lips.
the slide of his fingers against your walls send a chill down your spine, filling you up so perfectly. you feel the thin skin at your opening stretch around him, burning at the friction as his fingers plunge in and out of you.
“god, look at that,” he rests his forehead on your shoulder and pulls the hem of your skirt up. “do you hear that, baby? so fucking wet for me.”
you whine, hands cupping his jaw so you can kiss him again.
“please…” you mumble against his lips. “more…”
you wonder how much of what you can say he's heard before, which exact words have left your lips and sent him over the edge. it makes you self conscious, oddly, like he can see right through you.
not-so-kindly ignoring your request, geto removes his fingers, bringing them up to his mouth.
you watch as his eyelids flutter in pleasure, a hum rumbling low in his throat.
he looks so good like this, just edible.
you pull him in for a kiss before he can, relishing in the surprised little noise he lets out. your knees are wobbling, feet dangling from your seat as you taste yourself on his tongue.
he swallows your moan hungrily, forearms trembling with the need to hold back.
geto knows this is wrong, so wrong on so many levels, puts both your positions in jeopardy, it makes him feel perverted and primal and so fucking alive.
he’s been watching you fuck yourself on those silly toys for god knows how long now, knows every spot that makes your hips buck, knows exactly how to make you cream like a debased slut around a cock.
it should feel unfair, how easy it’s going to be for him to make you cum, only if it weren’t for the fact that your mere presence is enough to get him hard as fucking diamonds.
“tastes good, huh?” he whispers, thumb caressing your chin. you nod, smiling devilishly.
“tastes better on your tongue, prof.”
geto groans low like a starved animal, holding your throat in his hand with a loose grip. he’s overwhelmed, that much shows, not knowing what to do with you or where to start. but there’s one thing he’s sure of.
he presses one last kiss to your spit-slick lips before dropping to his knees.
you can hardly believe it. sulky, big bad bully professor geto suguru on his knees for you. you prop a foot up on his desk, your sole skidding on a piece of paper.
“scoot closer, please,” he asks, cordial even like this. you bring your ass to the edge of the desk, your dripping pussy hovering over his face.
he looks so good under you, hair already disheveled, a delicious tent in his tailored pants.
you tuck the hem of your skirt into the waistline so you can watch as he sucks your clit into his mouth, moaning like he’s fucking relieved.
you throw your head back, fingers buried in his silky hair as geto’s fingers find their way back inside.
he fucks them in and out of you lazily, pushing out strings of slick. geto slurps it all up, spreading your wetness all over your clit and sucking it back in his mouth.
god, his cock is straining in his pants but he doesn’t dare touch it, can’t until he’s inside you. you taste like fucking heaven, like all his fantasies, like he always knew you would.
you’re whining softly, bucking your hips into his face almost shyly, as to disrupt his pace.
you sound so much better in person, although he can’t wait to have you moaning into his ear without needing the headphones.
“god, this perfect pussy,” geto mumbles into you, his breathing labored. he runs a thumb all over your cunt, gliding it over your soaked lips. “been dreaming about it for so long.”
“yeah?” you ask. “tell me. tell me how you stroke your cock to me every night.”
and every night might be overselling it. geto is a busy man.
but your words do make him realize that no girl he’s had since he found your stream has satisfied him quite like you do. your flirty smile, your moans, the way they sometimes turn into uncontained giggles as you stuff your pretty cunt with a dildo.
so he tells you, blush spreading across his cheeks.
“fuck, i do,” he tongues your clit, tracing lazy circles. “i do. just look what you do to me.“
and there it is, that cheeky, slutty giggle, directed at something he said this time.
he takes his fingers out, spreading your opening with both thumbs as he licks you all over.
geto gulps, tongue dipping inside of you, sucking your clit into his mouth, sliding down to your entrance, every clench of your pussy pushing out more and more slick for him. no one's ever eaten you out as thoroughly as this.
“oh, fuck, sir,” it slips out casually, the way it would were you talking to any other professor. but given the circumstances, you revel in the deep moan geto buries into your cunt.
you trap your lips between your teeth to keep anything else from tumbling out, but it’s useless.
“please, sir, i’m so close—so close just keep doing that, yeah just like that—“
“fuck,” he mumbles, pulling away to suck in a desperate breath. then, “fuck,” sultrier, right into your core.
you grind against his face, finding purchase in his hair as a final few flicks of his tongue push you right into the crest of a mind-numbing orgasm.
it’s so good, so much better than when you're alone. the friction so perfect, his long, thick fingers plugging you up last minute to viciously fuck into you.
“god…,” you breathe out, legs trembling as he runs his hands up your thighs.
his chin is glistening, bubbles of spit and cum gathering in the corner of his mouth. he looks so good like this, like he was meant to please you and nothing else.
geto feels like a fucking teenager, so goddamn close to busting in his pants at the sight of you. his dick hurts, balls tight and the head throbbing where it’s tucked into his underwear.
“please, sweetheart,” he can’t hold himself back any longer, slick fingers already undoing his belt.
you get to work on his zipper, pulling his pants down along with his underwear and damn.
you figured he was big. he was a tall man, broad shoulders, shoes the size of a yacht, and the bulge in his trousers was a pretty good indication. but it couldn’t have prepared you for the sheer size of him.
longer than it is thick, cleanly shaven, pretty veins and ridges and standing angry red in attention. god, you want it inside you.
he notices you looking.
“do you need more prep? i can—“
“no, fuck no, suguru, need it inside me now,” you wrap a hand around him and he hisses, caging you in with his arms on the desk.
he huffs out a laugh, blowing the fringe framing his face. “what happened to sir?”
you kiss down his jaw, squeezing right below his tip.
“sorry, sir,” you say against his ear. “are you going to punish me for my slip up?”
geto groans, pulling on your hair hard and making you face him.
“take your shirt off for me,” he instructs, and you obey, maneuvering around his tight grip on the back of your head.
his spirit is so unbreakable.
here you are, teasing him, coaxing him to rough you up, push you around, relieve both your frustrations properly once and for all, but he’s just so… adoring, and hungry, and just so irrevocably into you, and you find out that’s so much better.
geto relents his hold on you to unclasp your bra, cupping your breasts and sucking a nipple into his mouth. you whine, caressing his hair.
“so fucking perfect,” he massages your tits, looking mesmerized.
“yeah? they haven’t gotten old to you yet?”
he laughs, so cute, and you can barely remember that just hours ago you hated the sight of him. you stroke his cock up and down, squeezing harder at the tip trying to milk all that delicious pre he’s been wasting on the inside of his boxers.
“no, f-fuck—never gonna get old,” he pushes your boobs against each other, imagining his cock sliding in between them, his balls nestled underneath, his load blown all over your pretty face—
fuck, he’s gonna cum if he keeps going like this.
he rips your hand away from him, ignoring your knowing smirk and pushing his tongue into your mouth.
“i’m gonna fuck you now, okay, sweetheart?” you moan, nodding, shimmying your hips so he can have the perfect angle.
a big hand clasps your thigh to wrap your leg around his hips as his tip pokes around your entrance.
you’re whining in anticipation, clenching around nothing, nails clawing his clothed back.
when he slips in, it feels like coming home. you’re like warm honey around him, cunt pushing him out but clinging to him at the same time, with every stroke. it’s fucking maddening.
“ahh, g-god, sir, ‘s too big—“ you swallow around the lump in your throat, feeling the tip of his cock in your guts.
he’s huffing, concentrated, bullying his cock into you inch by inch with shallow thrusts until he finally bottoms out.
“fuuuuck, angel,” he grips your waist with both hands, like he could just fuck you up and down his length if he wanted to. “took me so well, look at that.”
you do, dropping your heavy head to look at where you’re connected. you clench around him and he whines, pulling out almost all the way before slamming back in.
the metal legs of the desk skid on the floor, papers and pens raining down to the floor as geto starts roughly plunging in and out of you.
you let out little ah, ah, ahs in time with his strokes, the ache deep in your stomach finally starting to fade.
“f-fuck, you’re gonna—topple us over, suguru, go easy—“
“can’t,” he chokes out, wheezing as he pushes his cock in as far as it can go.
he gives shallow little thrusts, his length straining the fine skin at your entrance so good, hitting a spot inside you over and over that makes your head spin.
your fingers twist into the back of his shirt, pulling him in to whine right into his ear.
he’s so big, stretching you out so thin that you feel every ridge and vein, can feel both your heartbeats inside your cunt.
“ohhhhh fuck, fuck sir, please please touch me—“
he grabs your ass before you can even finish your sentence and presses you flush against his hips.
geto’s tip is kissing your cervix now, his balls sticky and creamy against your ass, your clit grinding against his pubic bone as his thrusts violently shake the both of you.
“fuck, wanna do it so fucking loud but i can’t, we can’t, what if someone walks in—“
you moan wantonly at his words, expecting to be chided, but geto seems to love it despite his worries because his cock kicks deliciously inside of you.
“look how loud you’re being, listen to yourself,” he grunts out, the belt pooled around his feet clanging with every stroke, the absolutely lewd squelches from your pussy resonating in the entire classroom.
you two sound so good together, better than you’ve ever had, better than he could’ve ever imagined.
“so loud, so wet on this cock,” he spits out, sweaty strands of hair sticking to his forehead. “do those toys make you feel this good? this full? answer me.”
“hahh, n-no, no one but you,” you can’t think straight, head thrown back in pleasure and eyes squeezed shut. “only you, sir.”
geto whines like he’s aching, pounding into you mercilessly and making a mess under the two of you.
“fuck yeah, that’s right. i’m making you feel good, baby?”
“mm-hm,” you mumble, tongue lolling out. geto's going so hard now, has you pressed up so tight against him, body caging you in, fucking every breath and thought right out of you. “close.”
“yeah?” he speeds up his effort slightly, and you’re sure he’s going to have desk-edge shaped bruises on his thighs tomorrow. “gonna cum on my cock? cream all over me?”
you let out a long, drawn out whine, tits bouncing up and down with the force of geto’s thrusts.
“let me see your face when you cum, darling,” he cups the back of your neck, breathing hard through his nose. “keep your eyes on me. that’s right, sweetie, so good, you’re doing so good.”
you preen at the praise, feeling suddenly self conscious with the man's laser focus attention on you.
you coo out little noises, growing in desperation, holding onto his biceps for dear life as his hips piston in and out of you.
your pull him into you closer and rub your clit against him, grinding helplessly as your orgasm creeps closer and closer.
the moment you open your eyes and meet his hungry ones, you’re cumming. your walls spasm around him, making the glide of his dick impossibly wetter with your release.
geto chokes on a sound, his cock hostage of your pussy’s vice-like grip as your greedy cunt milks him for all he's got.
“f-fuck, baby, look so pretty when you cum, always look so fucking sexy so fucking perfect that you’re gonna make me bust, i’m gonna cum for you god gonna cum inside, gonna blow my load all deep inside this pussy—“
it’s the most desperate he’s ever sounded, speaking through clenched teeth and a soaked mouth. you moan in return, letting him use you.
he slams his forehead down your shoulder when he thrusts once, twice, three times and cums, his balls drawing up so tight that it hurts. he fucks it into you with shallow thrusts, panting, almost wheezing in pleasure.
it feels like it lasts forever, his orgasm. like all of the blood in his body goes straight to his balls to push out the thickest, most satisfying nut of his life into the prettiest girl he's ever seen.
you feel it fill you up so good, hear it, too, squelching and sticking to both of you.
geto’s body slumps against yours and you stay like that for a while, catching your breaths. there’s cum sliding out of you, down his balls, onto some poor student’s essay you have your ass on top of.
when he pulls out of you, he takes a beat to watch it spill out of you some more, his face and chest red, his smile groggy.
“god, this,” geto has to fight the urge to say thank you for letting him fuck your brains out. he swallows.
“yeah,” you blink away the haze, feeling sore and fucked out. “this.”
“…is probably going to happen again, right?”
he knows it shouldn’t. he knows it will.
maybe both parts of geto can learn to coexist.
you grin, touching the tip of your tongue to his lips.
“well, i still haven’t made good on that promise of sitting on your face, have i?”
the next morning, in class, the students erupt in happiness at the news that professor geto had an accident that ended up ruining most of last week’s graded papers he had in his possession.
so he decided to give everyone an A for their troubles.
and finally, finally, there was peace in the world.
#OOF.#this was a doozy it feels like sooooo much more than 5k words tbh#i wanted to wait to post it bc im rly proud of it i dont want it to flop but :#i cant resist it i want it out#✩.kinktober#✩.geto#geto suguru smut#geto smut#geto suguru x you#geto suguru x reader#geto suguru x y/n#geto suguru x reader smut#geto suguru x you smut#geto x you smut#geto x reader smut#ummm what else#jujutsu kaisen smut#tw power dynamics#jjk smut#kinktober#jjk kinktober#geto reader smut#✩.tw power dynamics#✩.petra.doc#geto suguru x female reader#geto x female reader
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I have been binging your work!
I don't know if this breaks your trauma rule or not, but (with the guys of your choosing as long as Ratio is there) how would the guys react to losing reader (they haven't confessed feelings yet) during a mission and thinking they died. Then, the reader reappears a week later bandaged up, but alive. Maybe spouts their confession first? ˘͈ᵕ˘͈
I adore your writing. Thank you!
This is way too fucking long, so be warned. It’s like I rammed 4 mini stories in one but got lost at some point cuz I left this ask to collect dust. Also thanks for enjoying my writing it’s much appreciated. :) 🦦🐿️
Sunday:
The moment he got news that you’ve been assumed dead in the aftermath of a dangerous mission, he looses composure really quickly.
Loosing Robin was one thing but loosing you on top of that was the straw that broke the camels back.
He originally doesn’t believe that you were gone, he refuses to as he practically tears his office to shreds in a fit of anger and grief before forcing himself to regain composure and clean up after his outburst. He needed to in order to keep up the illusion that he was the levelheaded leader The Family needed in these moments of chaos and mistrust.
Even if he himself was breaking down internally alongside everyone else, hellbent on finding the culprit for your death and punishing them so severely that they’d beg for death. He’d avenge you in anyway he could, even if it meant sending out the bloodhound family on a wild goose chase that only ends in dead ends, he would get you justice no matter how it may come.
His heart had died alongside you that day.
So when a week passes and he finally has you back in his arms, all the while being carful with your wounds as his eyes searched you over in a way you weren’t use to.
‘You’re alive.’ He breathes out in relief as he then begins to laugh and rest his head against yours, breathing you in deeply as he relishes in this long awaited moment. ‘Of course you’re alive.’ He mutters.
‘Sunday,’ you began but Sunday was quite to cut you off.
‘Do you know how I felt thinking you were dead? Driving myself insane to prove that you were still alive anyway I could as not to bear the idea of walking through this life without the one person I love so dearly.’ Sunday takes a brief pauses in his monologue, feeling out of breath after having put everything out into the open before continuing. ‘I thought my heart had stopped beating that day and now I have you bad in my arms.’ Sunday then chuckles darkly as he gripped you tighter. ‘I’ll ensure that I’d never have to revisit that part of my life ever again.’
‘Sunday-‘
‘Shhh.’ Sunday cuts you off once more, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he holds you close to his chest, rubbing your back soothingly. ‘Just know that what I do after this, I do out of my love for you.’ He says against your forehead before pressing another kiss there for good measure.
Jing yuan:
Loss wasn’t new to Jing Yuan.
He has experienced it in multiple forms throughout his life, but that didn’t made the news of your death any less painful for the General.
While his mind might’ve made peace with the fact that you were gone, his heart however did not as he would find himself in the places that you often vacated to in moments of stress, or to just be left alone for a while with your thoughts. So to no longer see you in any of those hidden spots -waiting for him to find you like you usually did- only worsened the grief he felt in his heart as he sat himself down and allowed the memories to pass over him in waves.
You were both so happy together and felt a sense of fulfilment that could only be achieved when you were within the other’s presence; A feeling that was uniquely yours and yours alone that could never be replicated, ever. For no one could ever come close to replacing you, nor the companionship you and he had for each other that many assumed would blossom into something more; Jing Yuan also shared the same sentiments as they did, but just as he built the courage to push that boundary between the two of you, you were taken from him before he could utter a single word.
So when a week passes and Jing Yuan found your battered and beaten form in one of your secret spots, back resting against a tree with your eyes closed.
‘Y/n?’ He called out and your eyes opened upon hearing his voice and looking at him with a weak smile. ‘Hey General, miss me?’ You said as you struggled to get up to your feet, only to stumble forward and into Jing Yuan’s chest as his strong yet gentle hands hold you in place.
‘More than you could ever hope to know.’ Jing yuan said as he focused on how you felt beneath his hands, warm and alive.
‘I’m sorry I kept you waiting.’ You muttered against his chest as his warmth made you realised just how tired you were from everything you’ve experienced this last week alone. ‘I never meant to keep you waiting in fear that you’d forget about me if I don’t stay in your life long enough.’ You admit and Jing Yuan instinctively presses a soft kiss to the top of your head, holding you protectively.
‘I could never forget about you my beloved.’ Jing Yuan reassured you as he looked you deep into your eyes. ‘You’ve managed to carve your place within my heart and soul, so much that there isn’t a day where you aren’t all I think about, regardless of whether or not your by my side or far away.’ He finished by pressing a gentle kiss to the gauze on your cheek, chuckling upon seeing your cute attempts of burrowing your face into his chest.
‘How long have you’ve been waiting to say this.’ You asked, thankful that he was the one to admit his feelings first, as you would’ve had a hard time articulating your words as fluidly as he could.
‘For a very long time.’ Jing Yuan replied with a small smile as he then proceeded to lift you into his arms, cuasing you to squeal in surprise, as he made sure to be carful of your wounds and began walking to the nearest medics to make sure your wounds weren’t going to be trouble later on.
Aventurine:
He didn’t know what to think when you were pronounced dead, all Aventurine could feel in that moment was an overwhelming numbness that encased him entirely.
The only light left in his life had been snuffed out, plummeting him into utter and total darkness he had once been well acquainted with until you came along, giving him a reason to keep looking forward despite everything.
You were no longer here to hold onto his left hand before he could even think of hiding it behind his back out of habit, you were no longer here to be his reason, his comfort, his safe place. You were taken away from him unfairly and once again Aventurine found himself asking the same question he has been asking himself for a long time; why everyone was born into this life just to die.
So when a week passes and Aventurine finds himself sat on a bench somewhere, still not dealing well then than he was the week of your assumed passing, lost in his own thoughts when someone took a seat next to him. Aventurine was just about ready to tell them to go away, when he saw just who was sitting next to him; you.
‘I know, I look like shit but you don’t have to look at me like that.’ You spoke upon feeling his eyes gaze upon the gauze on your cheek, then towards the array of bandages that littered the rest of your body.
‘I thought you died.’ He hissed, emotion was heavy in his voice as his eyes became bleary with unshed tears as he felt his breathing become heavy with the reality that you were alive. He didn’t know what was real and what wasn’t in that moment as his mind raced. And it wasn’t until you reached out to grasp his left hand and intertwine your fingers together, squeezing, did everything finally became clear to him.
‘I thought I was too at one point but there was something that kept me from journeying over to the afterlife.’ You admit, looking over at him and smiling sweetly, wanting nothing then to calm his thoughts and reassure him that this wasn’t a dream.
‘And what was that?’ He laughs humourlessly as he stares back at you, wanting to hear what excuses you could come up with for faking being dead for a week. ‘Willpower? Determination?’
‘You Kakavasha.’ You replied straightforwardly and his breath hitched in his throat. You rarely used his actual name unless it was absolutely serious. ‘You were all I thought about as I pushed through my injuries.’ You told him as you continued. ‘Kakavasha is waiting for me was just about all I could think about for a week straight.’ You finished as though you didn’t just confess that he was your soul motivator in staying alive.
‘Really?’ Aventurine said softly, finding it impossible that he could possibly be your reason for anything. ‘Why?’
‘Yes really.’ You chuckled, pressing a kiss to his cheek as you rested your head against his shoulder. ‘As for why, it’s because I like you more then did let myself admit, but i just wanted you to know incase anything truly bad were to ever happen to me-‘
‘No.’ Aventurine cut you off suddenly, squeezing your hand as though he were afraid. ‘Nothing is going to happen to you, not now. not ever. I just got you back.’ He adds resting his head against your own in a desperate attempt of feeling more of your against him. ‘Just stay with me…please.’ He begs you in a whisper as he nuzzled further into you. ‘and don’t go anywhere I can’t follow. I don’t think I can bear the thought of loosing you again.’
You smiled softly as you just whispered back against the skin of his neck. ‘As long as you don’t go anywhere I can’t follow. I like my crush to be alive and close by even if he can be a pain in my ass sometimes.’
Aventurine chuckles, his heart becoming whole again as he made you cuddle into his side, kissing your head once more as you took this moment to familiarise yourselves with each other. ‘At least I’m a pleasurable pain in the ass.’ He teased and you pinch his side, causing him to flinch, but his smile remained and this time his smile was genuine.
His light has came home.
Ratio:
Fully believed that he’d see you when the mission ended, knowing just how talented and dedicated to the craft you were, and having faith that this would be a measly walk in a park for you.
Only to receive word that you were one of the many who were assumed dead when you weren’t found amongst the living nor the dead.
Veritas tries to remain as levelheaded and logical as possible during this time and continue life as normal. However found himself retracting from everyone else and going none contact, more so specifically with the people you were once associated with, and instead focused heavily on his studies and academics to an unhealthy extent.
A week passes and Veritas feels as though he’s seen a ghost the moment he saw you in his peripheral vision, bandaged and dressed in ripped clothing but still somehow finding it in you to smile.
‘You idiotic Buffon!’ He exclaims as he walks towards you.
‘Well that’s a nice way to greet someone you care about.’ You replied as you readied yourself for a massive rant about how stupid you were and so on, but instead you were held against his chest as he burrows his head into your neck.
‘I thought you died.’ He says in a whisper as he breathed you in. This went against all logic but in that rare moment Veritas didn’t care, you were alive but he still couldn’t let go of the fact that you didn’t tell anyone you were still alive. ‘Why didn’t you tell anyone that you were alive, send a signal, anything.’
You shrugged as you made yourself comfortable in his strong arms. ‘All communications were badly damaged or completely cut off.’ You told him. ‘I was on my own for a long while before finding my way back to you.’
‘Me?’ Veritas asked, pulling away from you. ‘Why not a medial facility for a proper treatment of your wounds? Have you hit your head so hard that common sense had been left on the back burner when making that decision?’
