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chizuery · 3 months ago

Text

sobs

Athena shoots upright as soon as her eyes fly open, gasping. She calls on her spear and slashes in a brutal curve, provoking shouts from the enemies who'd been holding her down as they back off. Bares her teeth in a snarl as she grabs the sheets off the bed to whip at the eyes of the assailants and-

Light floods into her eyes as they step away from her attack and she freezes as she remembers a flash of brightness too fast to escape, heat and burning like never before, electricity that seeped into her very bones, thunder that deafened, lightning that hurt-

"Get back!" She hears and turns unsteadily back to- back to where Apollo is pulling Ares back by the cape against the far wall. Apollo. Ares. Aphrodite, Aephestus, Artemis.

"Wh-" She manages, before she's bowled over, coughing. She has never done it before, and she can't stop it from happening- chest rattling as her knees give out, barely holding herself up with her spear in time to reach the bed. It doesn't stop, doesn't stop, plumes of smoke escaping her mouth as she can't stop, can't breathe-

"Athena," Hera whispers, and a rough hand gently touches her on the shoulder, handing her a glass of nectar. She accepts it gratefully, tilting her head back to down it. It's soothing like it's never been before, stoping the coughing at last and it clears her headache long enough to realize that she isn't in her armour- she's in a chiton.

"Where is my armour?" She rasps as soon as she can, wiping her mouth. Looks around- Apollo's chambers.

She'd always known being the favourite wouldn't protect her forever. But repeating the words didn't seem to reduce the hurt.

Nor the shaking fear.

"-not!" Apollo is saying, indignantly setting his hands on his hips. "Do you have any idea how hard you got hit? You're lucky I could even stabilize your aspect enough to reduce some of the damage, otherwise you'd still be having a seizure back at Mount Olympus!"

"Mount Olympus," Athena mutters oddly, without much intent to it. She tries to stand again and her vision suddenly cuts out, provoking a round of screams as she loses her balance.

When the world blurrily comes back into focus- and she doesn't like this, hates this sudden weakness; she's always been able to get back up from any blow, has never visited a medical chamber in her existence, even when they had to fight the Titans- she's in Ares' arms, oddly horizontal.

"Cease this stupidity, sister," Artemis hisses at her as she grabs onto Athena's arms to bring her back to the bed. "Calm yourself. You are alive. You are safe."

"My armour," Athena says, voice cracking, head rolling oddly on her neck, unable to look upright. She catches a glimpse of Aephastus holding onto a sobbing Aphrodite, staring at her with a strange sort of sorrow.

Something twinges in Athena's chest in reply, but she stumbles before she can address it, feeling a fission of panic at the instability before Ares' grip on her tightens enough to keep her upright. They're all staring at her like that, she realizes, with that same horrified heartbreak.

"Didn't Artemis just tell you to cease stupidity?" Ares barks, though it's rather quietly said, for him. He adjusts her on the bed until she can lean back against the pillows. His hands are shaking, and Athena stares at them with curiosity. "Weren't you the one to lecture me half to death about when to remove the armour?"

"What," She says weakly, then moans as an aftershock trembles through her, residual sparks humming maliciously as they exit her skin, leaving her trembling. "I- hmmm, what? What were- what were-"

"Athena, calm down, please, you're scaring us," Hera says, bangles jangling as she sits down next to her, taking one of Athena's hands with desperation. Athena tilts her head to squint, noticing the tears for the first time, before she shudders as her skin registers the heat, the unbearable heat.

"Scaring?" She murmurs when it stops, voice coming out smaller than she intended it to.

"Her fever keeps rising and falling," Apollo reenters the room before anyone can answer, carrying a large tub of some odd liquid. "Here, help me rub this on her skin, it should extract any remaining- any remaining lightning."

They all move towards the tub at the same time, dipping the cloths provided and then taking positions in a circle surrounding her. Athena stiffens, fingers twitching for a weapon, but the first touch of Hera's drenched cloth on her forehead makes her moan in relief, the blessed coolness of it making her melt back into the sheets. She has no strength to complain or protest when her fellow gods each take a limb to rub at, a sensation both horrifically terrible and unbearably good. She has never taken her armour off in her life.