‘I wanted to see you first you dickhead!’ You exclaimed, shutting Veritas up rather quickly with your confession but you didn’t care. ‘is it so wrong of me to let the man I love know that I’m okay? So go ahead and call me an idiot all you like but that won’t change the fact that I felt more fear about not telling you how I truly feel then dying on some stupid mission.’ You finished your rant.
‘You’re insufferable.’ Veritas said after a moment of silence and you couldn’t help but feel a little annoyed at this that you didn’t notice that Veritas has began to close in the distance between the two of you.
You scoffed. ‘Oh sure call me insufferable as if you-‘ Veritas cuts you off by cupping your cheeks and planting a sweet short lived kiss against your lips before pulling away with a smirk.
‘Glad to know that the feelings are reciprocated.’ He says, taking enjoyment of rendering you speechless as he gently guided you to medical, and remaining by your side for the remainder of the day.
#hsr imagines#hsr imagine#hsr x reader#hsr jing yuan x reader#hsr jing yuan x you#hsr aventurine x reader#honkai star rail#Honkai star rail x reader#Honkai star rail imagine#Honkai star rail imagines#jing yuan x reader#jing yuan x you#jing yuan imagine#jing yuan imagines#hsr sunday x reader#sunday x reader#sunday imagines#sunday imagine#aventurine x reader#aventurine x you#aventurine imagines#aventurine imagine#veritas ratio x reader#veritas ratio x you#veritas ratio imagine#veritas ratio imagines#hsr fanfic#hsr x you#honkai star rail x you#hsr x y/n
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Don't Call Me Kid - Chapter 7
(Rafe Cameron x Reader series, 6.7k words)
series summary: You'd had a crush on Rafe Cameron since you were six years old, but he friend zoned you at every turn. Once shy and insecure, you found new confidence and self-love after high school. When your high school friends go on a reunion beach trip, Rafe finally sees what he lost, but he isn't going to give you up without a fight.
tropes: unrequited crush, glow up, she fell first/he fell harder
series content: some angst, eventual fluff, slow burn, tomfoolery and shenanigans, drinking, fem!reader has occasional insecurity and body image issues
⇢ series masterlist
additional chapter cw! non-descriptive mentions of vomit
A swing and a miss, again.
Rafe’s game was all over the place, he hadn’t been able to focus in batting practice all week, and now it was the bottom of the ninth in Academy’s rivalry match against Kildare County. He was down in the count when he asked the ump for a timeout.
He had resisted the urge to look in the stands the whole game, afraid he knew what he would find, or rather, what he wouldn’t.
You usually sat behind the dugout, wearing his old jersey that he’d given you after his record-breaking freshman season, and his number in black eyeliner on either cheek. Sometimes, it would take a few days for it to wash off, and you’d show up to school with the hint of his number still faded on your skin.
No one - not his coaches, not his teammates, certainly not his father - could read him like you could. Sometimes he’d pop his head out of the dugout between innings so you could tell him his swing was a few seconds too early for the pitcher’s fastball, or that he needed to stop chasing the backdoor slider. You were never wrong.
They’d tease him in the dugout, tossing sunflower seeds at him and taunting, “what is she, your hitting coach or your wife?” Then he’d ignore you for a few innings, though he almost never got on base without checking in with you first.
Your absence from this game was glaring, one of those same teammates taunting, “can someone please get Cameron’s hitting coach on the phone for fuck’s sake?” after his third strikeout.
He’d brushed it off, but now the game was on the line, and he realized he’d endure any amount of teasing if it meant looking up and seeing you in the stands.
He stepped out of the batter’s box, took a deep breath, and craned his neck to your usual seat, hands gripping the bat tighter when his fear was confirmed - it was empty.
He struck out, and they lost the game.
⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄
It’s actually about to happen, the moment you’d wished for on every star, every eyelash, every birthday candle since you were six years old. The moment you never thought would actually come. You’ve played this scene in your mind a million times, what your first kiss with Rafe would be like. None of the many versions took place in an alley behind a Florida nightclub, but none of them were real either, so now was not the time to be picky.
Rafe’s thumb was still lingering on your bottom lip, the rest of his long fingers caressing your jaw.
“Can I? Please?”
“Yes.”
He smiled, dimples creasing his cheeks so handsomely, and leaned in. You realized you were holding your breath as you awaited the first brush of his lips against yours.
It never came. The door to the club slammed open, making you both jump. Your already thumping heart flew to your throat as Kelce stumbled out the large metal door.
“Woah, sorry,” he jumped back, smirking at the sight of you and Rafe pulling away from each other quickly.
“What could you possibly need from me right now?” Rafe said, jaw clenched and eyes narrowed in warning.
“I came out here to find her,” Kelce pointed at you. “So calm your ass down.”
“What is it, Kelce?” You asked gently, hand on Rafe’s arm to hold him back as he started stepping menacingly toward his friend.
“Something’s wrong with Carter,” Kelce said.
“What?!” Your face flooded with concern, you started toward the club, and Rafe didn’t stop you, knowing the sound of your sister’s name dashed any hope he had of keeping you in this alleyway.
“What happened?” You asked Kelce as you brushed past him back into the crowded club, Rafe following behind the two of you.
“I don’t know, she got into an argument with Top and then she stormed off,” Kelce shouted over the thundering music as he struggled to keep up with you.
You scanned the whole club, but couldn’t find her, just Topper ranting emphatically to Tom in the corner, and Sabrina and Maddie on either side of the bathroom door, trying to talk to someone on the other side.
Kelce and Rafe were lost to the crowd as you beelined toward the bathroom, forcefully pushing angry clubbers out of the way to get there. You didn’t care, you were locked-in on finding your sister.
“Is she in there?” You asked as you approached the bathroom.
“Yeah,” Maddie confirmed, looking worried, and a little queasy. “But she won’t let anyone in.”
“She’s so wasted it’s crazy,” Sabrina added with a hiccuping giggle.
You ignored her lack of concern for your sister and banged loudly on the door.
“Car? It’s me,” you shouted, “you gotta let me in, alright? I just want to make sure you’re okay.”
After a moment, and the thought that you’d break this fucking door down if that’s what it took, the handle finally turned. She opened the door just a crack to let you slip through, and closed it back firmly behind you.
Sabrina wasn’t wrong, Carter’s intoxication was written all over her face. Flushed, clammy skin and bloodshot eyes. She threw her arms around you, squeezing tight enough to knock the wind out of you.
“What happened? Are you okay?” You asked nervously.
Before you got an answer, she was on her knees in front of the toilet bowl. You rushed to grab her hair and hold it back, getting it all out of the way with just seconds to spare before she got sick.
Thinking through the day's events, you realized no one had eaten much before you left the house, and you knew this group well enough to know it didn’t take much for them to get hammered. What you didn’t know was that while you were distracted with Rafe, the rest of your group was in the club throwing back drinks and racking up tabs like the world was ending.
Rafe was having a similar realization out on the floor, trying to wrangle everyone to the front door where he had a pair of cabs waiting. He physically dragged Topper away from the bar as he demanded another drink, the bartender shouting that he was cutoff. He led Maddie and Sabrina away from some sketchy looking guys who were inviting them back to their house boat, which they proudly advertised held gallons of their homemade moonshine. He stopped Tom from sucker punching a guy who booed when the DJ played a Drake song. He lost Kelce twice.
Once he had finally corralled everyone into the cars, he convinced the drivers to hold up so he could come back and find you. He stood by the bathroom door until you appeared behind it, jumping at the sight of him standing so close.
“I got cabs waiting,” he yelled over the music, eyeing Carter sprawled out on the dirty bathroom floor behind you.
“I can’t get her up,” you told him defeatedly, eyebrows knit together with worry. “She’s not doing good.”
Rafe brushed past you without a word or a second thought, and leaned down to scoop Carter up with ease, fireman carrying her out of the club like your own personal Superman. You followed closely on his heel, feeling guilty that you were thinking about how strong his shoulders looked and not how concerned you were for your sister.
You opened the door so he could lower her into the first cab, which only had enough seats left for you and her. Once you slid in behind her, leaning her head against Maddie, who was already dozing off with her forehead pressed on the window, Rafe made sure you were settled before closing the door.
He motioned for you to roll down the window, ducking down so he could lean on it.
“Yo Rafe let’s go man!” Topper yelled from the cab behind you before Rafe could speak.
“Give me a fucking second!” He yelled back.
Forearms against the window sill, he leaned in close enough so only you could hear.
“Just, um, don’t stop thinking what you were thinking in the alley.”
Your lips twisted into a smirk, “couldn’t if I tried.”
He gave you a wink before hurrying back to the other cab.
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You didn’t stop thinking about it. You didn’t stop when the cab driver took the wrong turn and made the trip twice as long as it should’ve been. You didn’t stop when Carter asked the driver to pull over every five minutes so she could hurl on the side of the interstate. You didn’t stop when you finally got Carter up to her room, ranting incoherently about her argument with Topper. You didn’t stop as she kneeled in front of the toilet bowl again and you held her hair back, attempting to soothe her with gentle shushes.
You should’ve been focused on your sister and the awful night she was having, but you couldn’t stop thinking about the shape of Rafe’s mouth.
The thing that finally pulled you from your thoughts of him was a sight you hadn’t seen in almost a decade; Carter started to cry.
Carter never cried, she was your rock, the shoulder for you and all her friends to cry on. She didn’t cry when she fell off the monkey bars in third grade and broke her arm, or when she was rejected from her dream school, or even when your parents got divorced. But here she was, on the cold tile of the Airbnb bathroom floor, bawling.
“Hey, hey, woah,” you said, alarm ringing in your mind as you rushed to sit beside her on the cold tile floor. “What’s going on?”
“I’m such a mess,” she gasped between sobs.
“Well, for starters we need to get you a makeup wipe,” you countered.
“No I mean, like, emotionally,” she wiped her tears with the backs of her hands, only for a new round of drops to fall and further streak her mascara down her skin.
Your sister spent her life running from difficult emotions. It was something you tried to gently point out to her many times, but she’d typically push it away with a sarcastic joke or just ignore you altogether.
You started therapy about a month after you got to college, taking the university health center up on its free psych eval offerings for freshmen. You’d shown up to your therapist’s office every Wednesday at 2:30 since then, religious about not missing a session.
You recommended Carter do the same, but she’d just brush you off with a teasing, “nah I don’t need all that, I’m supposed to be the normal one, remember?”
Taking the hint, you stopped bringing it up after a few months. But now, with Carter’s tears pooling on the floor of this Airbnb, you wished more than ever that she’d listened to you.
“Well, that’s okay,” you gently brushed the hair from her shoulder. “It’s okay not to be okay.”
Carter laid her head on your criss-crossed lap and let the tears fall harder. You rubbed her back and continued to reassure her all was going to be okay, waiting until the tears began to slow and her breathing steadied to broach the subject again.
“Do you want to…” you swallowed, preparing for her to brush you off again, “do you want to talk about it?”
She was quiet for a long moment, you sighed in acceptance that she would pick the ignoring you route this time.
Then, in a small, feeble voice, she whispered, “it’s too scary.”
“What is?” You whispered back, hand resting on her arm for comfort, praying she wouldn’t get spooked and would keep talking.
“Loving him,” she confessed.
Your heart nearly burst. You didn’t need to ask who she was talking about.
“Topper, you mean?” you responded.
She nodded slowly, “it was easier when I didn’t love him. I’m supposed to be leaving in a week. I’m supposed to be on to my next big thing, and all I can think about is what the best time to facetime him is if I’m six hours ahead. I should be thinking about me, but all I want is him, and that’s fucking terrifying.”
The thought sent her into another round of sobs, tears soaking the skirt of your dress.
“I know it feels scary, and new,” you tiptoed to your point, “but…have you ever really not loved him?”
She thought over your words, but the alcohol and drama of the evening was starting to pull her into a restless sleep.
“I’m gonna miss you,” she mumbled, half-asleep already. “So much.”
“Let’s just get you into bed, yeah?” You said, pulling her up off the floor. “We can talk tomorrow.”
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In the darkness of Carter’s room, your phone lit up on the nightstand.
You pulled your arm from under her slowly, praying not to wake her up now that she was finally snoozing peacefully, though her deep snores were occasionally interrupted by shaky breaths, the aftershocks of her sobs. You’d gotten both of you changed and into bed with some difficulty, a strategically placed trash can next to her side of the bed just in case. You reached over to check your phone, turning the brightness down so as not to disturb her.
You had a text from a number that wasn’t saved in your phone, starting with the same 252 area code as yours. You didn’t need to ask “who’s this?” because you’d know that seven digit combination on your deathbed. Deleting his contact from your phone had really been more of a cathartic exercise than anything else.
‘She asleep yet?’
‘I think so but it’s been rough, what about Top?’
‘Same, but he’s out like a light now…and snoring like a jet engine.’
You stifled your laugh so Carter wouldn’t hear, keeping your movements slow as you climbed out of her bed and padded towards the door. Wincing at the squeak of the door hinge, you pulled it slowly closed until the handle clicked.
Down the hall, the same click sounded from Topper’s door. Rafe stood with his hand on the doorknob, listening for any signs that his exit woke the sleeper inside.
His eyes flashed up to meet yours, and you shared a knowing, nervous smile. You each walked a few steps towards the other, Rafe immediately picking up on the water pooling in your eyes. You’d held it together up until now for Carter’s sake, wanting to be strong for her like she’d always been for you, but now the heartbreak of seeing her so upset was finally settling in.
“Hey, hey,” Rafe whispered, lengthening his strides to close the gap between you faster. “What’s wrong?”
He ducked to search your face for a second, your small sniffles breaking his heart. When a tear slipped from the corner of your eye, he pulled you in by your shoulders, wrapping his arms around you in a hug. You let your arms circle his waist, not taking the time to worry if this was strange or if you were okay being this vulnerable with him, just reveling in the comforting smell of him and the rise and fall of his sturdy chest under his t-shirt.
A few more tears slipped out, but with his hand rubbing soothing circles on your back while you breathed him in, your sadness faded slowly into a calm reassurance.
“You good?” He whispered, his chin resting on the top of your head.
You pulled back just enough to look up at him, arms still wrapped around his torso.
“I just didn’t know she was so sad,” you explained, your lip trembling slightly at the thought of your sister, with all her strength and tenacity, slumped over on the bathroom floor. “I should’ve been paying closer attention. I came on this trip for her and all I’ve been doing is thinking about myself. I’m so selfish.”
That thought caused more tears to roll down your cheeks. Rafe placed a palm on either side of your face, his thumbs reaching out to swipe away the salty drops.
“You,” he said firmly, his voice just above a whisper now, more concerned with making sure you heard what he had to say than making sure not to wake anyone, “are not selfish.”
Once your tears were dried, he lifted your face towards him so he could look in your eyes. You ever-so-slightly nuzzled your head into his palm, wondering if he could even feel the gentle way you were surrendering to him. His soft grin told you he could.
“He’s a mess, too,” he nodded back toward Topper’s door.
“I love them, but those two are exhausting,” you chuckled softly.
Even as the conversation lightened up, his hands didn’t fall from your face, and your arms stayed firmly in place around him, just holding each other as you whisper-laughed about the antics of the whole group this evening.
“Sabrina said you had to chase Kelce half a block,” you giggled, and he’d never felt so relieved to see someone’s tears give way to laughter. “Your dad instincts really kicked in there, huh?”
“I don’t know,” he smiled, his eyes creasing with the upward tick of his lips, “the way you basically parted the crowd to get to Carter? Topper might have competition for house mother. Maybe we’re the real mom and dad.”
You snorted at that.
“What?”
“Nothing,” you blinked back, “just funny that you’re already talking about being parents when you haven’t even kissed me yet.”
Rafe nodded, tongue darting out to lick his lips, feigning seriousness, “you’re so right. We should probably do something about that.”
“You should probably do something about that,” you taunted.
His persona cracked and he laughed, eyebrows raised.
“Oh yeah? Should I?”
You nodded, cheeks flushed, eyes sparkling at him as he leaned forward, eager to recapture the moment that had been so unceremoniously stolen from you a few hours ago.
Just before your lips touched, a vile retching noise came echoing down the hall from Topper’s room. He was vomiting again, and the romance was zapped from the air.
Your head fell back in frustration, groaning.
“You wanna go for a drive?” Rafe offered, hand sliding down your arm to find yours, fingers lacing together like they belonged there.
You nodded quickly, a smile replacing your annoyed frown. He led you down the stairs fast and you padded behind excitedly, giggling at his speed and urgency.
“Shit,” he paused before reaching into the bowl on the kitchen counter where everyone was keeping their keys. “I forgot Sabrina blocked me in.”
“We’ll take Carter’s jeep,” you offered, fishing around the bowl until you found her fuzzy pink keychain. “She parked on the road.”
“She won’t mind?” He asked.
“I have a feeling she’s gonna be out for a long time,” you pointed out. “I’m driving though.”
“Just like old times,” he grinned, your heart doing cartwheels at the memory.
Fingers intertwined, you let him pull you away from the house, and the risk of any more interruptions.
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The sky glowed with that pre-sunrise blue fog, turning the world around you into a collection of navy silhouettes. The only shape you cared about seeing was the faded profile of the man in the passenger seat next to you.
Though the air still held the chilly nip of dawn, it was warm enough to roll the windows down, which was always your preference. Your hair whipped around you in a frenzy of wind. You could feel his eyes on you as you drove, but you didn’t look back, suddenly filled with nerves, butterflies crowding your stomach and doubt flooding your mind. You just kept driving, suddenly terrified of what would happen when you stopped.
After a few minutes of unreturned eye contact, Rafe finally tore his gaze away from you, poking around Carter’s car to have something to do with his hands. He opened the glove box, and the middle console, fidgeting with every little button and knick-knack he could find.
You smirked at his restlessness and kept driving straight, not entirely sure where you were going. Rafe opened the sun visor above him, gasping at what he found.
“No fucking way,” he laughed with a disbelieving shake of his head, “Carter has CDs? Still?”
He pulled the sleeve of CDs from the visor’s clip, inspecting them closer.
“Wait,” a slow smile bloomed on his face as he observed knowingly, “these are yours.”
“How’d you know?”
“Because they’re the same ones you had in your car in high school.”
“Didn’t think you’d remember,” you scoffed.
“I remember everything about you,” he said, like it was the most obvious and casual admission anyone had ever made.
Even with the cool morning air blowing in through the window, the car suddenly felt too hot. Too hot and too small. Your chest and neck bloomed with a nervous blush as your breath quickened. How were you supposed to respond to that?
Rafe kept sorting through the CDs, nodding at each one in recognition, leaning back in his seat as if he hadn’t just dropped an atomic bomb into the conversation.
You needed to fill the silence before he noticed the tornado of anxious thoughts tearing through your mind.
“You gonna pick one?” You urged him, eager for the sound of familiar music to erase his words that hung in the air between you.
He finally made it to the back of the plastic sleeve, to a familiar silver disc decorated in sharpie in your handwriting; your favorite homemade mix that you’d played every single day from ages fifteen to seventeen.
You’d titled it “car mix,” though a more accurate title would be “Rafe’s mix.”
Sometime during your freshman year, you’d spent a whole day sitting in front of your computer, meticulously sorting through songs that made you think of him, or that you wanted him to listen to, hoping he would hear them and finally understand you somehow. It was a love letter without words, and he’d heard it a thousand times, but you doubted he ever really listened. Par for the course.
“I think that one got scratched,” you tried to discourage him from playing it, the flashback to your desperate, lovestruck younger self a little too much to handle at five a.m.
Rafe turned it over in his hands, inspecting it for those so-called scratches, finding nothing satisfying.
“Looks good to me,” he disagreed, popping it into the CD player and beaming bright as the first song began to play through the speakers.
“Oh my god,” he laughed, “it’s like we’re in a time machine.”
You agreed, the familiar opening notes of the first song you’d picked for him sent you flying back in time, to a girl you thought was long dead, and the boy next to her, whom she’d loved to her grave.
Chills shot up your spine, a warning shot before the tears that were beginning to gather on your lash line. You pulled the car quickly to the side of the road, sand flying up with the screech of the tires. You realized then that you’d somehow found your way to the public beach, the parking lot empty and sandy shore free of any sunbathers or surfers.
Rafe turned the music down, looking at you quizzically as your foot slammed on the break. Before he could ask what was going on, you were pulling the keys from the ignition and throwing off your seatbelt, hopping down from the driver’s seat and slamming the door behind you. He scrambled for his door handle as you started walking quickly toward the water and away from him.
The salty air was so thick you could taste droplets of seawater on your lips before you were even halfway to the shore. The waves crashed violently, remnants of the week’s storms throwing the water back and forth until it was foaming and angry.
Angry. You were as angry as the sea, sand kicking up with each stomp of your foot as you hurried as far away from him as you could possibly get. His long legs were already catching him up to you as he chased you down, calling your name.
Despite your efforts to outpace him, you could feel him gaining on you, nearly at your heel by the time your toes touched the water’s edge. Flight would not be an option, it was time for a fight.
“You remember everything?” You whipped toward him, nearly knocking him over with the force of the glare that met him. You stalked toward him, catching the way he backed up just a step before squaring his shoulders and planting himself until you were nearly chest to chest. “What the fuck am I supposed to do with that, Rafe?”
“What are you talking about?” He asked desperately, scrambling from the whiplash of your sudden outburst. “What the hell just happened?”
He was genuinely so clueless as to the reason for your sudden shift in mood, reeling like he was mentally still back in the car listening to music, eyes scanning your face as he tried desperately to catch up. You almost took pity on him. Almost.
“I can’t,” a lump lodged itself into your throat and you bit your lip for a second to hold it down, “I don’t think I can do this.”
“What? Can’t do what?” He begged for clarity.
You just shook your head, a final plea to your own tears not to fall in front of him, but they betrayed you, one single drop slipping down your face. You turned from him quickly as a final ditch ending to hide them from him, and stepped away further down the beach.
“No, no wait, please wait,” with two easy strides he was close enough to touch you, wrapping his hand around your wrist to turn you toward him. “Don’t do this to me. You said you’d remember the alleyway, we were so close. We are so close.”
“Are we?” You challenged him. “If we’re so close then why can’t I even ride in the car with you without feeling like I can’t breathe? You don’t get it, Rafe. You don’t understand that every memory feels like a fucking sucker punch.”
“Then let’s not focus on the memories,” he suggested, “I just want to be with you right now.”
“Why now?” You burst out, another tear breaking through the barricade and sliding traitorously down your cheek. “Why not then?”
They were the two questions that plagued you since you saw him on the beach. You felt you knew the reason. You looked different, he was attracted to this version of you. Even though it would hurt like a bitch, you really wished he would just admit it, that he only wanted you because of how you look now, so you could finally just hate him and move on.
Instead, he continued his time honored tradition of giving you the exact opposite of what you wanted.
He looked straight at you, no waiver in his voice as he said, “because I wasn’t ready for you. I wasn’t good enough.”
It was the perfect answer, and your worst case scenario. Heartfelt, honest, a hot knife to the wall of ice you’d worked so hard to build between you and him. As he’d done so many times before, Rafe melted you.
Soft eyes, you tilted your head as you studied him, “and you are now?”
“No,” his laugh surprised you, scoffing as if it was the most ridiculous question in the world. “But I’m smarter. Smart enough to know that I’ll never be good enough for you. Who could be?”
The last chips of ice melted away entirely at those words, the image of his sweet smile when he said them etched itself on your heart in a way you knew was completely permanent.
As so often happened when you were at a crossroads with your own mind, you heard Carter’s voice ringing through your thoughts. Though this time, it wasn’t a quippy comment about Rafe, or a catchy mantra to encourage you to hold your head high. Instead, you heard her weak, cracked voice as she cried on the bathroom floor just hours ago; “it’s too scary.”
Suddenly, you knew exactly what she meant.
Your every instinct was to pull away from him, hide away the vulnerable thought to avoid any risk of him making it worse. But as he looked down at you, the first traces of sunrise streaking across the horizon, casting a gold-pink glow on his cheekbones, something in the back of your mind was saying you could trust him.
“I’m scared,” you all but whispered.
Rafe lifted his hand slowly, as if you were an elusive, wild thing that would run off at any sudden movement. When you didn’t flee, he took the chance to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, voice dropping low as he said, “I know.”
“How am I supposed to know you won’t hurt me?”
Your deepest fears continued to flow out of you, into his waiting hands, praying he wouldn’t let you slip through his fingers.
“I don’t think you will until you give me a chance to prove it to you,” he countered.
You knew he was right. Holding him at arm’s length would never get you the answers you needed from him. You’d never know if he had really changed unless you got close enough to relearn him, and you’d never know how he really felt about you unless you gave him a second chance to show you. You aren’t generally opposed to second chances, more likely to give them out then, say, your sister is.
“You know what Carter would say?” You chuckled darkly, unable to detangle your sister’s voice from your own conscience even if you wanted to. “That you don’t deserve any more chances.”
“That might be the first thing I’ve ever agreed with her on,” Rafe was quick to acknowledge. “But you know what else she’d say?”
“What?” You asked with raised brows, skeptical that he had any clue what Carter would actually say, and knowing she would hate that he was claiming to.
“That you deserve a chance.”
Funny thing is, that’s exactly what Carter would say. She didn’t really know how badly you wanted him, that you were starting to suspect you might just be happiest when you’re with him, but she always encouraged you to do what made you happy, even when it was something she didn’t understand.
“And if I’m what you want then I just happen to be the luckiest idiot in the world, because I want you too. You have no idea how badly.”
The tide was coming in, the very edge of each wave nipping at your toes before being pulled back out to sea. Rafe’s confession made you feel so unsteady, you wondered if you’d crumble and get pulled out right with it. Your mind reached for anything to ground you before you drowned in him completely.
“Why?” You asked him, needing his answer like a port in the storm.
“Why?” He repeated, either confused by the question or by the need for it. Somehow, both possibilities annoyed you.
“Yeah, tell me why you want me,” you placed your hands on your hips, shoulders squaring up with him in challenge. “And you’re not allowed to use the word beautiful, or cute, or call me baby.”
“This kinda feels like a test,” he laughed, scratching the back of his head.
“Yeah? Maybe it is,” you huffed. “And this time there’s no cheating, no open book. And no me to slip you the answers.”
“Can I get a few minutes to review my notes?” His cheeky pout was so cute you worried you were about to fold right there on the spot.
“Fine,” you allowed, “you get one minute to think about it.”
He feigned worry, faked stress, biting his thumbnail and looking out over the waves as if he actually had to think it over.
In reality, he was more prepared for this test than any he’d ever taken in his life. He’d spent years thinking about this moment, about what he would say, what he could say that would possibly be enough.
While you waited for him to speak, you mirrored his stance, facing the water with your hands wrapped around you.
Rafe turned his head slightly to take in your profile, the sliver of daylight creeping over the horizon making your features glow so romantically.
You could feel his eyes on you, but you tried to focus on the count in your head, dutifully keeping track of the seconds until his allotted prep time was up.
Evidently, he didn’t need a timer, his voice broke the silence before you had even gotten to forty-five.
“Y’know, I got a walk-on tryout invite for baseball at Chapel Hill,” he started.
You resisted the urge to look at him or respond, despite your mind racing to connect the dots between that statement and the challenge of explaining why he wants you.
“I was…so shitty,” he laughed at the memory, “I mean just awful. Striking out in the cage, my fielding was all over the place, I dropped a fucking pop fly. I’ve made that play a thousand times and the one time it counted, I dropped it. I mean, you wouldn’t have even recognized me out there. And the best part was that my dad came to watch. He bribed an old alum buddy to get him into closed tryouts just to watch me absolutely shit the bed.”
His smile faded.
“It was the worst day of my life. The coaches didn’t even call me themselves, they sent me an automated email to tell me I didn’t make the team. They were nice enough to send me some film from the tryout, though. I must’ve watched it a hundred times. I was spiraling like a bitch, just full on meltdown. I watched that film over and over, like some kind of torture. When I watched it, I just kept wondering how that guy could’ve ever been considered good.”
He turned to you, looking down at you intensely, hesitating for the first time since he started talking.
“I know I fumbled you. I knew it from the second it happened. And,” he swallowed hard, struggling with the next part. “I knew you were in love with me.”
Your head snapped to the side to look at him, face beat red.
“I was an idiot, but I wasn’t blind,” he continued before you could interject a defense. “The problem was never that I didn’t know, it was that I didn’t know why. But the way you looked at me, I don’t know, it made me feel like I must be like, somewhat good. Why else would you care about me if I wasn’t? But then when I was fucking rotting in my dorm watching that film over and over it dawned on me…you didn’t love me because I was good. I was good because you loved me.”
Breath escaped you, eyes glossy as you let those beautiful words sink in, but he wasn’t done.
“I thought it was just a lucky break that I got you for four years. And of course I fucked it up, I fuck everything up. After those tryouts, I had nothing, no one. I failed my classes, dropped out of rushing a frat, I stopped talking to everyone. Shit, even my sisters were calling me to see if I was okay. I got it together eventually, kind of, but it’s never been the same. I have never been the same…since you. But then I saw you on the beach the other day, and it kind of hit me. The biggest loss wasn’t your love for me, or my fielding skills, or the bullshit frat parties. It was my best friend. You were my best friend. You were - you are - my favorite fucking person. When all that shit happened, you were the only one I wanted to talk to, and I couldn’t, I didn’t deserve to. But god, I’d give anything, anything, to have my best friend back. You don’t have to…be with me. I understand if you don’t want to. But please, can we just be friends again?”
You blinked up at him as he finished his monologue, all his words swirling around your head like cartoon birds, dizzying and all consuming. You wished it really was a test, cause then you’d have a printed copy that you could study and analyze and go over and over with different colored highlighters.
But it wasn’t a test. It wasn’t a metaphor. It was just you and the boy you love standing on the beach at sunrise, looking at each other like you were the only two people on earth.
“No.” You said, shaking your head.
His eyes blinked rapidly, trying and failing to hold back his emotion. Before he could spiral any further, you added,
“I don’t wanna be friends.”
His eyes flicked over yours for just a second, double checking, asking you silently if that meant what he thought it did. You gave him the slightest nod, as if to finally say “yes, Rafe.”
Rafe’s hands landed firm but gentle on either side of your face, pulling you towards him. Your lips met in a symphony of passion and affection and need and a mutual sigh of fucking finally.
He tasted better than you’d ever imagined, a sweet rush to your head as his tongue parted your lips slightly. He pulled back just an inch to let his uncontrollable smile break against yours, laughing into each other’s mouths in disbelief and pure, unadulterated joy. Once he was satisfied that you understood how happy he was, he pulled you back in.
If the first kiss was a spark, the second kiss was a goddamn explosion. He kissed you like the tide kisses the shore in a hurricane, his tsunami waves crashing into you over and over again. His tongue took over, claiming you, taking up space in your mouth like he never planned to leave. His hands drifted, one to the back of your head, laced in your hair, the other on the small of your back, holding you against himself. Your hands snaked up his arms, savoring every inch of him until you reached his shoulders. You linked your arms around his neck, pulling him down to you as you stood on your tiptoes to meet him, finding middle ground for the first time in your lives.
After a while, your lips parted, both of you desperate for breath, the lack of oxygen dizzying.
“So,” he smiled, hand still cradling your head and his thumb sweeping over your bottom lip, “did I pass?”
“Hmm,” you pretended to consider it, “A minus.”
“What? You must be grading on a curve,” he shook his head.
“Maybe you could do some extra credit,” you flirted.
With a sly smile at that, he returned his lips to yours, and you forgot a time when you didn’t know what it was like to kiss him.
Time passed, the sun rose, night bloomed into morning, and Rafe kissed you for what could’ve been a lifetime. With each minute that passed with his lips on yours, you felt all the bad memories fade to gray, the past washing away with the crash of the waves, leaving only him.
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Carter’s Jeep sat parked on the side of the road, the interior dark in the early morning light, except for the phones buzzing uncontrollably on each seat.
On the passenger's side, Rafe’s phone blew up with texts from Topper. The most recent reading ‘dude, we’ve got trouble at the house…’
On the driver’s seat, yours lit up with twelve missed calls and a single text from Carter,
‘Don’t come back.’
(chapter 8: part one)
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ANACHRONISM ft. Mina
mina x male reader smut
part one of strange currencies
14k words
Go ahead, try and pretend like any of this happened by accident.
Like you totally didn’t mean to charm some poor, pretty little thing; dazzle her with the wealth, the fame, the you of it all.
Have her spreading her legs for you, bunching her dress up over her thighs, serving herself up like she’s one of those ludicrously expensive banquets you frequent, pleading—
"God, I need you inside me, like, right this fucking second."
Because here’s the truth of it all, what you’ve come to realise about this woman who has never once in her entire life been reduced to something as pithy as poor or pretty or little; let alone anything short of extraordinary. This wildly successful, elegant to the point of being untouchable, and just really, really fucking gorgeous idol:
Nothing about Myoui Mina is accidental.
Even all this—her idea: showing up at your suite uninvited, leaning against the doorframe, panties hanging off her fingertips. Showing off how ridiculously drenched she is for you and how badly she wants you to do something about it.
If only these walls could talk.
“Hurry up,” she’s gritting out. Deadlocking the door behind her. Still not used to waiting for anything, apparently. “Come on, I need your cum. Anywhere you like. Just inside me. Now.”
You should be more surprised. Instead, you’re laughing. “Patience, darling.”
A step forward, pants hitting the floor, cock in hand. Running the tip of it across her folds, making it shiny with her slick, forcing this sigh from her lips.
You pause, just to make her whine. To make her give you what you really want to hear.
Mina bites her lip.
Squeezes her eyes shut.
She knows the deal.
"Please."
That word, that crack in the composure, the control that Mina is so used to maintaining everywhere else but here. It’s the thrill of it all—the challenge in the attempt. Taking someone like Mina, all perfect posture, sparkling teeth, effortless grace; and bringing her to her knees.
Figuratively speaking, mostly.
Only, her phone lights up.
You look down and see it, left abandoned on the floor somewhere in Mina’s rush to get to you. But now its glow is stark against the dark parquet, beaming with messages by the dozen. All different variations on the same question: where the fuck is she?
Her eyes flicker to the screen, then back up to yours. There's a silent conversation happening there—desire fighting with duty, lust with loyalty.
You make it easy for her.
A push is all it takes, really. Cunt yielding to your will, cock sliding into that ridiculous tightness.
She freezes.
Braces herself.
Whimpers.
“Priorities, Mina,” you grunt through it, breaching in deeper; assaulted by the heat of her cunt around you, choking each inch. “Remember, you asked for this.”
The phone keeps buzzing, panicked vibrations at your feet. Urgent messages becoming calls, flashing faces across the screen. You can see them one-by-one, see Mina’s reaction as they pop up—sighing when she sees her managers name, eyes widening when a rather flirty photo of Chaeyoung comes next, and then her entire body tensing, tightening around you at the next picture:
Her and her boyfriend, arms thrown around each other, both looking all beautiful and famous and so very much in love. The perfect couple; so picturesque it might as well have come right off a billboard.
“God, fuck,” Mina groans out, panting, breathless. “You’d think they’d—ah—just leave me alone for one—single—night—”
“Should we snap some photos? Add them all to a group chat, send them through? Let them see the look on your face and figure it out from there.”
Mischief flashes across her eyes, mouth open to answer back with something that is no doubt clever and suggestive and designed to get you both into far more trouble than you’re already in—but she doesn’t get a word of it out.
You’re slamming into her.
Mina nearly comes apart then and there; eyes snapping shut, neck arching, back banging against the hard, unforgiving wood of the door behind her. Her lips round into this perfect ‘O’ of surprise, and this sweet, sweet needy whine comes slipping out from her throat.
And just like that, she’s all yours again.
It’s not like the phone goes silent—it just stops mattering.
“Asshole,” she’s saying—grinning now, doing that Mina thing where she says one thing but means another, expecting you to read the underneath. Which this time is—touch me, pull me close, pin me and keep me fucking trapped while you fuck the air right out of my lungs.
“Now there’s an idea.” You’re kissing her, tongue past her lips, tasting the rush of the forbidden, the lines she’s crossing just so she can have you filling up her cunt.
And there’s all this noise—the sound of your cock thrusting into her, skin against skin, shaft into wetness; the buzzing of the phone, her cries of your name dying in your mouth.
Oh, you know it’s going to be brutal if anyone was to overhear, if you’re caught and all this gets out. The narratives that will be crafted, the cliché of it all, the sizzling hot headlines that will undoubtedly paint her, as they are wont to do, in a million different unfair ways.
Seductress. Gold-digger. Slut.
But even as you’re fucking her deep, lips marking up her skin, digging your fingers into the meat of her ass and making Mina cum so hard that all she can say is— “please, please, please,”
—you know the facts, no matter who’s begging who under the shine of the outrageously garish chandelier hanging overhead:
You're the one that chased her first.
—
(It’s incredibly fitting that this whole thing started with a celebration.)
—
Taking a step back, to months earlier, at a gala:
Where it’s becoming apparent to you, and seemingly, just you, that Mina’s the only one here that doesn’t look entirely out of place.
Or at least, she’s the only one that seems to fit amongst the grandeur; the imposing pillars and archways, the ornate cornices, the glint of gold and jade beneath the soft glow of paper lanterns, and the shadow of the palace itself, cast over the sprawling garden like a looming guardian.
The anachronism of it all is the concept, or so you’ve been told. The new, the future—your company—against the backdrop of the old, the traditional. A fusion event, meant to celebrate and honour the past right before yanking it to the future; and yet it all somehow feels so…
Boring.
The same faces, the same games; sharks in a sea of corporate sabotage and political machinations. They’ll smile for you, sing your praises to the highest heavens, do everything they can to make you remember their name—right up until the moment you show your back.
All this to say, it’s going to be very hard to last four hours without wanting to punch someone in the face just to make things slightly more interesting.
(Oh come, one and all. Throw yourselves at the feet of Korea’s youngest self-made billionaire, and hope that by some stroke of luck or misplaced charm, you might just catch a crumb from his table.
That’s what this whole exhausting circus feels like to you.)
So, when you’re about done with what seems like the hundredth round of fake laughs and vacuous pleasantries with yet another politician who’s trying to sell you on the importance of family, and coincidentally, his very marriageable daughter, you make your escape.
Something about needing a drink.
Ease out of the circle, let the noise of the gala swallow you up like you were never there, and navigate across the garden to the bar.
Where you find her.
Mina, something of an anachronism herself; looking more at home amongst the pagodas and the cherry blossoms than in the company of suits and ties and plastic smiles. Like she’s been painted onto the scene; rendered in living colour—stark white, midnight black, blue silk. Or cobalt. Maybe azure.
You’ll have to reserve some time later to ask her about the colour of her dress.
What’s important is that she’s alone, which seems like a crime in and of itself, on account of, well, how fucking breathtaking she is. Add that she’s here at all, and it all amounts to some kind of serendipitous miracle.
(An idol, a celebrity, willingly spending her free time in the company of the elitist dregs of society? The world's gone mad.)
You don’t really need an excuse to join her; you know her, technically. Not intimately, but in that same way that everyone in this high society tapestry is threaded together. An award show here, a charity function there—the kind of acquaintance that lets you say hello without raising eyebrows, but not much more.
All this to say it makes some sense to slide yourself onto the barstool to her right, ignoring that the rest are completely unoccupied.
The smile that Mina gives you as you approach is a little sharper than it needs to be, a little too knowing.
“You’re not going to ask if this seat’s taken?”
You return the smile, a mirror image of hers, and lean onto the bar. You don’t even need to look at the bartender; your drink is in your hand, cold and crisp, the second you set it down. “I thought I’d risk it.”
“Neat trick,” Mina says, posting her chin on one hand, watching the sleek liquid slide down your throat. She’s got a flute of champagne in front of her, untouched.
There’s a gravity to her, you’re realising only when you’re this close. Something in the way the moonlight's kissing her skin, a blend of porcelain and peaches, glowing. Maybe that’s why she’s been left alone; the other guests were smart enough not to get swallowed up in it all. Better to appreciate at a distance than to drown in it.
She regards you for a beat, runs a finger around the rim of her glass. "Shouldn't you be off being the centre of attention somewhere? Shaking hands, kissing babies, that whole bag?”
“Nah," you’re dismissive, looking back out to the crowd milling about, lost in their own conversations and power plays. "This whole thing's more for them than it is for me."
Mina scoffs. Raises a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. You follow her eyes—across the banners, the placards, the giant projection cast onto the palace itself.
A brushstroke circle—the logo you designed—swirling around, stamping itself on what was once a symbol of absolute power, now reduced to just another stage for the rich and the elite and all their insignificant little games.
You feel the need to clarify. “For the company.”
Mina ripostes. “That just so happens to be named after you.”
“Just one of those funny coincidences.”
“Apparently so.”
It does occur to you that it should be somewhat startling how instantly familiar you feel around Mina. Slipping into casual conversation—light jabs, coded compliments; all soaked in insinuation. Just enough edge and implication to keep you on your toes.
There's an ease to her, to how she smiles, how she laughs, how she just sits there, all drop-dead gorgeous and oh, this? Nothing special, just how I always am.
So it’s only natural that somewhere in all this easy banter, between your third drink and her second, her hand lands on your forearm, your knee brushes against hers and you both decide to stop being so subtle.
You pick your moment, as she’s thumbing through a menu of drinks she’s already deciding she doesn’t want, to try to solve the mystery of her. Past the red of her lips, the edge of her jaw, the hollow of her throat. Along the neckline of her dress, where the silk clings like it’s afraid of letting go, and down to where it dips and angles out; the open shoulder, the collarbone, the swell underneath.
It’s the sum of it all, you’re realising. The dress, the look, the woman.
(Accentuate without revealing. Tease without giving away the prize. Show off that flawless ass and dare the world not to look. And yeah, they fucking look. They all do.
You’re just the only one that doesn’t look away when you're caught.)
But now, you could reach out and touch her; unlatch the straps of her heels, run your fingers from her ankle up, up over the smooth expanse of her calf, her knee, the bare skin of her thigh right where her dress decides to daringly split, and underneath, until your hand is filled with the heat of her and all she knows is you.
You could complete her. Or she, you, you think.
Only, there’s a slight misstep in an otherwise immaculate ensemble.
A necklace.
A ridiculous, ugly, tacky thing. Hanging off her like a misplaced jewel on a swan; more ‘costume party’ than ‘refined modern gala’. Fighting the simplicity of her gown, offensively jarring, especially against the serenity of the moonlit garden.
Mina notices you staring. “A gift.”
“Boyfriend,” you realise, doing the math in your head. A careless present, given by someone who doesn’t know (or doesn’t care to know) her. Hoping the flash, the dollars spent overshadows the unfamiliarity.
(It doesn’t.)
“Partner,” Mina confirms. There’s a slight dip at the corner of her mouth, a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it flash of something unpleasant. It disappears as soon as it comes, but you caught it. “A little too old to have a boyfriend.”
“Hm.” You click your tongue. Narrow your eyes. You’ve been told that it makes you appear disarming. “And where is this partner?”
Mina’s smile returns. She takes her first sip of champagne. “You tell me. Don’t you sign off on all the invites?”
“Just the important ones.”
“Even so, not like he would have come if he was invited.” Mina leaves you to fill in the gaps. “A tad too public. For the both of us, really.”
“I see.”
And you do. You’ve seen your fair share of these types of arrangements, participated in a few, even. At the beginning, the secret of it all, the cloak and dagger; it’s exhilarating. But that only lasts so long. Eventually, like all things, it fades. Leaving you with someone who you don’t really see, who you don’t even know, and the sinking realisation that maybe the thrill was the only thing that kept it interesting.
“So,” you lean forward, drawing your conclusion. “You’re here. All alone. Stuck in a relationship with someone dumb enough to let you go out looking like that.”
“Careful.”
“It’s just,” you offer, your gaze lingering on her throat, “You don’t strike me as the type to settle for anything less than you deserve, Mina.”
That makes Mina pause. Almost flinch. Imperceptibly if you weren’t looking so closely at her lips. The sound of her name rolling off your tongue, like it's always been there, waiting to escape—it has her reeling.
And yet, somehow, she recovers.
“Because you know me so well.”
So, you switch up, throw a curveball. “Is it the sex?”
To her credit, Mina barely reacts to that provocation, as if she was expecting the follow up. Just takes another sip of her champagne with a grace that seems rehearsed. You’ll have to try harder.
She shrugs a bare shoulder.
"Sex is just sex. It’s not everything."
“So, no sex at all, then.”
Mina’s smile is like a knife’s edge. “Are you always this forward?”