"Easy, that's it," Apollo says coaxingly, lips downturned like he's trying not to cry. She whimpers as the cloth on her left leg suddenly burns as a spark escapes, instinctively pulling it away, but Aphrodite grabs it before she can and resumes rubbing, whispering apologies. She turns her head and weakly opens her mouth for the herb Apollo lifts to her lips, desperate for relief from the splitting headache.

She can't think. She can't think.

Athena has no idea how long it goes on, how long the other gods ignore their realms to tend to her. Slowly, they strike up a conversation, something light-hearted that she can't follow- different from their never-ending arguments and insults, as they talk about the past year and humourous stories and varied anecdotes.

Athena can't help but relax into it, the soft bed at her back and gentle hands massaging her sore muscles and warmth all around her. Feels something trembling within her since she first became aware of herself settling down with a sigh.

Until she suddenly smells ozone.

Hera and Apollo both notice her tensing up immediately, and look to where she can hear slow footsteps approaching. Apollo growls and shoots out a hand, bringing up the shields of his realm.

The conversation dies down as they all look to the side, at the distinct shadow at the other side of the curtain.

Rage, Athena realises, thoughts slow and muddied. They're angry with him.

"I will handle this," Hera says coldly, with the steel undertone that Athena strives for. She moves her cloth aside and leans down to kiss Athena on the forehead, like a mother would. "You rest, my daughter."

Athena's breath hitches, eyes burning. Nobody has ever cared for her, apart from Zeu-

Nobody has ever cared for her.

... Nobody has-

Hera turns sharply at the noise that suddenly escapes Athena, half hysterical laugh and half distraught wail.

"Did I win?" Athena asks desperately, pushing herself upright, ignoring the protests of the others as she pulls her limbs from their grasp. Hera stares at her and Athena grabs the side of the bed as she tries to lever herself up like a wild animal, demanding in a broken voice, "Did I win?"

A silence that stretches for a painful moment before- "Yes," Aephastus says, putting his hand on her shoulder to guide her back from the edge. "Yes, Athena, you won."

A strangled gasp of relief leaves her, making her light-headed as she leans back against the pillows. She shivers, then sobs- humiliation running through her before she hears an answering noise of sorrow from Aphrodite next to her, pressure all around as her five younger siblings embrace her carefully, gently, like she would break at any moment.

She's not the one who's been raped by a Titan's daughter for seven years.

The thought has her breath hitching, wiping her tears away with a hand that refuses to co-operate the first few tries. "I need to-"

"No," Artemis snaps, glaring at her. "I know you think of nothing but your work, but Athena, you cannot do it this time." Outside, Hera's and Zeus' voices rise as they begin to shout and scream. "You must rest."

"N-no, that's not- aah," She groans as another aftershock rips through her, leaving her panting and soaked in sweat when it's done. "I need to- I need-"

"Hermes has gone to his grandson," Aephastus says soothingly. "Peace, Athena. Your hero is free."

For a moment, it doesn't comprehend and she stares at him blankly. "Free," She repeats, words still infuriatingly faint and lilting. "He's free? I- I need my helmet, where is-"

"No, Athena!"

"Sister, please, you cannot resume your duties, you are in no state!"

"I need my helmet, please, please- just give me my helmet!"

Her cry echoes off the walls and she hears herself when it bounces back to her, broken and pleading and so unlike her she feels nauseous. Her siblings have gone silent and still at her begging, staring at her with shock and horror and fear and sorrow alike. Even Zeus and Hera have stopped talking.

Athena shakes, wishing she could rip this awful vulnerability out of her veins, wishes she could find a stone footing to stand on once more, wishes she wasn't in this horrible chiton.

"Please," She whispers.

Quietly, Aephastus gets to his feet and walks in the direction of the nearby drawers, where she can now see her belongings stacked up haphazardly, blood-stained.

"Sister, you must calm down," Aphrodite pleads. She takes her hands and Athena dazedly looks down at her, with her wide, scared eyes. Seizure, her mind registers finally from Apollo's earlier talk. Ah. She seems to have frightened them all. "You cannot afford a relapse."

Athena squeezes her fingers in acknowledgement, but reaches for the helmet when it's held out, dented and worn.

She touches the metal and feels the full force of seven years of silenced prayers hit her at once.

She's crying before she knows she's doing it, clutching the helmet to her chest as the warmth of the worship wraps around her like a shawl, and holds it tight against her as Ares tries to pry it away.