“All I’m saying,” you keep going, somewhat emboldened by the game, by the warmth of the whiskey poisoning your kidneys. “If it was me—”
Mina’s hand slides up your forearm, ending somewhere around your triceps. You’re close. Close enough to inhale her perfume; cinnamon, smoke, darker than anticipated. You’d fill your lungs with it, if you could. “If it was you.”
You take another drink. She watches.
And it clicks into place. What this really is. What she’s really doing here.
The slight tilt of her shoulder, a slip of her dress—just a fraction. A shift in her seat and suddenly, the silk has risen, too high, and there’s a stretch of skin leading up to a flash of lace that’s more moonlit than the night itself.
The suspicion sets in. Was she waiting for you?
Mina laughs.
You ask, “What’s so funny?”
“I was just thinking,” Mina says, lowly. Grinning, like she’s reading your mind. “How even you’re the same.”
“How so?”
“All you men. How you see me, how you’re looking at me right now.” She reaches up to her neck, taps the clunky stone hovering over her throat. Once. Twice. “Making it about you. You think I need saving.”
You open your mouth. Close it. Open once more to protest—
“That’s what you think.” Mina interrupts, smirks; and your eyes are on her lips, wondering if anyone would be able to pull you off them if you were so lucky enough to taste them. “What you want is to own me.”
“Mina,” you regard her, openly. Honestly. “I could never dream of owning you.”
She nods back towards your logo, emblazoned across the castle walls. “Because you’re clearly not the type of person that likes owning things.”
And there’s a realisation here, as she’s staring into your eyes—a real, actual, bone-deep revelation—that she's been doing the same thing as you this whole time. Reading you, until she's seeing through you.
The silence stretches, thick and sweet , and it’s obvious to see where this is heading. The idea that’s being sparked—lean in, kiss her right here, right now, with all these eyes on you. Kiss that smirk right off her face, steal whatever clever rebuttals she’s composing from her lips, the flirtations that she’s left hanging in the air. Replace them all with your name.
But it’s all hypothetical, for now.
“You’re not even thinking past right now, are you?” Mina asks, amused. "The rumours you've started just by sitting next to me."
"Rumours."
"The kind that ruins careers. That never leave. That would make him want to kill you if he found out."
Another sip, letting it burn down your throat. Think about it. Attack it from every angle—
(Doesn’t it just make sense; the billionaire, and his beautiful celebrity partner? Or even if there was a scandal, just a one-night fling; wouldn’t it be worth it?
You could both live off the thrill alone, it’d reignite whatever embers her boyfriend hasn’t stomped out yet.)
“Maybe I want the rumours.”
Mina’s eyes widen. It’s the first time she’s dropped her guard.
“If you were mine,” you start, and stop immediately, reining in that last word on the tip of your tongue. “If you were my girlfriend, partner, whatever label you want to put on it. I’d tell the whole damn world. Broadcast it on every channel. Make sure everyone knows exactly who I’m fucking every single morning, afternoon, night.”
You’re hitting the mark of something, you can tell, because Mina’s hand tightens around your arm, and she doesn't seem to mind when yours lands on her thigh. A flash; the thought of spreading them, of seeing her laid bare underneath you. Or flipped over in front of you, crumpling that dress around her waist, so you can take proper purchase of that ass that’s been hinted at all night long.
And all of a sudden, she doesn't seem to be as spoken for as she might have led you to believe.
She bites her lip. Keeps it there for a second, two, before letting it go.
“So, this is what you usually say to all the pretty girls you invite to these parties?”
The alcohol’s loosened your tongue enough to state truths you’re supposed to keep to yourself. “I usually don’t have to say anything at all.”
Mina challenges. “Must be nice, being this rich, cute, and charming.”
“The being rich part does a lot of the hard work.”
“So, the cuteness and the charm?”
“I’ll let you decide,” you finish, watching her smile spread, the corners of her eyes crinkle. It makes your chest tighten.
“I suppose, in your perfect world,” Mina surmises, and now she’s so close that your knee is splitting the difference between her thighs, and you’re already planning the logistics of it all—the where, the how— “this ends with you fucking my brains out behind one of these old houses.”
“I’ve got a few in mind.”
“I bet.” Mina takes one last pull of her drink, empties it, and sets it back down. “And afterwards? After you’ve made me forget my own name and made the entirety of my existence revolve around your cock—what’s your plan then? Who are we—who are you going to be?"
You finish off your own glass, setting it down with the same deliberate clink as hers. “You know, the funny thing about money is," you say, sliding your fingers up her thigh, higher, higher. "It can make you whoever you want to be. So, the real question is—who do you want me to be?"
You’re holding your breath as she answers: “Not some knight in shining armour. I don’t need a saviour. If that’s what you’re thinking.”
“Then what do you need?”
Mina inches, gets close, and now her breath’s a tickle on the shell of your ear. She bites. “Just someone to help me scratch an itch.”
There’s a moment, somewhere before Mina threads her fingers through yours, lets you lead her through the throngs of guests and into the shadows of the palace; where all of this—this want, this need, boils over. Where Mina kisses your cheek and warns:
“You don’t have the time for me.”
Now it’s your turn to grin; reaching up to her throat, slipping that necklace off her, leaving it to clatter onto the granite below never to be spoken of again.
“Maybe. But I can make every second count.”
—
This is how you end up:
Pinning Mina to some ancient wall; the moon’s spotlight spilling over the contours of her body, a hand tangled in her hair, the other pushing her dress higher up her thighs.
You weren’t lying, you did have a place in mind. Namely, by the west gate, where a house that used to be the servant’s quarters stood. It’s a part of the palace that’s been neglected in the reconstruction, and thus, ironically, the most authentic part of this whole sham.
A true hideaway for those not to be seen or heard; a building that’s seen centuries of service, of lives lived in the shadow of royalty, and now it’s going to bear witness to this, to you and Mina, undoing each other with every passing second.
Something a little sacred, a whole lot profane.
She’s smiling against your lips; a smirk, more likely. Because she’s new to this kind of thing—the almost romantic picture the two of you are painting—chaste kisses stolen in quiet corners of royal residences. The kind of thing that could fuel a dozen dramas.
But you both know better.
So, you let her start things off, let her set the pace for this evening's affairs. And Mina, to her credit, is gracious enough to tell you exactly what she wants.
(Kiss me harder, touch me here, please, please, don't let go.)
Twisting the lapels of your jacket in her hand, desperately pulling you closer, even though there's no more room left. Kissing you with longing. Making you believe that she's missed this—missed you—despite the fact that you've only just officially met. And sure, it's a lie, but it's a lie that feels so good, so right, that you’re willing to indulge her.
Indulge yourself.
Your lips veer off the corner of her mouth, ignoring the tongue and teeth that try to keep you there, the hand that kindly urges you to not stop kissing her.
Because you’ve got a ticking clock in the back of your mind, counting down the seconds before someone calls you or her away, or more problematically, catches you and her, a heap of limbs and lust and fucking in the dusty archives of history.
You break away, keep things moving, kiss your way along her neck, feel her heartbeat drum against your lips. Follow her neckline down, down; find this sweet little spot, a darkened freckle right on top of her collarbone that makes her sigh.
“Tell me something, honestly.” Mina finds her voice the same time your fingers meet the promised lace of her underwear, turning her words into these breathless moans. “How often do you do this?”
You tug the fabric pooling at her waist—once, firmly—and Mina’s dress slips from her shoulders, whispering down her arms and leaving her in nothing but flawless white and a strapless bra that matches the silk in hue.
You smile, look up. “This?”
Mina clarifies, "Whisk some innocent girl away into a deserted corner and—"
She’s cut off by the click-clack of her bra releasing behind her back, your fingers slipping beneath the cotton, and you’re filling your hand with the swell of her breast; so soft, so perfect.
The sound when you touch her and she gasps; if only you could capture, keep it forever. You’ll just have to make sure she keeps making it—kneading gently, rolling the pebbled peak of her nipple between your thumb and forefinger, feeling it bead and tighten.
Your lips to her shoulder, you ask, “And what?”
Mina sighs, “fuck her completely, thoroughly senseless,” and you swear there’s something revelatory about how she says it—sinful ideas from saintly lips.
"Honestly?" You pause, your gaze lingering on the goosebumps rising across her skin. "You're the first."
Her laughter's a surprise; it's light, disbelieving. "First?"
"First tonight."
Mina's smile widens, her grip on your jacket tightens. "You're so full of shit," she says, but there's no malice in it. Just the thrill of the hunt. Or, being hunted.
You don’t bother to argue the point; let her think what she wants. Instead, you lean into it (into her), let your other hand snake around her thigh, over the elastic of her panties and lower, until you’re palming the curve of her ass.
Firm, taut, flawless—because of course it is; exactly like the rest of her. She’s so hot under your touch; the softness, the smoothness of it. And you know—without a doubt—you’re going to worship this ass.
A squeeze for good measure—balancing the fine line of respect and greed. Mina yelps—surprise, pleasure.
“God,” Mina shudders, does her best under the assault of your lips on her neck, fingers pinching, tugging, hand squeezing. "You're—oh, you're not so bad at this."
You press a kiss to her throat. “Flattery gets you everywhere, Miss Myoui.”
“Please, not with the government names,” Mina hisses, her cheeks flushing a soft pink that matches the glow of the lanterns outside.
“Apologies.” You chuckle, slipping your hand underneath the band of her panties, and around—down—pressing against her and sinking lower until you’ve got a proper hold of her. Soaking wet and dripping heat onto your fingertips.
A cry from her lips. A shiver. A buck of her hips.
Her hands shoot to your chest.
“Please, kiss me again.”
You oblige—how could you not, with the way she’s begging?
Her nails dig into your shirt, her breath hitches as you push your finger—your index—past her entrance and inside, and just before she can moan your name into the night air, you’re filling her mouth with your tongue, licking inside.
You kiss her like it’s your first kiss, like it’s your last. Like the only way to calm her down is with your mouth and your tongue and your teeth. She’s so wet and tight and pulsing around you, she’s trying to suck you in; and fuck, when you’re knuckle-deep she bites down on your lip so hard she nearly draws blood.
The moans that she's filling your mouth with; this symphony of want sends a jolt of pure, unfiltered desire straight to your cock. You're straining—against your trousers, against her thigh, straining against the urge to rip that dress off her and leave her bare, but you're not there yet.
It's about her, about needing her, making her beg for it. Making her so desperate that she'll do just about anything to get you inside her.
(Because there’s something about her, about Mina, that just makes you want to take your time. To learn the ins and outs of what makes her tick. The secret spots that make her moan into your mouth, the places to touch that make her shiver, the sighs and sounds that only you can coax out of her.
It’s etched into every line of her body; every curve and sharp edge—just pure heat from head to toe; And there’s a beauty so absolute in her perfection, the dash of makeup, the careful draping of her hair, it’s too good not to ruin. To not want to leave your mark on her in some way so that everyone knows she was once yours, if only for a night.)
“You’re just so needy, Mina.” You hum into her jaw, when your lips slip from hers and you struggle to resist the urge to leave these marks on her. Her cheek, her neck, her collarbone. Every part of her that she’s offered to you, every part you’re eager to claim. “Like it’s been ages since someone’s touched you like this.”
“I don’t—please—” is all Mina can manage, because the pad of your thumb is ghosting over her clit, pressing in and circling, and the way her pitch rises and she sighs your name gives you your answer:
It’s been a while.
“I don’t think—gah—” She tries agin, but you torture her with another finger, stretching inside her, sinking in and curling upwards. “I don’t think I’ve ever been touched like this.”
“Good,” you tell her, and she shivers when your voice rumbles through her, when you drop down and your lips go low again, and you take one of her stiff peaks between your teeth. “I don’t settle for second place.”
“Neither do—God—I—” Mina braces herself against the wall behind her, failing to find anything but cold brick to hold onto as you map out the rest of her with your hands and your fingers and your lips.
She’s so, so hot for you; you would’ve never predicted it, not in your wildest estimations. Never thought just how easy it would be to undo someone so poised and put-together like Mina, to render her into this puddle of need.
“So why don’t you show me then,” Mina breathes, voice trembling as much as she is. You suck deep, swirl your tongue, make her arch her back to push more of herself into you. “What all the—oh my—what all the fuss is about."
“As you wish, darling.”
And there’s part of you that’s recognising the awfulness of what you’re doing, taking something—someone—that’s not yours, and having her tell you all these things, finger fucking these words of oblivion from her lips, touch me, please I need it, kiss me harder, more, more, make me feel it, make me feel you.
But even that part of you is so, so small right now, buried deep down with everything that isn’t Mina, with everything that isn’t her pussy clenching around your hand, or the taste of tits on your tongue.
Ignore all thoughts of the after, of what happens when you’ve made her cum again and again, and you’ve wrecked yourself in the pursuit of it all. What happens when you return to the throngs of nobodies, all rumpled and flushed and red, and the whispers start flying, and the glances are no longer just knowing but shamelessly envious.
That’s a problem for future you.
Right now, you’ve nearly stripped her entirely, pressed up against a wall that’s seen more than its fair share of secrets, and your two—now three—fingers are ruining her in a way that has her dancing on that borderline.
“I’m close, so close,” Mina cries, but you already know.
Because you’re already giving it to her; everything she wants and then some. Touching her, fucking her with your fingers, pushing her higher, watching her unravel.
Making her whine against your skin, making her eyes squeeze shut like she’s afraid of what’s happening, afraid of how much she wants this.
“We’re only just getting started, Mina.”
You let her nipple pop out from your mouth, leaving it to bob in the cool night air, sensitive and dying to be back between your teeth. Hand shifts from her hip, sliding up to cradle her jaw, to tip her face back—force those deep, dark eyes to open so you can really look at her.
Panting, pupils blown wide, and the sight of her so undone sends another wave of heat straight to your cock.
“Look at me.” It comes out harsher, more of a firm command than intended. It does its job. “You're going to cum now.”
She nods, frantically, eyes locked on yours as your thumb traces over her bottom lip, feeling it plump and swollen from your kisses. Her tongue darts out, swipes over the pad, tasting herself and you; and you’re thinking about filling that mouth of hers, or maybe that cunt, or if she’s game, that tight, untouched little asshole.
But one thing at a time.
“I’m going to eat your pussy,” you’re saying everything you’ve dreamt of saying to her since you first saw her, first caught sight of that ass daring to wander past your line of sight; and suddenly, every raw, filthy thought you’ve had of her is coming to the surface. “Then I’m going to fuck you. Again and again. Your cunt, your mouth. That ass. I’m going to take it all. And you’re going to let me, aren’t you, darling?”
Mina breathes, nods, signing a verbal contract to let you do whatever the fuck you want with her, promising you all of her, every part of her you’ve so shamelessly craved.
“Good.”
And so, you drop to your knees.
You glance up at her. She looks down at you.
Like she’s been burning for this; like she’ll combust if you make her wait a second longer.
Pushing her dress up until it's around her waist, keeping it up with your hands on her thighs, spreading her legs wider. And you’re seeing her pussy, the darkened, plump flesh—bare, wet, begging—and so, so pretty.
Fuck—what kind of guy could resist this?
(The kind that buys her jewellery without knowing the first thing about her. The kind that leaves her to sit alone at a gala like a trophy on a shelf. The kind that doesn’t get to taste her—doesn’t know how.
The kind that’s not you.
And maybe she was right—you do think you could save her.)
“What are you doing?” Mina huffs, impatient.
You smirk, unable to resist the urge to drag this out, to keep her on edge a little longer. "Just appreciating."
Mina's eyes narrow, but the smile never leaves her lips. "Well, appreciate faster."
You don’t need to be told twice.
Take her by the hips, spin her around, make her inhale—sharp. Force her to look away from you, to face the cold, indifferent wall, to brace herself.
“Wait, why—”
“Hold your dress up for me,” you mumble against her thighs.
Mina’s hands obey, holding the silk out of the way; and now she’s bent over, like a fucking present. Letting your eyes drink in her ass; unable to do anything but just stare.
How the moonlight kisses the curve, makes the shadows play against it. So perfect. So round and tight and full. Fruit so ripe you could pluck it from the tree with your teeth.
You’re leaning in, kissing the top of her thighs, right below where her cheeks spill over. Kissing up, a soft press of your lips to one cheek, the other, and fuck Mina’s trembling; barely holding it together, and you’re just getting started.
You drag your nose up, across the cotton of her panties and inhale her deep. Sweet and musky, a fine wine that’s been left to breathe, and she squirms.
Shivers under your breath.
And when Mina sighs something that sounds suspiciously like a warning—because she’s not the type to let you get away with anything like this so easily—you take the band of her underwear with your teeth, feeling the fabric stretch. Thin, delicate, begging to snap.
The panties fall away, down to her ankles. The sound of her heels tapping the ground as she lifts her legs to let it slide off, leaving her bare, vulnerable, and yours.
Mina goes still.
Hands spread her cheeks, and finally, you dive in, tongue first. Swipe along the crevice of her ass, taste the sweetness of her from bottom to top, forcing this gasp from her lips. You’re not shy about it—no room for anything close to it when your nose is pressed up against her asshole—and Mina’s thighs are trembling, muscles in her legs tightening like she’s trying to run away from what’s coming next.
But she won’t. You’ve got her pinned. You’ve got her right where she wants to be.
You flatten your tongue against her pussy, lick from cunt to asshole in one, long slow drag, make her sigh your name like it’s a prayer.
“I can’t believe—I never—no one’s ever—” She’s talking, trying to keep it together, trying to rationalise how something so filthy is making her fall apart in a million different, tremendous ways. But the words break off into moans, pure music to your ears.
“Like that?” You murmur against her skin, words disappearing into her.
“Oh my god, yes,” Mina cries out, a benediction. Her grip tightens on her dress, holding it up like a veil. A fucked-up kind of thing, marrying her cunt to your lips; arousal so potent you’re drowning it.
Because she’s a wreck, been a wreck since the moment you laid a hand on her. And now you just have to keep her there.
You let your tongue slide up and down her slit, teasing the folds, going lower, spreading her legs to lap up her clit until she’s begging for it—until she’s begging for you to push inside, to fuck her with it, to make her scream.
"Enjoy it, enjoy being so messy for me.”
"Oh—oh my God!" Mina cries out as you delve into her, and the sound echoes down empty corridors, bouncing off the walls, taking a grand tour of the palace. “I can’t believe—can’t fucking believe—"
You can't believe it either. That no one else has had the pleasure of tasting, of licking, of dining on this slice of Eden laid out before you. It's a crime against nature, really. A sin that you're more than happy to rectify.
"Fuck, you're so good," Mina voice is strained, her legs buckling under the weight of her own desire, she needs to post one hand onto the wall to not completely collapse into your mouth.
A dark chuckle escapes your lips. Feeling smug and utterly in control. "It's not rocket science, darling. Just a little bit of appreciation goes a long way."
But you're not just tonguing her ass because it’s there, because it’s what you’re into. You’re doing it because it’s driving her wild, because you know it’s a button that’s been left untouched, unexplored. And there’s something about being the first to do it that makes your cock throb, makes you want to worship not just her ass, but all of her.
Every part of her that's been neglected, overlooked, ignored.
"You have no idea," she breathes, her legs trembling harder now, "How good it feels."
You lean back, just a fraction, looking up at her, the tension coiling up her spine. "Oh, darling," you say, "I do. Believe me, I do."
A kiss into the small of her back, and you slide your finger back into her, once at first. So impossibly wet, stretching so easily for you, welcoming you right back in.
It’s all for you.
And you can’t get enough, so you add another, then another, stretching her even more, making her drench you and moan for you louder and louder.
You’ve figured it out. How to fuck her, lick her, press into her cunt just right. Finding the rhythm, that makes her breath skip and her body tense, that makes her pussy clamp down around your digits.
“Oh, God, oh, oh, oh—yes—right there—right there—” She’s panting, her hips jerking back, meeting every thrust of your fingers and your tongue.
You’re so close to making her cum—so close that you can almost taste it on the air—and she’s begging for it, so sweetly, so desperately.
“Please, please, don’t stop, I’m right there—” Mina’s hand reaches back, tangling in your hair, and she’s pulling you closer, grinding herself against your mouth.
Bury your face between her cheeks, fuck her fast with your fingers. It’s heaven down in the depths of hell; her thighs, her cheeks, her cunt, her ass. So soft, so wet, so very yours.
That whimper, that beautiful sigh that escapes Mina’s lips is her final invitation. You push your tongue inside her, opening it up, feeling the tightness, the warmth. The shock coursing through her as she surrenders to the unspeakable filth and bliss of your mouth on her asshole.
So tight, so clean, so delicious.
You lick and suck and kiss, fucking her with your fingers, pressing into her, exploring the depths of that tight little hole.
"This is, this is—” her voice strains, wonder, desperation, downright heat at what you’re doing to her. "No one’s ever done this to me. Keep eating my ass, please."
It’s her words that keeps you going, and it all becomes a blur of moans and shivers, of the way she tastes, smells, feels. But you don’t stop, you can’t, all you want to do is make that tight ring of muscle yours.
“Please let me cum. Now. Please. I need it—I need you—”
She needs you to never stop.
You take her, right there in the moonlit garden, hidden by the shadows and the foliage and the silk of her dress. You can almost feel the vibrations of her voice in your mouth, against your tongue, like it’s a part of her, like she’s speaking straight into your soul with every moan and gasp and plea.
The squelch of your fingers fucking her. Her cunt griping you, being devoured. Your tongue invading her ass. The way you’re ruining her for everyone else. Her cries.
She’s so loud.
It doesn’t matter.
The whispers of the gala seem so far away, so irrelevant. It’s all about Mina and her ass and your three fingers sawing in and out of her and she’s saying—
“God, fuck, how can you do this, how can you make me—fuck—"
The answer to her unfinished question: it’s because she’s worth it. It’s because of her, how she makes you want to prove yourself. Because of her hips and her thighs and her cunt and her ass and all of her, every single part.
And that’s your name on her breath, that’s your name when she’s close, that’s your name when she finally tips over, when her legs give way and she’s gasping it into the night.
“Oh my—”
Mina cums.
You swallow.
Drink your fill from her cunt, fill up your nose with her scent. Burn the memory of what it’s like to have your face buried in her ass and have her leaking down your chin. It’s a full body spasm that wracks through her, setting her soul on fire. She’s a star, a supernova, a fucking explosion on your tongue.
Her walls pulse around your fingers, squeezing, clenching, and you give it to her, keep fucking her through it, keep licking, because she’s still there, still hovering.
It overwhelms her—she lets it—you feel her body tighten, quiver, then release like a bowstring snapped.
“Fuck me, fuck me, please—yes, like that—right—right there—yes—yes—yes—”
A chant of yeses right before falling off a cliff and into an oh fuck, I’m cumming.
And you’re right there, knees in the dirt, smiling against her cheeks, holding onto her hips, making sure she doesn’t collapse entirely.
And fuck, she goes, and goes and goes.
Until the ground falls beneath her feet.
You’re there to catch her, to ease her down to the ground with you, hold her in your arms until her world stops spinning.
It takes a moment, two.
And she looks up at you, like she’s unsure of how she got there, in this tangle of sighs and limbs and you. But it doesn’t really matter because she pulls you closer, hand still buried in your hair, needing to kiss you just one more time.
Her taste lingers on your tongue—sweet and salty and so uniquely her. She kisses you again, a little less frantic this time. A little more like she means it.
It’s hard not to feel anything but pride.
Mina’s cheek is pressed to your chest, her eyes barely able to focus, her breaths coming in quiet, contented puffs.
And you’re coming to realise what kind of woman Mina is. Even now, when she should be an unrepairable mess—sprawled out on the cool floor with her dress in a puddle around her, her pussy still pulsing and leaking down her thighs—there’s this poise to her that’s downright intimidating.
She breathes, “You’re just a fantasy, aren’t you?” It feels like a warm hand sliding down your spine.
You lean down, kiss her forehead, tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear.
It’s peaceful. It’s perfect.
And then your emergency line rings.
Mina inclines her head. A spell is broken. “Well, that’s timing for you.”
You instantly regret the next words that come out of your mouth, the rational words that have never sounded more irrational. “I need to go.”
Mina’s far too polite, far too graceful to say what she wants to say, what you’re pleading her in your mind to say. But she knows the game. You both do.
She just nods, rewards herself with a peek at the tent angrily poking underneath your slacks.
“It’s fine,” she says. (It’s not). She reaches up to your lips, running a thumb over the gloss she’s stained you with. “I think I can handle it from here.”
Her other hand slips down to your thigh, gives you a courtesy squeeze as a farewell, and it’s all you can do not to jump. But you can’t, because the phone’s still ringing, because at the end of the day you’re still a billionaire with responsibilities and a reputation to uphold.
She’s kind of enough to give you an out. “You’re supposed to be giving a speech, right?”
Said responsibility and reputation has you answering, “Yeah.”
You’re stupid for it, stupid for even entertaining the idea of letting her go, or leaving her behind. But you’re not completely blameless—it’s near impossible to even think straight when all the blood in your body has gone south for the evening.
“Are you going to be okay with,” Mina blinks down at you. “Your situation?”
It’s painful to even say it. “I guess I’ll have to be.”
Mina sits up, pulls herself off you, untangling her legs with a grace that seems almost otherworldly. Pulls her panties back up, tucks them into place with a little shiver. Smooths her dress down, twisting it back into a more dignified state.
You’re already regretting letting her leave before she’s even gone.
But the messages have piled up on your phone, and Mina can see it all, the endless frantic texts, the missed calls.
You’re late.
You’re needed.
The world’s waiting.
Mina reads your face, and you can’t tell if she’s impressed or disappointed. “Looks like you’ve got your hands full.”
You stand up, help her to her feet, because that’s what you do—you take care of your own messes. She’s still smiling at you, and you want to tell her how much you wish you could stay.
“It’s okay,” is all she says, as you push your own shirt back in the waistband of your pants and slick your hair down.
She’s redoing her own hair, trying to fix it into something presentable. Something less ‘I’ve been fucked raw against a brick wall’ and more ‘gee, quite a strong wind tonight’.
“I knew from the jump you didn’t have the time.”
You’re blurting out, “I can make more.”
“Not even money can buy that.”
Your phone rings again.
Mina’s eyes follow the screen, the glow lighting up her face. Ethereal. Yeah, that's the word for how she looks. You've never been sure of the definition but you're certain it fits.
And when she stands on her toes to kiss your cheek, to bid you farewell, she holds onto your shoulder long enough to whisper her address in your ear. “I’ll be waiting. If you can get away.”
“Why don’t I just come with you now?”
She laughs—but it’s empty, almost a little sad. “Because, you have a job to do, and I have an appearance to keep up. And unlike you, I’m not quite sure I’m ready to broadcast to the whole world who I’m fucking. Or who I’m going to fuck. If he’s not late, that is.”
And with a quiet breath, she’s gone.
A ghost in the moonlight, slipping away like she’s been painted out of existence, leaving you with the memory of her on your mouth and the ache she’s leaving in your cock.
You turn back to the gala.
The air feels somewhat colder.
—
The rest of the evening goes far, far too slowly for your liking.
While your absence has been noted, the whispers and glances are more curious than concerned. They don't know where you've been, and one of your assistants is kind enough to fetch you a new shirt to replace the one that's smudged with lipstick and makeup and Mina, before any real juicy rumours can start.
You try, and fail, to get things moving as quickly as possible:
(A business rival pulls you aside to congratulate you on the recent product launch—You're just thinking about Mina's ass.
A board member sings your praises about last quarter’s earnings, how you're really sticking it to those idiots that forecasted a downturn—You're only thinking about sticking it between Mina's thighs.
A reporter that sneaked in wants to know if you're planning another acquisition so soon after the last one—Yes, you're going to acquire Mina; find somewhere far away from here with another wall to pin her against and make her scream and ache all over for you.)
Thankfully, your assistant is at the ready before you can really make a scene, dragging you over to the stage and pulling you out of this shit show.
‘Just stepped away for some air’ is what you had assured her when she took the shirt off your hands, but really, there's no point trying to hide it.
She's seen that look before, that glow that you can't quite wipe off.
But she's loyal, she doesn't ask questions. Just tells you that you’re on in five, and that in the meantime, she’ll make sure the driver is ready for a quick exit.
So, you force yourself to smile, address the faces that meld together into a wall of teeth.
Make a speech that’s just a rush of words that you've recited countless times before. Innovation and growth, the future of the company, the same spiel from the annual report wrapped up in a shiny new bow.
But none of it matters. You're not even hearing yourself speak. You're hearing the echoes of Mina's moans, feeling the tremble of her thighs as you devoured her, replaying her orgasm in your mind again and again.
You can't wait to get off this fucking stage.
The second the applause dies down, you're off like a shot. The podium forgotten; the spotlight cold on your back. You grab your phone and slip out of the garden, dodging the eager hands that reach out for just a second of your time.
You find your driver waiting, just as instructed; Mina's address already punched in the navigation.
Just go, drop me off. Don't stick around. I'll call you to pick me up in the morning.
—
“It was cerulean,” is Mina’s amused answer to your admittedly idiotic question.
Not your best moment, to be fair. You raced up to her apartment so quickly that you really didn’t have anything more intelligent to say than ‘what happened to your dress?’ and ‘I wanted to know what colour it was’.
But still, show you the person living or dead that could have said anything coherent when being greeted by Mina, opening the door to her apartment—so unashamedly smug, and so very naked.
So what if you just stood there and stared?
Stared at the curves and dips, the way her hair cascades over her shoulders in inky waves, damp from a shower; making it cling to her skin, drape over her collarbone, her breasts. The nipples peeking straight at you, dusky, pointed, waiting the return of your tongue. Her pussy winking between her thighs, a treasure hidden in a sea of smooth flesh.
You don’t know whether to apologise for your lack of eloquence or thank her for being so incredibly distracting.
You kind of want to request that she turn around.
Mina laughs at what is certainly a stupid expression colouring your face; folds her arms across her chest, crosses one leg over the other. "Waiting for me to offer you a drink?"
You blink. “Thought you already gave me one.”
She scrunches her nose, answers, “I was only being polite.”
“I think we’re well past that.”
There’s that gravity again; shifting around Mina, tilting the world towards her until she’s pulling you into her apartment and you’re kicking the door closed behind you.
“Then hurry up and take me upstairs.”
—
There’s a part of you that feels like you should warn Mina when she tells you:
“Look, you’ve kept me waiting too fucking long. I need your cock, your cum inside of me. Right now. Before it’s too late and I change my mind. So, just please, please, please—”
But those kind of thoughts are lost halfway up the staircase; when you both decide that you just can't wait anymore, and your hands are back on her hips and your tongue is pushing into her throat.
Her fault, really.
Stripping you down the hallway, leaving a trail of your clothes through her kitchen; taking you by the cock. Firm, confident pumps as she leads you through her penthouse, refusing to give you a moment to breathe.
Because she’s obsessed with it. Obsessed with how it fills her hand, how it jumps at her touch, how it throbs when she squeezes it, strokes it.
“So big for me," Mina's says—to you, to herself, to your cock. "So perfectly, impossibly, big for me."
You’re never going to make it to the top.
Pressing her up against the banister, kissing her, hard. Deep, bruising kisses, because now that you’re out of the garden you don’t give a fuck if you’re leaving marks.
You just want her to remember this night, to feel it in every pulse and every breath.
Make her think of you when she’s with him, if she can even go back to him after this. Because you’ll both know that she’s yours even when she’s not.
“You’re going to ruin me, you know that?”
You look into Mina’s eyes. You can see it all, how the rest of the night will play out. You and Mina, tangled in her apartment. You and Mina, on top of the kitchen island. You and Mina, against the shower walls, on the living room floor, maybe even on the balcony.
You and Mina, until the sun rises.
You kiss her harder. “Is that a request?”
“Of course it is.”
Because now you actually have the time to appreciate her, to let your hands wander.
They glide over her body, mapping it out again, but slower this time. You've had your fill of the frantic touches, the greedy need. This is something else. This is savouring.
You start with your thumb at her navel, tracing the line down to her hips, then back up against to the base of her ribcage. It’s the feel of the muscles in her stomach tensing and relaxing as you touch her, the inhale and the exhale. How ridiculously tiny her waist feels in your hand, how your palm fits so perfectly into the curve of her side that you swear she’s been tailored for you.
Mina chokes on her breath as she tells you, “You’re going to have to stop, or we’re not going to make it to the bedroom.”
You don’t even slow down. You just don’t care.
Your hand rises, higher, finds her breasts again; cupping it in your palm. A thumb rolls over her nipple.
You pinch. She gasps.
You smile into her neck. “So, so, sensitive.”
Mina’s so willing, so keen to give herself over to you, to your touch. You’ve proven yourself to her already, made her cum with just your fingers and tongue. Now it’s just a matter of doing it all over again—but slower, better, more thorough.
You palm her breasts, rolling and pinching them until they’ve been given the attention they deserve, until she’s panting through your teases and caresses. Kneading the soft flesh beneath your hand and making her arch into your touch.
“You’re really going to take your time, aren’t you?” Mina mewls, half-sigh, half-plead. Grinding herself into you, making a shimmering mess on your waist. “Going to torture me until I can’t breathe.”
“It is your fantasy.”
Pull her closer, take a handful of that perfect ass once again. It hasn’t really been that long since you last had it in your hands but it’s all you’ve had on your mind. What it looks like under proper lighting, what it feels like without the dress in the way. What kind of noises will she make when you grope, and she doesn’t have to worry about anyone overhearing.
Press and squeeze, dig your fingers into her flesh. Not rough, but firm. Leaving little spots of red that will be gone by the morning.
Slide your finger down, down between her cheeks, and deeper, pressing into the sweet heat of her ass.
And then you feel it.
Her asshole. Wet and slick. Prepared.
A wink. A laugh. "Not my fault you're predictable."
You can’t fucking wait anymore.
She’ll just have to settle for the staircase.
Grab her by the hips—her ass, and pull her down with you onto the steps, her legs straddling you as you sit down.
Take her in—all of her. The curve of her, the line of her spine, the fucking paradise that’s her cheeks. Unbelievable.
You kiss into her back, follow down that trail right to where it swells, feeling the heat of her skin against your lips. You’re going to ruin this ass; permanently plant your flag there, mark it as property of you and your cock until she can’t take a seat without cursing your name.
Mina's shoulders tense when you pause, and she looks back over to you. There's a flash of nerves in her eyes, a gasp of "Here?" that's so faint you almost don't catch it.
Another kiss into her skin, you murmur, “Here’s perfect, Mina,” and she sighs when your finger presses against that puckered ring, cold with lubricant, made as ready as she’s ever going to be.
It’s the preparation that gets you; the idea of her in anticipation for you, for this, making sure she’s nice and primed. Mina at the store, still wearing that dress, fresh from her orgasm, buying lube. Mina in her bathroom, stripping herself bare, toying with her asshole, making it perfect for you.
And Mina, now, eyes clenched shut, breaths heavy as your digit is pushing through, slipping into her, and she’s so fucking tight around it.
“Oh my god,” she hisses through her teeth, a quiver in her legs as you push deeper into her tight channel.
Your hands shoot to her thighs to steady her, a reassuring anchor to keep her from toppling over as your finger fills her completely, twisting and turning, slowly but surely easing her into the idea of being taken.
It’s the moans that get you, the sighs as you intrude inside her. She’s so responsive, her breaths skipping and her pussy already starting to gush, coating your finger, your thighs, the steps below.
“You doing okay?”
“Yeah—yes,” Mina stutters, her footing slips just so, but she catches herself on the banister. “It’s—it’s intense. So intense. But don’t stop, I can take it. I want—I want more. I need this. I need this now, before—before I take all of you inside of me."
“You want more?” You repeat her words, before giving her what she needs—adding a second finger, pressing them in deep, making sure she’s good and open. The lube helps, but it’s the eagerness that gets her most of the way there; it’s that trust that she has in you, her willingness to let you take her here, in this way.
“Yes, please,” Mina cries, doing everything she can to not collapse on top of you, to not come completely apart.
You’re merciless, adding a third finger, stretching her until she’s panting, until she’s crying out, making this noise, this hushed whimper that takes the shape of your name.
“Please, please, please,” Mina whispers to herself, pushing back against you, starting to rock back onto your hand, taking your fingers into her ass.
“Not yet, Mina, not yet,” you tell her, because even though she’s close, even though she’s begging, you want her to be absolutely fucking desperate for your cock when the moment comes.
You reach around her with your other hand, finding that button, already swollen and begging for attention. Playing with it, gently at first, a soft pressure to help her let go, to allow herself to let her voice echo up the staircase and through the penthouse.
God, how is she this sensitive, reactive to every little touch, to every exploration of her cunt, her ass, her body.
It’s the ceremony of it all; this lurid, obscene ritual that you’re walking her through. Making her ass bounce on your hand in this hypnotic movement, making her stretch around your fingers, making her repeat your name over and over until she’s convinced herself that all of her belongs to you.
These perfect, near-silent sighs. This unbelievable tightness. Mina’s body, turning itself into a fucking playground for your touch; to do with it as you will. Even if it means ruining her.
And it’s when you have her creaming all over you; down her thighs, making a mess of herself with these pushes and pulls, these declarations of how ready she is for you, that her body shakes with one last, long shiver.
She cums.
Softly, soundlessly, another cry of your name dying on her lips. A hand to your wrist to stop you abruptly, panting.
Tiny, tiny shivers, twitches in her thighs, around your fingers, leaving her barely there, barely with you. Head hanging low, chest heaving, catching her breath, putting herself back together again.
Time stretches before she's cognisant again, and she turns back, looking over her shoulder and straight at you. Eyes half-lidded, hazy, dripping with lust, anticipation, burning with need.
Deep, heavy breaths. And then Mina says the most devastating thing:
“I’m ready. Fuck my ass. Now. Please.”
A gunshot in the quiet of her home, rumbling through your bones.
Your fingers leave her ass, her cunt with a wet pop, forcing a whine from her throat at the sudden emptiness. A look at her asshole, how it clenches and unclenches, beckoning for you to fill it, to claim it as your own.
“Good girl.”
Holding her by the hips, lining her ass with your cock, nudging her opening with your tip and making her shiver. You don’t go in immediately; you hover, giving her one last out, to really see if she’s absolutely certain.
Mina trembles. Nods. That’s all the invitation you need.
“God, I—”
You push in, slow and steady, eyes on her ass as she takes you. So fucking tight, so intense, you can feel every part of her squeezing, accommodating you, moulding itself around your girth and swallowing you whole.
“Take it slow, darling, take it slow,” you whisper into her skin, guiding her down, telling her how good she’s doing, how good she is for you, how much you love her tightness, her trust.
It seems impossible at first, the grip she has on you, like you’ll never get in. But inch by agonising inch, she takes you, and it’s nothing short of total heaven.
Mina, so fucking beautiful in this moment of raw vulnerability; all sharp inhales and strained quivers wrecking through her, voice shaky as she tells you, “I’ve never felt anything like this, I never thought—fuck—I never thought I could take anything like this.”
“You’re doing so good,” you kiss your words into her, wrapping your arms around her, holding her.
“I can—I can do better,” she gasps, and you believe her.
But you still go slow, so painfully slow, even though every fibre of your being is screaming at you to just dig into her hips and slam into that glorious fucking ass and never look back.
“I can take it,” Mina breathes, “Do it, I can take it. I want all of you. In my ass. I can handle it.”
Mina nods, clenches her ass, her cheeks firming up around your throbbing cock.
“I want it to hurt so good.”
No more convincing required. You push in deeper, make her back stiffen, her muscles contract, making her cry.
It’s a dance, a delicate ballet of bodies, of breath and touch, of your cock inside Mina’s ass. Lost in it, in the feel of skin on skin, the sound of wet, needy noises that she’s making, her shudders in your arms.
Until finally, with a strangled gasp, she’s fully seated. You’re buried in her tight, hot ass, basking in the warmth of her, leaving you both winded and struggling for air.
Stillness overrides the moment, because it’s too perfect, too overwhelming, and the feeling. You need to get used to the feeling.
You break the silence first. “Mina?”
“I know. I know.”
A kiss against her neck, scraping the soft skin there. A whisper in her ear, your breath hot and ragged.
“I’m going to fuck your ass now.”
You always keep your promises.
Mina answers by leaning back into you, her hand finding yours, her nails running along your fingers as if to say, “Yes, please, now.”
Moving, so slow it’s almost painful. The drag of her ass around your cock like nothing you’ve ever felt before—like you’re sliding through warm, velvet-covered steel.
“Fuck, yes, please,” with every inch you pull out, and “Too much, so good, too fucking much,” when you push back in, deeper and deeper still.
It builds and builds, this sweet agony, each pass in her ass faster, harder, turning Mina’s cries and wails into moans of pure bliss. It takes time and long, hard fucking for her body to relax into this rhythm, letting you take her, own her.
A vision above you, sweat glistening on her back, hair matted and sticking to her shoulders, and Mina’s ass, a snug ring around your cock. You watch as your cock slides out of her, the way her ass clenches around the head, holding on for just a second before pushing all the way back down.
You can’t help but groan, “Christ,” as she moves on top of you like that. So gracefully, so beautifully, so fucking obscenely on your cock.
“Thank you—God—thank you, thank you, thank you.” Mina’s moans are pure music to your ears, she’s babbling, talking through the pain, through the pleasure. “So, so good, filling me like—fuck—never been filled up like this.”
And as you push on, push further and further until your cock is melting inside her, burning her up in every way she's ever dared to dream, you can see the smile curling onto Mina’s face. It’s pride, you’re realising. Proud of herself, proud of how she can take you, how she can handle this kind of depraved ecstasy.
“It feels so deep.”
Tearing her open. Revealing the tender, delicate core beneath the glamour, the lights, the unreal beauty that is Mina. Leaving her sobbing, pleading, whining for more, more, more.
Bouncing on you now, each more assured than the last, cries of nothing but need. Opening up to accept you fully, completely, her ass a tight fucking sleeve for you, coming down and wrapping itself around you like a searing hot second skin.
You know the truth, but you still want to hear it.
“How many?”
Mina has her answer ready: “You’re the—you’re the first.”
You grin. A smug, triumphant baring of teeth that spreads from ear to ear. “I have no fucking idea how that’s possible. How nothing has ever been up this tight, perfect little asshole.”
“Oh, there's been toys,” Mina moans, strained and shaky as you pump into her, “But you’re just the first that's real.”
“Then your boyfriend is a fucking idiot,” you growl into her ear, your hand moving to her throat, gently clasping, making her gasp, making her eyes go wide with shock, with excitement. “He doesn’t know what he has.”
“Enough about my boyfriend,” Mina's quick to answer, snapping, her head thrown back, eyes screwed shut. “Even though—even if—he wouldn’t, couldn’t dream of filling me like this. Filling me up so much that it hurts, so much that—fuck, it feels so right, so fucking right—”
“You love this, don’t you, Mina?” You ask, but all Mina can do is nod vigorously, too overrun by the fucking to form words. “Underneath it all, you’re just a dirty slut for it, aren’t you? Letting me use this pretty, tight ass like this.”
“I—” she stutters, right before confessing, “I love it.”
She slams her hips down on you, the stairs groaning with each thrust, not built to withstand this kind of punishment.
“I love that it’s you, love that you’re the first. I can’t believe it—just—I need it. I need your cock in me, so deep—I need you, I need you, I need you—so please don't stop.”
“I would never dream of stopping.”
Never.
Not when she’s begging like this, her voice hoarse and her body quaking. When she sighs and shivers every time you fuck a little faster, push a little harder, testing just how much she can take.
Tits jiggling with every thrust, cunt leaking all the way down your thighs, ass puckering and loosening.
Her whole body, yours.
Yours for the taking. Mina’s divine body, in all its sharp planes and ridged muscles, squeezing and coiling at every juncture, every penetration setting her alight.
You declare it, even though it doesn't need to be said. “Made for me.”
“Yes,” she’s nodding. Or rather, letting her head fall into one. “God yes.”
“Just been waiting for me for so long, haven’t you? Been waiting for the right cock to come along and split you in half.” You’re saying these things, these stinging words that you fuck into Mina, send shooting through her like sparks. She’s a live-wire, a fucking blackout waiting to happen.
Weeping down her thighs, choking out every whine, “Yes,” she whispers, “yes, yes, yes, been needing to be ruined. Needing it, needing you. So much, so much, so—fucking—right—”
“Fucking criminal that you had to wait,” you’re saying, loving this, so enraptured by all of it. “But I’m here now.”
Mina shivers, pussy clenches, and she just can’t stop saying, “Yours, yours, yours—”
Completely, totally yours, now.
You know it. She knows it.
It’s written in the way she takes your cock, in the way she loses herself to you, loses all semblance of composure and decorum, peels back all the carefully curated layers that make her Mina, until all there is to see and touch is the raw, unfiltered need that you’ve unleashed from underneath.
"Touch me, fuck me, take me, take my ass, I need more—"
Again, your fingers find her folds, sticky and swollen and waiting.
You touch her, press down on her clit. Circling it with the same rhythm as your hips. Striking a match in a dark room, lighting up her body in this blaze.
The noises that it all makes; the slosh of your fingers at her cunt, the squelch of your cock invading her ass, so fucking explicit, so fucking filthy.
She’s erratic, breath catching, throat pulsing against your fingers, and she somehow, impossibly, clenches even more around you, suffocating your cock with just her tight, tight ass.
You keep that same tempo. That desperate, fucking unyielding beat that’s going to make her come, going to turn this idol, this mystery, this drop-dead fucking gorgeous woman who should belong to someone else but is now screaming proudly just how much she’s yours, into nothing but a trembling mess of whimpers and whines.
“More, fuck—oh my god, oh my fucking god—it’s so fucking good—so good—so fucking good—”
She’s reaching her peak—her voice, her body, her cunt, her ass—all of her reaching that perfect crescendo of pleasure that you’ve been orchestrating, that you’ve been waiting for.
“I’ve never—no one’s ever—fuck, fuck, fuck—”
Sinking into her, making her feel like she’s being torn apart and remade with every stroke, making her feel nothing like she’s ever felt before, making her feel like nothing but your fucking whore.
So, so close, barrelling towards it now, all these tears running down her cheeks, these filthy words slipping from her lips. Coming apart in your arms, because she’s never been this filled, this complete.
“Going to—going to cum—fuck me, harder, harder—going to cum all over your cock—” Mina tells you, a warning, the last one you get before she screams, “Too good—filling me—so good—give it to me—God—I can never go back—”
She shatters. Monumentally.
Into a million tiny pieces of pleasure, each one more brilliant than the last.
Her body spasms, her ass squeezes so fucking tight around your cock that you can feel the orgasm ripping through her, up her spine, through her throat, until she’s crying out and it’s hitting your ears—
“Oh my God, I'm going to—just, say my name—please, say my name when I—”
“Mina,” you say, and she cums.
“Mina,” you repeat when her pussy floods over your hand, ass smothers your cock.
“Mina,” again when it ripples across her skin, leaves her in fits, uncontrollable quakes, consumed by pure, unfiltered joy.
You watch the whole thing—watch her scream your name, watch her shake and quiver and fall apart, right there on your cock; and you're fucking her through it all, fucking her well past it, chanting “Mina” over and over again.
You'll never forget this, never forget this sight—this woman, this star, built up and broken down just for you.
“Mine,” you bite into her ear, because now, it’s true.
Mina’s barely there, eyes glassy, hand cradling your face. But she’s able to say it, because it’s branded into every bone of her body: “Yours.”
It’s a complete disaster.
And now you're cumming.
Brand new sensations, devastation in full measure—your soul ripped from your chest, until all that’s left is this impulsive, overwhelming need to give her your all, your everything—to fill her entire existence with just you.
You drive your cock into her once more, impaling her deep, and let go.
It floods her, rushes inside her, spills and spills.
Mina can't do anything but feel it—every pulse, every spurt. She throws her head back, her mouth open in this silent plea, satisfaction painted across her face as your heat surges inside her. Her ass milks you, needy for every drop, so, so thirsty for it.
“It's—cumming inside my ass—so, so nice, keep cumming for me.”
You hold onto her, throb inside her, pump ropes into her, and there's a kiss—hot and clumsy—somewhere in the midst of it all, your mouths colliding and tongues wrapping around each other in a futile attempt to last just that little bit longer.
Getting all dizzy and spellbound, floating back down to the ground as the last waves of your climaxes start to subside, until one of you says, “Thank you,” and the other echoes it back.
You stay like that, swallowed up inside her, dripping out of her ass. Lowering one hand from her throat, rising the other from her pussy, pulling her into an embrace, keeping her as close as you can while you both try to put yourselves back together.
It’s sex that soaks the air, fills the penthouse—sweat, lube, the musk of all the evidence you're leaving behind. Intoxicating, breathing it in, setting your nerves alight, rousing your cock inside her all over again.
But Mina, she’s a stunning catastrophe, torn asunder in all the best ways. Perfection not marred, but made better. Completed. Looking up at you with wonder, with gratitude, with a smile.
You look down at her and admit it, “Perfect.”
Mina laughs out loud, “Disastrously perfect.”
“This is going to be a problem, isn’t it?”
You kiss her once more.
Mina kisses you back.
“Only if we make it one.”
—
You think you can read her mind.
And she, yours.
It’s the only way any of this makes sense—how perfect you fit together, how well you read each other; fill each other’s needs without use of any words outside of curses and names and strangled pleas.
Printed onto your DNA, carved into your bones, these exact pathways you shape through her home and into her skin.
You do make it to the bedroom, somehow.
And then, exactly as predicted:
The shower, where Mina takes you into her mouth, gags herself around you, covers herself in your cum before letting the water wash it all away.
Then the kitchen, polishing off a bottle of wine, slurring promises into Mina’s cunt, having her rake the back of your scalp and scream the same promises back into your ears.
And finally, the living room, folding her over the couch, tumbling onto the floor with Mina, riding you so hard the neighbours below start banging on their ceiling in protest.
It's only the balcony that goes untouched.
Maybe another time.
But that’s where it ends: sprawled across a lush rug, sticky with sweat and cum and wine, naked and bare. Ignoring the watchful eyes of the photos that line the walls and shelves—family, friends, her boyfriend. Just living in this bubble where the sun will never rise and the world outside ceases to exist.
Getting to know each other in ways few people ever do.
Tracing patterns into the small of her back, asking these questions. Is this what you always imagined you would be doing? How you thought your life would be? Does it ever actually feel enough?
Mina pokes and prods back, her nails lightly scraping against your chest, leaving half-moons in her wake. Do you think you could ever be happy? Do you ever wonder why it’s so hard for other people to keep up? Are you fucked up in all the same ways as me?
And it’s so easy to answer truthfully, to be honest, because you’re both still maintaining the façade of this just being a simple fling; a blip along the timeline of your lives.
The yours and mine of it all, all those promises you were spilling. Just callous words tossed in the throes of passion.
They didn’t mean anything real.
Because it’s not like you’re going to see each other again, not like there’s going to be a mess of emotions and consequences that will have to be dealt with in the morning after.
Eventually though, the light does slip through the curtains, the clothes come back on, and you’re kissing Mina against the doorway and thinking of a million reasons why you should stay.
"So, how long are we going to pretend that this is normal?" You broach, and it immediately feels like you’re breaking some unspoken rule.
Mina’s keeping herself busy, hands at your shirt, buttoning it back into place, one by one. Hiding away evidence that her mouth, her lips, her teeth were ever on you.
She looks up at you. Smirks. “Fucking ‘til the break of dawn, giving each other orgasms that never quite end? Flooding each one of my holes with your cum?”
You tilt your head.
“I don’t know. This whole thing is… unique. Uncharted territory and all.”
“It goes without saying, but, yeah. Same for me.” You echo, “Unique.”
You reach for her, smoothing her hair back. The early morning light makes it shine like a crown of jewels.
“Do you want it to stay that way?”
Mina considers. Leans into your hand. “You think we should make a habit out of this? I didn’t pin you for the type.”
“Neither did I, but it didn’t seem so bad when you were riding me on that couch,” you tease. “And in the shower, and on the staircase, and in the kitchen…”
She blushes, lips caught between her teeth, looking like she’s struggling to hold in a laugh. There’s this glint in her eye as her hand wanders up to your cheek, thumb hovering just shy of your mouth. For a second, you think she’s going to kiss you again.
But instead, she just looks at you.
Eyes you with something close to fascination, something that makes your heart stop. And you're reading each other’s minds again, knowing you're both going to lie, going to pretend like this was just a one-night thing. Something the two of you can easily wipe your hands with and walk away from like it never even happened.
Because this really is the first time—you’ve never done anything like this before. Sure you’ve dipped your toe in the pool of commitment, paddled around in the shallow end, but you’ve never fallen for someone proper.
Never worried about what someone's going to be doing when you’re not there, never thought about whether you’d be better off sticking around to find out.
But you have a job. A company to run.
And Mina, a career. A boyfriend. A life.
So, you don’t make plans.
You don’t even ask for her number.
You don't need to.
Deep down inside you know you’ll find her again.
For now though, you spin your bullshit: “It’s probably for the best if we don’t, though.”
“Probably.” Mina agrees, but she can hear the same ticking clock as you.
The timer that’s already started, counting down to when she’ll inevitably be undoing the same buttons, redrawing the same patchwork of red and pink across your chest, and pulling you into her home and into her; fucking her pussy, her ass, her mouth, in all the ways she needs, until you’re spilling out of her all over again.
“Definitely.” Mina unlocks the front door. “For the best.”
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Hello, I really liked your Dukedome au, and I imagine how reader would when Jhon told her about his boys and she was okay with it, but maybe, unconsciously, she doesn't want the guys to misunderstood her relationship whit Jhon, so she star treating them in a very distant/formal way(probably she doesn't even notice either, its not like she is upset or something)
Like, no more cute nicknames for them or cute giggles, she stop looking out for them as often and they notice.
I just like angst I'm sorry 😭
They would notice immediately because ever since your mind subconsciously accepted that no one here would chastise or correct you, you've basically turned the nickname into a part of their name, always said so gently. Or when you'd seek their company out yourself, simply happy to spend time with them.
But then you convince yourself that perhaps you are making them uncomfortable, that maybe you are getting between them and John especially, so you decide it'd be best to just stop. No more nicknames, no more purposely going to spend time with them, just a very calm and respectful camaraderie. It should be fine, shouldn't it? No doubt they'd even be happy, having more privacy without you encroaching on their space.
Wrong, wrong, wrong. First day, they notice that you aren't calling them with those dearly beloved nicknames in that sweet tone of yours, but they assume it might just be something distracting you. They are sure it'll get better.
Second day, they realize you haven't gone to any of them. Haven't had breakfast sitting with Johnny, haven't visited John in his office, haven't taken your walk with Kyle or checked the library to read with Simon. Going over the conversations each and everyone of them has had with you, trying to see if they’d hurt or upset you in any way only to come up empty-handed.
Third day is the last day. There’s genuine fear they might havr royally fucked up. But it doesn’t explain why you are still calm and gentle as ever, greeting them if you happen to run into them but no more cute nicknames or lingering to speak to them. It hurts more because they do hear you still use them for others, but not them.
Fourth day is the last straw. Kyle is there first thing in the morning, greeting you awake with a big bouquet from John and Simon and a tray of so much it’s surprising it even fit on the tray- made by Johnny and Kyle both.
“My lady,” he smiles at you, setting it down on the coffee table a little away. It takes effort not to frown when you just mumble a confused “Kyle?” With no nicknames like love or honey.
“My lady,” he repeats, voice soft and apologetic- almost desperate. “Whatever I’ve done- whatever we’ve done, we truly apologize for it.” He starts. And then asks for your forgiveness again, apologies falling out.
Meanwhile, you are just confused as fuck. And still in your nightgown. What is he- what are all of them even apologizing for, anyways?
#noona.asks#cod x reader#cod#cod x you#tf 141 x reader#tf 141#tf 141 x you#cod imagines#john price x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#ghost x reader#kyle gaz garric x reader#soap x reader#johnny soap mctavish x reader#gaz x reader#kyle gaz garrick x reader#poly!141 x reader#poly 141 x reader#poly!141#poly 141
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ARE YOU AFRAID OF THE DARK? | GOJO SATORU, GETO SUGURU.
𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — synopsis. the campus power outage gives your sly classmates a proper chance to get to know you.
𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — cw. fem!reader, college au, dark content, kidnapping, use of toys, one (1) mention of “you cryin?”, vibrators / dildos, fearplay, eiffel tower position, blindfolds / restrictions, dubcon, squirting, double pen if you squint. mdni <3
𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — word count. 4.0k
𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — dolled up! happy friday thee 13th !! i know y’all remember me saying i wouldn’t write jjk anymore but i caved! so here’s my comeback to writing them , i literally can’t get gojo out of my head. as always, comment / reblog if you like it ! i’d muchly appreciate it ♡.
“isn’t she lovely, satoru?”
“fucking beautiful.”
a pair of crystalline-like eyes followed your bare figure down from your heaving chest to your lower abdomen where they settled on your glistening folds. you were spread open, laid against the armrest of the couch you were splayed across, hands bound taut by what felt like cheap, abrasive rope.
of the softer voice you had heard, its owner pulled out a silk piece of cloth from the pocket of his sweatpants, carefully binding it over your eyes, eluding your already subdued line of sight.
their mannerisms were recognizable, the two men who’d gotten you into that pathetic situation.
they were none other than gojo satoru and geto suguru from your foreign affairs class. prior to, you hadn’t shared much of a striking moment with them for their names to be ingrained in your memory, other than the times suguru would ask for a pencil, and gojo, a copy of the notes. it wasn’t until the start of the fall semester that you had grown closer to them.
they’d invite you to the campus’s library on account of needing you, /and only you,/ to tutor them, along with accompanying them to parties held by the school’s fraternity, and back to their dorm when things got boring — they took quite a strong liking towards you, despite your persistence on rejecting each advancement they made on you.
it wasn’t like you found them unattractive, or even unbearable. they just had more rumors than they could keep up with hanging off their reputation; rumors consisting of them switching girls much like they switch clothes simultaneous with how they weren’t particularly shy about their hookups, were among the ones you’d grown familiar with.
but, as the end of the semester grew nearer, you felt a need for excitement and a change of direction; especially in the form of gojo and geto.
“y/n?”
walking back from your overtiring night classes, the call of your name from a familiar voice whipped you straight out of fatigue. it was none other than the duo that seemed to follow you step by step, like puppies with their owner, as you turned around to catch a finer glimpse of them.
“hi,” your voice came out dulcet, and slightly hoarse. “why’re you guys out so late?”
“could be asking you the same thing.” suguru retorts, strands of long, inky black hair framing his mirthful expression. he had always been handsome to you, over six foot tall with sharp facial features that involuntarily caused him to exude an intimidating presence yet, he had a tame personality to back it up. there was a reason he was popular on campus.
he was also remarkably attentive when it came to you. suguru would make it a habit to check up on you from day to day, under the guise of morning texts and showing up to your dorm with limited edition beverages from your favorite cafe.
it wasn’t considered flirting if he was constantly referring to you as a “friend,” right?
satoru quickly came up behind him, resting his arm over the shoulder of the black haired man. he was donned in his signature style of attire, tinted glasses low on the bridge of his nose despite the sun being hours away from rising, which you had presumed was just his fashion choice. he looked better like that, anyway.
“i was just coming back from my night class. it let out early,” your words flowed airily into their ears, the tone cordial as ever.
it was the thing they loved most about you — your doe eyes, plump lips, and sexy curves that they’d fantasized about tracing every inch of with their tongues. you were too perfect, and far beyond naive. The ideal victim.
“pretty girls like you shouldn’t be out so late. it’s dangerous.” gojo held an emphasis to his last vocables, the warning you should’ve taken, yet brushed off as concern. because, of course it was. your friends were only “concerned.”
you nodded your head, lips involuntarily jutting out in a soft pout. “i know, i know.”
gojo was the rather flirtatious half of the duo, often opting to remind you of his undying attraction towards you that never seemed to get through to your glitter-filled mind. you were wrapped around his finger whether you knew it or not — you were but the final reward for him when having the others back to back failed to feed his salacious desires.
“you should swing by, though. satoru and i aren’t doing much,” geto spoke, looking at the blue-eyed man hanging off his side. “right, satoru?”
gojo perked up, a sly smirk making its way to his lips while he beckoned you closer with the movement of his fingers. “yeah, it’s friday. you deserve some time off, pretty thing.”
he wasn’t wrong. most of your time was spent dealing with school in which you barely had a moment for yourself. not to mention the fact that it was convenient, the commute to their dorm held less distance than it would’ve had you walked all the way back to yours. it worked out perfectly, for both parties involved.
with the mindless nod of your head and an “okay”, you made your way towards the two, and began to stride along in the direction of their place.
things were off about the duo, though, but not quite strange enough for you to think anything of it. the route was the same, some vacant corridor that always kissed your skin with its glacial breeze, leading to their hall, and down just a few steps was the doorway to their dorm.
as you patiently wait for geto to scan his keycard, the sensation of featherlight touch ghosting along the mast of skin that your tiny cropped top allowed to be exposed, shook you from your veil of comfort. you had come to realize it was gojo who took it upon himself to rest his hand on your lower back.
the world around you felt recognizable, yet you couldn’t shake the suspicion that deep down, something’s wrong.
the latch of the door beeped, signaling that it had been unlocked successfully, and with a sturdy hand, geto opened the door to allow for you and gojo to slip past while he kept his distance, treading leisurely behind.
satoru flipped up a light, the whole place illuminating immediately after. it looked different from the last time you came over, posters that littered every wall in the living space seemingly replaced by minute frames of artwork, all cohesive with the neutral nature of their dorm.
lit at the coffee table across from the couch where you decided to settle yourself at, was a single-wick candle that filled their air with its hints of fresh sage and amber musk.
“lemme take care of your bag,” suguru extended his arm out to you with a soft smile on his face. gojo sat down beside you, ridding himself of his glasses while you gave geto your tote. “i need to get something from my room so i’ll just put it on the bed that way you won’t have to worry.” he continued.
“thanks, sugu.” you returned his warm smile with a beam of your own.
gojo’s tongue clicked as he rolled his head back against the headrest of the couch. “marry her while you’re at it too, huh?” his tone is painted in vexation that wasn’t clear enough to distinguish between mirth or solemnity.
you heard geto chuckle as he made his way to the bedroom, waving off satoru’s comment. “wouldn’t hurt you to be nice every now and again.”
“you jealous, ‘toru?” you taunted to the ivory-haired man, relaxing further into the couch as his arm took purchase around your shoulder, pulling you in closer. “and if i am, baby? what’ll you do t’me?”
it wasn’t hard to get lost in his eyes, especially when they seemed to draw you in with that playful expression of his and kept you craving more of his attention. he’s so annoying.
you brushed off his query with an eye roll, turning your focus back to geto as he sat on the other side of you, a small box taut in his grip.
oddly enough, the soft whirring of mechanics died down along with the luminescence that filled the dorm shutting off, leaving the three of you in pitch black darkness, with only the faintest sliver of light emitted coming from the candle.
it painted an eerie picture, one that caused the pace of your heart to quicken as your body involuntarily tensed.
“oh?” suguru was the first to voice his mystification. he set the box aside, taking a haste look at gojo; which was more of a silent cue to the latter, reminding him of their true intentions.
what you assumed was geto’s hand over your thigh, diligently ran along the expanse of your lower half until its fingers curled at the hem of your bottoms. “aren’t we lucky?”
his touch was unfamiliar, nonsynonymous to you as the chivalrous suguru you knew. the sensation was weighty with lust, hungry against your skin, enough so to cause you to wonder.
“suguru, your—“
just as you were about to question the man before you, his eccentric best friend cut in.
gojo created the slightest gap of distance between your bodies, mainly to take advantage of the sight before him — geto working diligently to rid you of your garments, stripping you bare, safe for the thigh high socks struggling to contain the spill of your plush thighs.
“what? you afraid of the dark?” satoru’s teasing aided in affirming your suspicions. and the fact that you were utterly helpless, only sprung on his arousal as well. “we’ll take good care of ya.”
geto’s left hand found its place back on your thigh, more-so to spread your legs for the two. “you trust me, don’t you?” he smiled, that same smile that was painted over by an ulterior motive. he stood up, finding his knee in between your thighs, centimeters from your heat. “satoru, the rope?” he held his hand out for gojo, feeling satisfied once his request was fulfilled by his best friend, handing him the cord from the opposite end of the couch.
the words you wanted to say struggled to bubble up in your throat, rendering you speechless and anticipating. in one hand, suguru took both your wrists, tying them taut by the cable and stepping back to get a better view of your helplessness, specifically the way it leaked from your cunt and soaked into the cushions.
all the same events that explained the predicament previously mentioned.
after the unfortunate affair of being blindfolded, you felt lithe fingers drum at your clit. it was a teasing, rhythmic sensation that made it clear to you in the strongest way it could, that gojo was the one with reigns over your body now.
“our feelings are so hurt, babe,” his voice feigns offense, and although you couldn’t see him, you sensed that his signature smirk was etched over his features. and that, it was.
he toyed with your heat, running his index and middle fingers along your slit, collecting as much of your arousal as he could before sinking them into your hole. “you kept rejecting us in the past, but,” as his words trailed off, the pace at which his fingers pumped inside of you quickened. “we’re treating you fucking good, right?”
even though it was just two of his digits, the stretch that they’d allot to your hole was delicious, the tips of his fingers deliberately curling against your gummy walls, right at your g-spot which only made the shaking of your thighs worse.
“god—” you rasped, nodding your head. your heat made no effort in slowing the way it greedily sucked in his fingers. it was almost as if you were waiting for this, fantasizing how it’d be like to be one of their girls.
with every foolish thought came foolish actions.
satoru awaited your answer, speeding up to an impossible pace when you didn’t respond within his time bracket. “wanna hear you say it, baby. tell me how good I'm making you feel,” he demanded.
it felt as though your mind was going to break, the pleasurable mixture of sensations causing your head to spin and orgasm to build within you. you only allotted the fortitude for soft babbles, trying your hardest to conjure up something coherent. “f-fucking good! ‘s so fucking good!”
the pad of his thumb finds your clit, rubbing vigorous circles over the bundle of nerves. “attagirl,”
wet squelches were sonorous in the air, so much so, that the students inhabiting the dorms just across the hall could probably hear the filth taking place at that very moment. not that it was something new to them — it was just another satosugu friday night.
you couldn’t take anymore, your thighs threatening to close around his arm, yet his free hand kept you spread.
“i think she’s gonna cum, satoru,” geto coos, leaning down beside you while watching as gojo edges you closer and closer to sweet release. “can you squirt for us, princess? make a mess?”
before you could retort, your release rippled within you, sending shocks of pleasure throughout your body. evidently, geto’s questions were answered instantaneously the moment you soaked satoru’s fingers with your essence. your chest heaved, your breath growing ragged just moments after.
if only you had the reins to see them — touch them.
gojo slipped his soiled fingers into his mouth, moaning at the saccharine flavor you left him with. if he could live off the taste of you alone, he’d know for sure that he’d die happily.
“are you really that sensitive?” suguru queried. in his hand was the concealed box, filled with toys; some that could vibrate, along with others that were clearly meant to stretch you out. he pulled out one of the thicker dildos, running it along your slit in paintstroke motions.
“do you think this could make her squirt just as fast?” his inquiry to gojo made it undoubtedly clear that they’d been plotting against you from the very start; it wasn’t just some spontaneous idea.
gojo’s focus was unwavering on the dampness seeping through his sweats, his palm rested atop his hard-on as he watched the pleasant sight of geto sinking the silicone into your hole. amidst satoru, he was concerningly gentle. he had kept one hand at your thigh, draw soft patterns while he kneeled between your legs to give himself a better view at how hungrily your cunt sucked him in. “‘toru’s always so rough, isn’t he?” suguru cooed,
you mindlessly nodded your head; it wasn’t like you agreed, but you were stuck between heaven and bliss, not knowing which felt better. whereas gojo was, albeit, impatient and loved to get the good parts, suguru was refreshing, like a cold glass of lemonade on a warm summer’s day. suguru started up a thrusting motion with the toy, building it up to a speed that had your back arching and thighs quivering under his hold.
“you’re so tight, darling. you a virgin?” his soft voice speaks out.
as you were about to respond, gojo’s large hands found themselves at your tits, kneading the flesh while his fingers tweaked at your stiffened nipples. “this virgin’s pretty hot,” satoru commented.
“n-not a virgin!” your reaction came in the form of a cry, seemingly at the increase of stimulation within your gummy walls, the tip of the silicone cock nudging so sweetly against your gspot that the nothingness of your sight morphed into white hot pleasure.
you had fallen perfectly into their trap — what would’ve taken a considerable amount of effort, and even thinking, was handed to them easily though the power of the gods; they’d be sure to thank them later for their service .. or maybe you will.
suguru removed one hand from your thigh, relocating it to dig aimlessly through the box. he was satisfied when he pulled out a tiny bullet vibrator, switching it on to the most mild level and gently circling it against your clit. “mm, i don’t think i believe you,” an amused smile etched on his features watching you squirm in his hold.
with pleasure stemming from the most sensitive parts of your body, it’s difficult to chase away the feeling of yet another, messy, mindnumbing orgasm. “geto..!” your whines fell to deaf ears, suguru hyper-focused on the way your puffy clit twitches underneath the toy. he knew you were close; anyone within a mile’s radius could tell that, and perhaps he was covertly evil, because the loss of stimulation that came soon after he pulled the toys from your heat was pure work of the devil.
he spoke up just as he switched his attention from your aching cunt to your heaving chest. “if you’re not a virgin you shouldn’t have any trouble taking us both, right?”
oh?
they were like that. you should’ve known — the two did everything together, it’d be foolish to deny the possibility of them fucking together.
your obstructed vision was finally restored when gojo took off your blindfold. he figured it’d be much better if you saw how you were about to be obliterated — and obliterated you were.
he took your hand in his, standing you both upwards.
you wobbled beside him, your legs feeling like jello from the insane amount of stimulation your cunt had to endure. “look at her, suguru. she can barely stand,” gojo teases. “and we haven’t even got to the good part yet.”
he wastes no time in freeing his hard cock from the prison that was his boxer briefs. his length was long, bulbous head flushing a soft pink as beads of pre-cum dribbled down his shaft. he gave himself a few experimental pumps before turning you around and bending you over.
without the stability to keep yourself bent completely, you crashed into geto, who was no more than an inch away from your face. you looked up, sheepishly as he rid himself of his hoodie, faced with his toned abdomen.
“we haven’t done this position in a while, huh?” there’s a cocky smirk on geto’s face. one that was his own, yet it wasn’t the suguru you’d known.
since when was he the conniving type? did all his time with gojo finally rot his brain? or were you staring at a man you truly never knew?
suguru’s hand slipped just under the waistband of his sweats to free his cock. the tip tapped harshly against your lips before he took a firmer grip at the base to smear pre-cum over your already saliva drenched lips. “open up, pretty baby.”
instinctively, you slid your tongue around the head of his cock before suckling the sensitive area, only gradually taking in more. on the other end, gojo pushed himself into your core, letting out a low hiss at how eagerly your needy cunt took him in.
“she’s fucking tight,” he groans, squeezing at the plush fat of your hips while rocking his own into you.
“don’t get greedy now, ‘toru,” geto’s voice is soft as his hand in your hair gently guides you to take him deeper, up and down his cock. it’s evident you’re pretty damn good at giving head from the adoration in his eyes when he looks down at you, silvery orbs with hearts for pupils locked onto your vacant ones.
“what a well trained whore you are.” he praised, beginning to buck his hips up into your mouth, not rigorously, but enough to prod at the back of your throat and scatter tears to your waterline.
gojo slipped his thumb into your puckered hole while his thrusts became harder, with fervor. he wasn’t one to be patient nor hold back, especially when it came to someone like you, with a pussy so tight and moans so sweet, he’d have to break you just a bit. where’s the fun in that if he doesn’t?
his balls slammed against your clit, creating a potent string of pleasure to course through your body. throbbing was pertinent within your walls, each drag of his cock along the ridges inside you posing you weak from the shocks of euphoria. a hard slap came crashing down at your ass, gojo’s sizeable hand repeated the motion occasionally to watch the way the flesh rippled.
your moans were muffled by the intrusion of cock getting fucked into your mouth. the room reverberated in an array of messy skin slapping in tandem with groans and whimpers. it was music to their ears, a song they’d want on repeat if it were possible.
“shit.. ‘m gonna cum,” geto’s dulcet tone alerted. you watched in pride at how the muscles of his lower abdomen flexed in the onset of his orgasm. his rhythmic thrusts faltered, morphing into a resonance of scattered heavy thrusts that led him closer to his orgasm until he eventually jettisoned his seed into your mouth. the taste wasn’t as bitter as you were used to, it was almost pleasant and you swallowed every drop before he pulled out ever so slowly, his chest rising and falling while his cheeks were dusted in a soft rose flush.
“you were so much better than i imagined,” his fingers wrapped around your jaw, gripping ever so gently as he bent down to messily kiss at your lips, groaning at the taste of his orgasm on your tongue.
“yeah, yeah. good for you,” gojo started up in his usual bratty tone, sounding more guttural than his typical self. “can finally cum in her without you messin’ me up.”
suguru was used to gojo’s sharp tongue, his complaint not seering as deep as it would’ve had it been their younger years.
whorish moans slipped past your lips, your balance wavering as gojo picked up speed. he was far deeper inside your plush cavern, hitting at the spongey spot with precision that had your whimpers turning into babbles. “s-sho good .. you fuck me sooo good,” gojo took amusement in your slurred speech, pulling you up by the waist until you were completely upright.
it felt as though he couldn’t reach any deeper, yet he did, the feeling spreading all over your body, you were almost 100% certain that you could feel it in your ears. tears had filled your waterline and came cascading down your cheeks before you could even establish what it was. satoru held you close, your bare back pressed against his chest. it was an overwhelming feeling, one that made you lax enough to rest your head on his shoulder.
he smirked, gripping your chin with his fingers to get a better look at you.
“you cryin’?”
that familiar sensation bubbled up within you, what had felt like your nth orgasm had come in blissful surges, his cock coated in the translucent milky essence of your release.
with haste, you were fucked through aftershocks and overstimulation as satoru chased his high.
he had stamina for days, having built it up through multiple one night stands, and yet, he wasn’t quick to pull out like his counterpart, no. there was something of love that came with cumming inside you.
the skin of your thighs clung together with a mixture of your cum and his as he pulled out of your twitching hole. you stumbled a bit, getting back grounded on your feet, the two men tucking their third legs back into their garments.
a flickering noise was sounded from the building, different from the soft flickering of the candle that was beside you. quickly, the surgance of electricity illuminated the dorm, bringing much needed light to the situation at hand. you looked down at your bound wrists before the rush of embarrassment washed over your being once you had taken your naked, used body into account.
gojo carefully whisked you both back onto the couch with you sitting on his lap. “guess our fun’s over, huh?” he pouted, unbinding the rope that rubbed uncomfortably against your wrists. you weren’t exactly sure of who his rhetorical query was aimed to, and you would’ve spoken up had your throat not have been aching from the constant whining or even the pounding of a thick cock fucking bruises in the cavern.
geto was now situated behind the couch, leaning over the both of your figures.
“over? she’s spending the night.”
₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊
𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — @valentinevampyr @oneofthesevensins @ryukatters @dabibreeder
#gojo x reader#gojo smut#gojo x you#geto x reader#geto x you#geto smut#jjk x reader#jjk x you#jjk smut#gojo satoru x reader#gojo satoru x you#gojo satoru smut#geto suguru x reader#geto suguru x you#geto suguru smut#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen x you#jujutsu kaisen smut#satoru gojo#suguru geto
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Merlot
Hello my lovely ducklings. I promised a good age gap DILF sorta thing and I’m here to hand ‘em over. He’s getting some silver at the temples and she’s loving every second of it. Let me know what you think 🍷
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WC- 8k
Warnings- age gap, dilfrry, smut, oral (m + f receiving) unprotected sex (please wrap it up irl), exhibitionism, daddy kink if you squint, and all the fun stuff.
“I hate to ask this cliche question, and it absolutely pains me to ask in such an uncouth way- but do you come here often?” Peeking over the rim of the glass, amber liquid brushed his top lip and the ice cubs clanked as the smoky liquor hit his tongue.
God knew what he was doing- the girl in front of him looked too young for him, but she had struck up the conversation first. Commenting on his silver lion’s head ring and asking where he’d gotten it, wide eyed and eager as she looked up at him with that pretty pout and mascara coated lashes. Perhaps it was the crippling loneliness of divorce, maybe it was the hint of a buzz of his second drink, or even a hint of desperation that had him continuing the conversation with the younger woman as she took the bar stool in front of him- but she seemed receptive. Leaning into the conversation and keeping eye contact, she played into him.
"Cliches can be cute sometimes." She laughed as she placed her own glass down, now empty. "I don't, no. I'm not one for the whole going out thing. Not anymore. I was in uni, but I think as soon as you graduate they take away your tolerance card." Rolling her eyes playfully she felt a lick of satisfaction in getting a chuckle out of him. "And what about you? Do you like to come to bars with overpriced drinks to talk to random people who decide to invade your bubble to ask where your pretty jewelry is from?"
"Well, I can't say I make a habit of it, but sometimes a man needs to escape the responsibilities of reality- and as much as I adore my pets, I think they’re tiring of hearing my voice.” He shook his head as he flexed his fingers, looking back down at the conversation starter. Pretty eyes met his own. It had been so long since he felt flustered but she had done a pretty good job at making him feel a little off kilter in the best way. A break from the mundane.
“I’ll have to agree with you on them revoking your tolerance once you exit uni. Though I will say it’s a blessing in disguise. I wasn’t terribly into partying in my last year, considering I’d started getting awful hangovers. Almost like s’bad for you, or something.” He teased, leaning against the bar top. It was clear that they’d shifted closer to each other through their conversation and he tried to not get his hopes up, but he sort of did feel like she was giving him… those sort of eyes. “I don’t want to keep you from your friends, though.”
“You’re not.” She said simply, looking up at him. Usually, facial hair wasn’t something she considered much at all. Not many around her wore it, but she had to say the longer she looked at him, the more she liked it. It was just… masculine. Rugged, in a way, but he kept it groomed. This man was interesting all around, with pretty rings and a deep raspy voice, seafoam eyes and a little tiny gray streak starting near his temple. God, that was hot. “I’m plenty happy talking to you.”
His heart skipped a beat as she looked up at him, those eyes sparkling with something he hoped was interest, but at the very least looked like genuine intrigue. Nothing about their encounter led to her feeling otherwise. It was a nice change, feeling the ease of a conversation flow even if he stumbled on words when he accidentally looked down at her lips.
Fuck it.
He reached out, gently brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering on her cheek. "I’m glad t’hear that. You're very easy to talk to." he said, his voice low and warm. The risk was there, initiating a bit of touch, but he had fo test to waters. See where this was headed. Was she looking for a safe haven? A reliable guy who didn’t look like a creep (hopefully), someone to buy her drinks as she pitied the older man at the bar, or… was this headed the direction the heat in his belly desperately wanted.
“Am I?” Her head tilted slightly, smile slightly shy but making no effort to move from where his fingers hovered slightly. “I do get told I have problems knowing when to shut up and let things be quiet, so I suppose that tracks. It can be nice in conversations.” Especially when he had seemed slightly apprehensive of her at first and now warmed up. “You’ve got a nice voice. It’s nice to talk to you.”
"Well, I suppose we'll just have to keep talking, then." He said softly, his voice growing even warmer as he leaned in closer, his eyes flicking back down to her lips briefly before returning to her eyes.
“I agree.”
Y/N could be considered bold at times, but she liked that he was showing some effort- some interest. It was give and take, push and pull, a fun little game as she was given a perfect chance when someone else approached the bar top from behind Harry. “Oop- come ‘ere.’ She laughed, gently tugging him in as her ankle hooked around the back of his knee to tug him into her. “Someone’s tryn’ to make an order.”
Now he was closer than she had anticipated, stood between her thighs as she sat on the barstool with her leg wrapped around his. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to get in your space.” The girl could feel his body heat. Fuck, he smelled so good. None of that… the familiar cheap colognes and aftershaves she was used to, not was it overpowering. Harry smelled expensive and spicy with some sort of leathery vanilla and she had to wonder what it was. "You smell really good..."
"No, no, it's fine..." He said softly, his voice trailing off as he looked down at her, their faces inches apart. He didn't move away, instead, he leaned in even closer, his hand resting on her knee. “Thank you.” The heat felt a little overwhelming in his cheeks. Pathetic to be a grown man blushing over such a simple compliment but he was so close to her now, body head radiating off of her and she smelled equally as good. “Um, so do you.”
He breathed in deeply, taking in her scent. It was a unique blend of floral notes, with a hint of citrus and a sweet, vanilla-like undertone. It was feminine, youthful, and intoxicating. Sweet and fresh. It didn’t choke him in floral and musk like the women who had been after him since his signature had barely dried on his divorce papers, but something that he vaguely remembered from his own days around her age. Perhaps that was a sign he should back off, but he couldn’t. He felt himself getting lost in the scent, his head spinning slightly as he continued to breathe her in.
His hand on her knee nearly burned but she relished in the feeling, tossing her hair over her shoulder as she smiled slightly at him. It was her first time attempting something like this. Older men were always a thing for her, a desire, but never one she felt bold enough to go for. Now, though, she wondered why she had waited. The feeling in her stomach and the delicate way she felt under his touch was something that had her nearly giddy.
“I like the mustache.” She pointed to it. “It’s a mature look. In a good way.” Of course she didn’t want to offend him, make him feel like she was calling him old. “Guys I’m around usually can’t pull it off. But you do.” Braving a touch, she let her fingers run over his jaw and felt a slight bit of scruff. “Are y’gonna go for a full beard? Or no?”
"Maybe..." Harry murmured, leaning into her touch. "Depends on how well it's received..." The joke was cracked softly, his eyes fluttering closed briefly as she touched his face. He let his hand slide a little higher up on her thigh, squeezing gently. "Thank you for the compliment though. Was hoping it wouldn’t be a bad thing cause I noticed y’looking at it.”
“Mm, I was. It’s nice.” Sexy. Her eyes felt heavy as she watched his lips curl in a slight smile. “ I’m assuming that there’s no missus at home?” She asked lightly. “You don’t seem like a cheater, Harry.” It was a tease, but he didn’t wear a ring on his ring finger. Usually she never gave men the benefit of the doubt but selfishly, she wanted to be right so she wouldn’t feel guilty about imagining her inner thighs raw from beard burn later tonight.
"No missus." He confirmed, his thumb rubbing small circles on her thigh as he opened his eyes to look at her. "Just me, and the office. I've been too busy to think about dating, let alone finding someone serious." He admitted honestly, his gaze lingering on her face. "I mean, I was married. Briefly." He said, his expression growing slightly somber. "But that's over now. It didn't work out." He shrugged, trying to downplay it, even though the divorce had been messy and painful. "What about you? Boyfriend at home?"
“I’m sorry it didn’t work out.” She frowned. It wasn’t something she’d pry on because she could see it bothered him a bit, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t curious. Nor that she didn’t feel bad. “I’m single, thank god. My last boyfriend was a complete prick.” Her nose wrinkled in disgust. “Cheated on me a few times on a boys holiday. Was stupid enough to post with other girls and think people wouldn’t send it to me just because he hid stories from me. but it was a relief, anyways.” It sounded cold, callous maybe, but it was the truth. “It’s just me now as I figure out what to do.”’
"He sounds like an idiot." He grumbled, his hand tightening lightly on her thigh. "You're too good for that." He paused, his eyes flicking over her features. "What do you mean, figure out what to do? Like, with life?"
“Yeah. Career wise mostly. I think I want to do writing but it’s been hard to tell lately. I do that part time and then work at a cafe as a waitress and pick up shifts when I need the money. I’m tired all the time so it’s taking me longer to simply sit down and figure out 100% what I want to do but, that’s life.” She shrugged. “So I get suckered into going out to bars with my coworkers and getting a buzz so I go up to a handsome man and demand to know where his ring is from, so it suppose it isn’t all bad.”
"Writing, huh?" There was intrigue in his voice as he took in her answer. The compliment wasn’t lost on him, and it fueled that bolder part of him that wanted to break out. "Like, books, or journalism? I happen to be in publishing, so if that’s something you’d like to walk about we can…." He trailed off, his thumb continuing to rub soothing patterns on her thigh. "It’s not the easiest thing to break into but you’ve got a lot going for you. I’d be willing to help you if you feel ready.” . That was a genuine offer, regardless if he got laid… but he still felt that the way she was looking at him had an undertone
"You should come by my office sometime, if you want." He offered, his voice low. "I mean, if you're interested in publishing. We could... talk shop. Or something." He added, his hand slowly creeping higher up her thigh as he spoke.
“Or something?” She grinned widely. “Are you making a pass at me, handsome stranger Harry?” Her fingers stroked down his jaw towards his neck, messing with the collar of his shirt.
"I mean, m’being serious about helping you but… Maybe a bit of flirting is happening." He whispered, tilting his head to the side to give her better access. "I mean, you did ask where my ring was..." He pointed out softly, his hand now resting high up on her thigh, fingers spread wide, said ring gleaming in the low light. "And I haven't exactly been getting much action since the divorce..."
Eyes fell down to his hand and back up to his face, ever so slightly spreading her legs more to allow him to step closer between them. The heel of her shoe gently ran over his calf, biting lightly on her lower lip as she tried to keep the smile off her face. “And is that the only thing you want from me?”
Harry's breath hitched as she spread her legs, his heart racing at the subtle gesture. His hand tightened ever so slightly on her thigh, his fingers digging in just a bit as he leaned in closer. "No," He admitted quietly, his voice husky. "But it's a good start."
“Tell me.” She slipped her hand down to let them curl into the fabric of his shirt. “I’ve never been with an older man before, Harry. Are you all just as shitty as the younger ones? Or are you better?”
Harry's eyes darkened as she slipped her hand under his shirt, the rough pad of her fingers against his skin making him shiver. "I'm better." He said confidently, his voice deep and rumbling. "I know what I want, and I know how to treat a woman."
The man’s hand tightened on her flesh as she let out a breathy sigh, his eyes never leaving hers. "With respect," He said simply. "With kindness and attention. I open doors, I pull out chairs, I make sure they're comfortable and cared for. And in bed…" There was a pause, a slight smirk on his face as he averted his gaze for a single moment.
“In bed?” She echoed, looking up at him expectantly. “Don’t keep me on edge here. I’m dying to know.”
Harry smirked at her, his hand moving higher up her thigh, stopping right at the hem of her panties. His knuckles could feel how humid she was, no denying she was wet. It was hard to keep focused, but he had to. "Well, Y/N… I make sure they're satisfied," He said, his voice low and sultry. "I take my time, I pay attention to their body, I explore and learn what makes them tick."
“So you won’t just cum and roll over and fall asleep?” She hummed, her other hand running under his blazer and over his back. “Because I’m real tired of giving it my all and barely getting a subpar orgasm out of it. It’s why I was trying to be celibate for a while…”
Harry chuckled, shaking his head. "Not on my watch," He said, his thumb brushing against her panties. "I'll make sure you're thoroughly satisfied, multiple times if needed. I'll hold you close, kiss you, tell you how beautiful you are, while I make love to you."
“Ooo… he makes love..” She cooed, giggling lightly before leaning into whisper the next words to him. Was this an older man thing? Or a literature person sort of thing? Waxing poetically about the things he could provide, it all sounded amazing. But she had to know. “But can you fuck? Can you make me feel it for days, bruise my ass, get me so wet I ruin your sheets?”
Harry groaned quietly her words, his thumb pressing against her panties, feeling how soaked they were. "Fuck, yes." He growled under his breath, his other hand reaching up to cup her cheek. "I can be rough, I can be gentle, I can do whatever the hell you want. All y’have to do is ask."
Y/N let out a shuddering breath as his thumb brushed over her clit through her panties, looking to the side as she attempted to see if anyone was paying attention- but considering how crowded it was tonight, no one was paying them much mind. “So you’ll take me back to your place and make me cum? That’s what I want.”
Harry nodded, his thumb rubbing against her. "Yeah, sweetheart, I'll take you back to my place and make you cum so hard you'll see stars. And then I'll keep going, as long as you want, until you can't take it anymore."
“God.” The girl’s head rolled toward and thumped on his shoulder, feeling him chuckle as he rolled his thumb over her swollen clit. The lacy scrap of material she considered panties did little to hide how slick she was, the older man having plenty of fun playing with her as she turned her head and nipped her teeth into his throat.
Harry let out a low hiss at the sharp little bite, his hand still pressing against her clit through her panties. He reached into his pocket with his free hand and pulled out his phone, quickly typing out a text message before putting it back in his pocket.
“W-What are you doing?” She murmured, slowly pressing her lips to his skin and staining it with her lipstick. He was casual about playing with her, acting like stroking her clit was second nature as his other hand adjusted the straps of her dress back up from where they’d begun to droop.
Harry smirked as she inquired, his thumb still making small circles against her clit. He leaned in closer to her ear and whispered, "I'm sending a message to my housekeeper, to make sure the bed is prepared for when we get back to my place."
“God, M’gonna suck your dick so good.” She sighed, a tipsy giggle leaving her throat. “It’s big. I knew it was when I came over here but… shit, I’m gonna feel it for days.”
Harry grinned as she grumbled against his neck, his hand leaving her panties to grip her hip possessively. "You're going to love it, baby. I'm going to stretch your little mouth wide, and you're going to take every inch like a good girl." He crooned low in his throat. “But you need to get that pretty ass up and come t’the car with me. My driver is here.”
——-
Y/N let out a squeal of delight as Harry tossed her into his bed. His Californian King with a canopy, four postered, hand craved fucking bed frame, his shirt unbuttoned, belt undone and jacket on the floor. Her dress was over her hips and she wasn’t sure exactly how they’d gotten here, but what she was sure of was the fact that she really did like kissing him. “Kiss me.” She demanded, grabbing his scruffy face as he crawled up the bed and hovered over top of her.
Harry chuckled at her demanding tone, his mustache brushing against her lips as he obliged her request. He kissed her deeply, his hand wrapping around her jaw to pull her close. As they made out, he let go only momentarily to reach down and grab her dress, yanking it up over her head and tossing it carelessly aside.
That left her in just the pathetic excuse of lace panties, as she had forgone the bra for the sake of the dress, and there was no complaints on his end. Her hand pushed at the shoulder of his shirt, trying to get it off of him. “Want you closer.” She mumbled, leaning into him with a mewl as he pulled back to do as she asked. It was erotic and hot and she was surprised by the amount of tattoos he had, but god, did she want to see more of him.
Harry grinned, feeling her warm hands pushing at his shirt. He lifted his arms, allowing her to pull it off of him. His tattoos were extensive, covering most of his arms, chest, and back. Inquisitive hands ran over her sides, marveling at her form compared to his own build.
The man bent down and started to place kisses along her collarbone and up her neck. His rough hands squeezed her sides gently, thumbs brushing along her ribs. He continued to kiss and nibble at her neck, his facial hair tickling her sensitive skin. He whispered, "Wrap your legs around my waist, baby."
She did as asked, eyes fluttering shut as she could feel him through his trousers. Of course, she’d been right. The man’s cock was big like she had expected, and it was thick. Throbbing against her through the fabric, her mouth watered slightly as she rubbed herself against him, fingers finding his hair as he made his way down her throat. “Fuck, it’s been so long.” The slight scratching of the facial hair only made her feel more sensitive, like she was on a live wire. It was decided that she definitely liked it now.
Harry groaned at her words, the sound coming out more like a rumble from his chest. He continued to kiss and nip at her throat as she ground herself against him. His hands squeezed and gripped her ass, encouraging her movements. "God, you feel so damn good, and m’not even inside you yet."
Harry paused for a moment, looking up at her with a heated gaze. "You're so precious, so sweet... I've never been with anyone like you before." His voice was gruff, filled with desire. He ran his hands up her sides, marveling at her smooth skin. The curves, the indents, all of it was new and exciting.
“No?” She asked softly. “I’ve never been with an older man either. Kinda like it.” There was no hesitation in admitting it. “Was your ex wife not good to you, Harry?”
Harry's expression darkened briefly at the mention of his ex-wife. "She wasn't... attentive. And she certainly never looked at me the way you are now." He buried his face in her neck once more, kissing and nuzzling her skin.
“No?” It was astounding. “I don’t know how. If I had a man like you…” She let out a breathy laugh. “You’d have to pry me off of you. you are so attractive, so sweet… Can’t imagine why she wouldn’t be all over you, all the time.” It wasn’t something she could really understand. She barely knew the guy but she liked what she saw, and she liked it a lot.
Harry's heart swelled with pride at her words. He felt his ego growing a bit, having this beautiful young woman fawn over him. "I think she was always more interested in the status and prestige that came with being married to me, rather than actually being in love with me." It wasn’t something he liked to think about but in this instance he felt okay with it. If it hadn't ended, he wouldn’t end up here.
His lips continued to kiss and caress Y/N, his hands roaming over her curves almost in awe of what he had his hands on. It wasn’t what he had expected. People watching at the bar was his goal, really. He had one night stands a few times but he didn’t necessarily want this to be a one time sorta of thing. Not when she smelled this good and her lips tasted like cherry wine. He wanted to know what books she liked just as much as he wanted to know how she looked when she came. "But now I have you in my bed, and you're looking at me like I'm the most desirable man you've ever seen, so I think m’doing okay." He crooned, nipping at her neck.
“Because you are.” The girl purred. “All man and power in the best way. Not socially, but in what you are. You exude it.” Her cunt rubbed against him, making her eyes lull. “I knew you’d have a big dick. Knew it just walking up, how you stood. I wanted it inside of me.”
Harry let out a low chuckle, his voice a deep rumble. "Is that right? You wanted me inside you from the moment you saw me?" His hands gripped her backside firmly, spreading her cheeks as she ground against him. "Well, you're going to get it, baby."
“Mmm… I want it now.”
Y/N nearly whimpered as he pulled away but quickly shut up as she watched him stand up, hands working the button of his trousers. It took her seconds to lift up and get on her knees in front of him, shooing his hands away to take over. it had been months since she’d given head and while she wasn’t a normal lover of it, she had been dying to get her hands on him.
Harry watched with heavy-lidded eyes as she pushed his hands away and undid his pants herself. He bit his lower lip as she slowly revealed what she'd been craving. "You don't have to do that, baby." He said hoarsely, knowing full well that he wanted her to- but he wouldn’t make her. It would be more than okay if he focused on her. He got off on giving, and that’s what he focused on.
“Need to.” She gave him a look as she slowly tugged the zipper down, guiding his trousers down before palming him over his briefs. “Fuck, I’m gonna be full of this.”
Harry let out a low moan at her grip and the words that followed. The image of her full and well used was enough to send any red-blooded man to their knees, but he just stood there in front of her, letting her take control, letting her give him pleasure. He watched as she pulled his boxers down, freeing his length. His hands moved to cup the back of her head, fingers threading through her hair. He could see the lust in her gaze, and he couldn’t help but sigh again at the sight of her.
His thick, veined shaft jutted out proudly from a trimmed thatch of dark hair. The head was a dark, angry red and already glistening with precome. The older man let out a sharp breath as she wrapped her fingers around his shaft, slowly starting to stroke him. He watched intently as she gripped his cock, sliding it over the sensitive length, causing it to pulse in her grip.
A shiver of pleasure ran down her spine as she watched his control come undone. Her eyes were locked onto him, watching his cock pulse and throb in her hand. She could feel it grow harder with each stroke, leaning herself down and sticking out her tongue for a taste.
The sensation of her tapping tongue against the tip of his cock made him shudder, watching the precum string from his slit to the pad of her pink tongue. He looked down at her, seeing the hot promise in her eyes- this was going to be good and he knew it. She slowly began to slide the head of his cock back and forth between her lips, teasing it with her tongue.
Y/N wasn’t one to call any cock pretty, but she would dare to say it for him. Harry’s cock was appealing in the way most others hadn’t been. Maybe part of it was her overwhelming attraction to him in general, but she felt even more eager to make him feel good than she had with anyone else in the past. “I want to take it in my throat. I can do it, I promise. Jus’ need your help.” Her plea was finished with a kiss to the tip before opening her mouth, looking up at him to let him take over.
He guided her head forward gently, encouraging her to take more of him into her mouth. "Relax your jaw, baby, you can take it." He coaxed softly, his voice laced with desire. As Y/N did as he asked, Harry felt his cock slide deeper into her warm, wet mouth. Her lips stretched around his girth, pushing in slowly before he felt the tip of his cock hitting the back of her throat. He could feel her nose pressing against his pubic bone as she struggled to take him all in. “Shh, sweetheart. Just gotta get it wet for me, show me what you can do.”
He held her head steady, his hands gently gripping her hair as he started to slowly thrust his hips. The sound of his thick cock sliding in and out of her mouth filled the room, along with the occasional gagging noise as she struggled to accommodate his size.
"You're doing so well, baby," Harry praised, his voice low and gravelly. "Look at you, takin’ it like a good girl. You're gonna make me come so hard today, aren’t you, sweetheart? Just like that, that's it- relax that throat for me..."
As Harry continued to talk to her, his sweet words and praise, Y/N's eyes began to water from the effort of taking him so deep. She gagged a few times, her hands coming up to his thighs for support, but she refused to pull away for longer than a few seconds to catch her breath.
Her cheeks hollowed and her jaw ached, but she was determined to take him all in. Harry's hands moved to the back of her head, fingers tangling in her hair as he pulled her closer, fucking her mouth with more urgency. "That's it, baby. You're making me so hard... S’been so long... Been ages since anyone’s made me feel like this..." Harry's voice trailed off into a low moan as Y/N finally managed to take him all in, her nose pressing against his lower abdomen. “Tha’s it, right there- fucks sake.”
Harry's hips began to thrust involuntarily, fucking her mouth with shallow pumps as he held the back of her head, still buried deep in her throat. He released the grip, trying to urge her off- but she didn’t want to. "Fuck... you’ve got t’pull off, sweetheart..." he groaned, his breathing heavy and erratic. “Need t’fuck you.” Y/N whimpered around his thickness, her eyes watering as she shook her head slightly, indicating that she wasn't ready to give up yet. She wanted to taste him, to drink him down like he had with her. Harry's grip tightened in her hair, his voice strained.
"Babe...you've gotta-you've got to... please," Harry begged, his voice cracking as she continued to suck him off, her head bobbing and nose brushing his thatch of hair, making his eyes clench shut. "If you don't stop now, M’gonna, fuck...I'm gonna cum in your mouth..."
Y/N whimpered, her hands gripping his thighs tightly as she continued to suck him enthusiastically, eager to taste him. Harry's breathing became rapid and shallow, his fingers tightening in her hair as he struggled to hold back. "Y/N, last chance...I'm-"
The girl moaned as she felt him stiffen, his hips bucking forward as he finally gave in and let go, filling her mouth with his warm release. Watching his face fall in ecstasy, it was going to be worth the soreness tomorrow. She struggled to swallow it all, some of it dripping out of her mouth and down her chin. Harry's knuckles were white from gripping her hair so tightly, his body trembling as he came deep in her mouth. The sight of her swallowing him down was almost too much for him to handle, and he had to close his eyes and focus on not passing out. It truly had been a long fucking time.
As Harry finished cumming, Y/N eagerly cleaned his sensitive prick with her tongue, licking and sucking until he was completely clean. She ran her tongue along the veins and underneath the head, making him shudder and pull back. "Too sensitive...God, you're so good at that." he praised breathlessly. There was slight disbelief in there too, a slight tingling in his thighs as he looked at her as she pressed sloppy kisses to his hip bone. Mascara smeared under her eyes and lipstick a faded smeared mess, he wondered how he had gotten this lucky.
Harry needed a moment to catch his breath, his heart still racing from the intense orgasm. He looked down at Y/N, her messy appearance only making her more adorable to him. "You know what would be perfect right now?" he asked, his voice still shaking slightly.
“What?” Her voice croaked, feeling his thumb brushed away some of the tears on her cheek that had fallen from the gagging.
"Letting me get a taste of that pussy I've been fantasizing about." Harry suggested, his eyes still lingering on her messy and sated appearance as he pulled her up and pushed her to lay back down on the bed. “S’my turn now. Spread those perfect legs and let me see that cunt.”
Y/N obediently spread her legs wide, letting Harry see her dripping wet pussy. He let out a low groan at the sight as he got on his knees, his thumbs spreading her lips apart to reveal her slick folds. He buried his face between her thighs, inhaling her scent deeply before diving in and licking her from asshole to clit. There was no wasting any time or pretending to be shy about a single thing.
A started squeak left her mouth as her head popped up, hands gripping his head as he dove right in with little hesitation. Harry hadn’t seemed like the type to have any reservations in taking what he wanted, and it was being proven by how his tongue slid over her most sensitive parts.
He continued to eat her out with reckless abandon, his tongue fucking her pussy as if it belonged to him. Her breathing was heavy as he sucked on her clit, nibbling at it gently before returning to lap at her folds. His hands gripped her ass, spreading her cheeks wide to give himself better access to her tight hole. He wanted to have it all. “S’this okay, baby?”
“Uh-huh.” Y/N hadn’t really had anyone touch her there before but she couldn’t say she hadn’t been curious and self explored. It was always something she wanted to play around with and it felt exciting, handing herself over to the man like that.
Harry grinned mischievously against her wet flesh, his hands spreading her wider as he buried his face deeper. He pushed his thumb against her hole, slowly sliding it inside as he continued to lap at her cunt. “You taste so good, sweetheart...” he murmured, his voice muffled by her flesh.
He added a second finger to her ass, scissoring them apart slowly as he tongue fucked her pussy. Y/N's legs started to shake as the dual stimulation became too much. She gripped his hair tightly, her back arching off the bed as she let out a high pitched whine. "Ah!"
Y/N's fingers tightened painfully in Harry's hair, her knuckles turning pale as she tried to stay grounded while the pleasure consumed her. His tongue was spearing into her soaking wet hole over and over, curling up to rub against that spot inside her that made her see stars. And his fingers… god, those hands.
His fingers were stretching her asshole, pushing past the initial resistance and sinking deep into her tight heat. He scissored them further apart, popping her open wider as he fingered her ass. Y/N's legs shook violently, her whole body trembling as she felt herself on the verge of a massive orgasm.
"Harry...it's...too- please..." She babbled, unable to form a full sentence as he continued to stuff her holes. It had never been like this before, no one had even come close. He ignored her pleas, instead burying his face deeper and pumping his fingers faster. She felt so stuffed, so full, the pressure mounting inside her unbearably.
He felt her whole body stiffen, her pussy fluttering on his tongue as she cried out. She gushed against his mouth as she came, the feeling so intense and overwhelming that the waves of pleasure forced her to collapse against him.
Harry worked her through it as she trembled and whimpered with pleasure, his fingers still buried in her ass and his tongue still buried in her pussy. He felt a sense of pride and accomplishment, knowing that he'd reduced this beautiful young woman to a whimpering, shaking mess. It was not only an ego boost from what had been lacking for a while now, but he liked seeing how she reacted to him. He alone had done it.
Harry slowly lifted his head, wiping her from his face as he grinned wickedly at Y/N. "You taste even better when you're coming apart for me, sweetheart." He brought his fingers to his mouth, sucking them clean while maintaining eye contact with her. "And you’re tight everywhere, hm?”
Y/N stared at Harry, her eyes glazed over and pupils dilated from the intense high she was still riding down from. Her mouth was slightly parted, breath hitching as she watched him clean her off his hands. A soft blush spread across her cheeks, embarrassed yet turned on by his bold actions.
"H-Harry...that was...I've never...I mean...no one's ever..." She stammered, unable to form a coherent sentence even still.
He chuckled darkly, enjoying how flustered she was. "No one's ever played with your pretty little hole before?"
“No.” Her face felt hot as he grinned up at her. He seemed more than pleased and it made her feel good to know he was happy but still, she had the slight embarrassment that only came with the territory.
"Well, consider that box checked then." He said smugly, crawling back up her body to kiss her passionately. She could taste herself on his lips and tongue, the musky flavor a testament to what he'd just done to her.
He grabbed her wrists, pinning them above her head as he continued to ravage her mouth. She mewled into the kiss, arching up against him as she felt his hard length pressing into her stomach. "Does my pretty girl want more?"
“Mhm.” She nipped his lip. “Want you inside of me.” Was she still sensitive from her orgasm? yes. But she had been desperate to get him inside of her since she’d first spoken to him. “Do you- are you clean?”
He pulled back slightly, his breath hot against her cheek. "I'm always clean, sweetheart. I get checked regularly and I'm very particular about who I share my dick with." He gave her wrists a gentle squeeze before releasing them, reaching over to his pants to his back pocket to grab his wallet.
“I-“ Her hand reached for his wrist. “I don’t wanna use one.” The words laid in the humid air for a moment. It was risky, sure, as any sort of unprotected anything was, but she didn’t want anything in between them. “I want t’feel you inside of me…”
He groaned at her words, his eyes darkening with desire. "Christ, doll. You're gonna be the death of me." Leaning down to kiss her again, his tongue traced over her bottom lip before slipping inside her mouth. He took his time, savoring every inch of her. His lips found the sensitive spot behind her ear, causing her to shiver in anticipation. His hands made their way under her hair, feeling the warmth of her skin.
“Can I push in, baby?” He asked with a low tone, his lips tracing her collarbone. At her nod, he wasted little time. Poor thing hadn’t been fucked right before, and he would happily give her a proper experience. Reaching down between them, he positioned himself at her entrance. With one slow thrust, he entered her fully, feeling the warmth and tightness of her around him. His eyes rolled back in pleasure, as he buried the tip inside of her. “Fuck, thank you.”
He groaned as he pushed into her, feeling the way her body welcomed him. He paused for a moment, giving her time to adjust and letting himself feel the depth of her wet heat around him. His hands reached up to cup her breasts, his thumbs brushing over her nipples.
Being with a younger woman was different for him, but maybe it was just her- he realized as he moved inside of her. It was like being with a whole new sense of being, one who was full of energy and life. Everything about her was so fresh and vibrant, from her tight little pussy to her perfect tits and gorgeous face.
He continued to thrust into her, feeling the way her walls tightened around him. His hands moved down from her breasts, over her soft stomach and to her hips, exploring whenever he could.
His movements were slower, each thrust deliberate and measured. He wanted to savor the feel of her, the way her body yielded to his. He was drawn to watch her face, loving the way her eyes fluttered shut and her mouth fell open as he filled her. "Look at me," he murmured. She opened her eyes, looking at him with a dazed expression. "Good girl, like t’see those pretty eyes." The man sighed, unable to resist praising her. He continued to thrust into her slowly, each movement filled with lust and desire.
“Fuck.” She kept her eyes on him as her hands ran over his hot shoulderbaldes, keeping that contact as he dipped all the way back home as deep as he could. Her mouth fell open and a high pitched noise left her throat without her permission, brows furrowed. “It’s never been that d-deep.”
He grinned at her, loving the way her inexperience made her react to him. "That's because no one's ever taken the time to stretch you out right." He leaned down to kiss her neck, his hips continuing to move in slow, deep thrusts.
“Where the fuck have you been, then?” She laughed breathlessly, letting her eyes fall back closed as he kept the thrusts slow and deep, relishing every inch he took. her body was lax and hot, his for the taking. Right now she felt like he could do anything and she would welcome it. “Are all older guys like this, or is it j-just you?”
He chuckled darkly against her neck, "There's a reason why women often prefer older men, doll- but M’gonna say for greeds sake, s’just me." He suckled at her skin, his hands sliding down to grip her thighs and push them back farther, opening her up even more to his slow, deep thrusts.
“Oh, shit.” Her mouth fell open and he welcomed it, sliding his tongue back inside her mouth and humming at the taste of her against him. The fact there was not a single barrier, albeit risky for the first time fucking, made it even hotter.
His movements became gentler, his hands caressing her skin instead of gripping it. "You like that?" he murmured against her lips, his hips rolling into hers instead of thrusting. "You like knowing that there's nothing between us?" He pulled back slightly, looking down at her with a heated gaze. "I want you to look at me when I ask you something," he said, his voice low and commanding as he took her eyes. "Are you on any birth control?"
“Y-Yeah. Uh-huh.” Her eyes wide, she looked up at him hazily as she wrapped her legs further around his hips. “Don’t pull out when you cum. Please- I know m’crazy, but I need… need it.” Y/N knew she was insane for it, but their connection was so strong, every thrust inside of her, hitting places she didn’t know existed prior to this… she needed it.
His expression softened, a coo leaving his mouth as he nodded at her. How precious. "Alright, sweetheart. I promise I won't pull out." A dumb decision on his part too considering they’d just met but in the midst of it all, it was all he wanted to do. His hips began to move again, his pace quickening as he felt the heat of her around him. "You're going to take it all then, aren't you?"
“Yeah.” She mewled. From the sounds and feel alone she knew she was making a mess on his cock, but she had a feeling he was enjoying it every time he snuck a glance between them. “Take everything you give me, Daddy.” It was a risk, but she wanted to see what he’d do.
His face contorted with pleasure, his brow furrowing and his jaw clenching. "Good girl…" he hissed, his voice low and gravelly. He buried his face in her neck and thrust into her with more need, his movements becoming more urgent. "You're going to make me cum, doll."
“Cum.” She begged. “Cum in me. Then fuck it into me. Please.” Her nails dragged over his toned back as she clung to him, his bed creaking as he fucked into her welcoming, wet pussy.
He let out a primal grunt and slammed into her one last time, his cock pulsing as he filled her with his hot, thick cum. He held himself inside her, his hips jerking as he pumped his load deep into her cunt. "Fuck, baby... I'm going to fucking fill you up."
But he wasn’t done. Not in the slightest.
With his cum still pouring into her, he reached under her and grabbed her thighs, spreading them wide apart. Observing the mess he made, he fixed his fingers on her clit as he fucked the cum into her just like she asked. “I gave you what you wanted, darling. Give me what I need too, mm?” His lips brushed her cheek, feeling the beginnings of her orgasm. She just needed a little extra, and he was more than happy to provide.
Y/N squirmed slightly as she felt it creep up on her faster than she could anticipate. The pulse of his cock as it dribbled the last of his cum inside of her, the feel of his facial hair brushing her tender skin and his fingertips rubbing quick circles over her clit, it was impossible to keep from holding back. Heat boiled in her stomach as she tried to tell him, but it came on quicker than she could speak.
A broken moan left her lips as her body shook under him, eyes burning with tears of pleasure as he fucked her messy cunt and continued the circles until she pushed his hand away, grabbing his face and kissing him far more messily than she would have done in any other capacity- but this felt right. Fucked out and wobbly, melting into the bed as he slowly stopped the thrusts and stayed buried in her.
“Mm- baby. Sweetheart…” he pulled back to look at her. “You alright? Tell me how you’re feelin’.” He needed to check in on her, make sure she was feeling properly taken care of. Just by the look of it alone he had a feeling she felt that way, but he wanted to hear it from her pretty lips.
“I’m so good.” She grinned, drunk with the pleasure as she looked up at the handsome man. He was everything that she had dreamt about when she woke up sticky between her thighs. Aged like a fine wine.
“Can we go again?”
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