"No, no!" Apollo intervenes, shifting forward. He touches a hand to the helmet and suddenly the hymn bursts forth around them, loud even though the prayer itself is quiet and broken. Athena inhales at the feeling of it, soothing over the cracks in her own mind with their never-ending continuity, desolate, unbroken faith even when she never came to help-

He's still singing.

She shifts her hands on the helmet to make sure but- yes. Odysseus is calling her, still, at this very moment.

Her head snaps up, but even the dizziness the motion causes doesn't take away from how much clearer the room looks. "Where is he?"

"Sister-"

"If you do not answer me, I will take to the skies myself," She says firmly. "Where is he?"

Her siblings exchange looks.

"Three days out from Ithaka," Artemis replies with a sigh. "On a raft. But listen, wait but an hour, at least absorb these prayers-"

Athena stumbles off the bed and pulls on the helmet, closing her eyes.

"Wait, the bandages-!"

"Athena, you'll hurt yourself, please!"

"Daughter, be careful!"

Athena opens her eyes and looks out at the waves, rough and choppy, but not enough to sink the raft. She looks down and looks at the way the faded clothes don't fit him, the way he has no water left to drink but he still continues to sing.

"Odysseus," She says, and he freezes.

A wave rises and falls. They stay silent, unmoving.

"Won't you look?" The words break out of her, cracked and desperate.

He inhales and exhales, tears in the sound of it. "I don't want to look if you're... if you're not really here."

She swallows against the lump in her throat, takes a step forward. "Well, I-" Her voice cracks, but the fragile grin on her face is real as it spreads, the frailest thread of laughter entering her voice. "I would hope. That if you were hallucinating of me, that the spectre would at least have wisdom enough to tell you that you were."

Odysseus sobs and her heart cracks, feels his heart cracking in turn; yet it is akin to a misaligned bone that never healed right and has to be reset- she can hear the laughter before it comes, with relief coming from the brink of madness, with joy they'd both forgotten and missed. "It is you."

"I could not reach you on Ogygia," She blurts out, desperate to make him understand. "Could not hear your call. I would have come the second time you prayed, if I had."

"It is you," He whispers, swaying. A wave rises suddenly and they both burst into movement, grabbing ropes and pulling the mast, balancing together to keep it steady.

The wave passes. They are almost touching now.

"Won't you look?" Athena asks again, raw and grieving. "Odysseus. My companion, my friend. Please."

He turns at that, a stunned expression on his face- before it turns into wide-eyed horror as he looks at her. She laughs breathlessly, slightly dizzy, but- her friend. How lovely it is to see him again.

"Athena!" He rushes forward with unexpected vitality, the parts of him that she knew suddenly rising to light in his eyes, in his movements, becoming unhidden from the defeated, beaten figure he'd been moments before. "What in Gaia's name-"

"I'm sorry," She interrupts as she slumps forward into the hands on her arms, off-balance. "I should have tried better to understand, all those years ago. I understand now and I- Odysseus, I am-"

"Athena, shut up," Odysseus snaps, clearly panicking. She laughs again, because isn't it such a novelty, to have a person who will have the audacity to tell her to? "Of course it's forgiven, I'm sorry too, I should have fucking listened back then- but listen, what in Hades happened to you? Why do you look like this- why do you have bandages- Hermes wouldn't answer when I asked if something happened to you, fuck-"

"Peace," Athena rasps, even as her vision blinks in and out, forcing her to kneel. They both grimace as another wave crashes into the raft, but they don't upturn. Odysseus kneels down with her, staring at her with such worry and concern she can feel nothing but fondness. "The disagreements of gods are often violent."

"Gods-" His eyes flicker to the side of her face, and he frowns, reaching out to push back the helmet. She bends her face down to let him, feeling an odd burning on the left side that she has a vague bad feeling about- proved right when Odysseus' expression falls into blank horror. "You got into a fight with-"

"Yes."

"But he's your-"

"I know. He did not take kindly to my petition to release you," She smiles dryly, without mirth.

"To release me?" Odysseus wheezes, face cracking into anguish and disbelief alike. "Athena, what- I- I'm not worth-"

"It was worth it," She snaps. "Consider it my penance for abandoning my own. I certainly don't regret it."

"I never felt abandoned," Odysseus whispers, taking her hands as she shifts, supporting her body with his own as they lean against the mast. She looks at him, and remembers why Penelope is still weaving, why he's still out on the waters, why Ithaka is waiting out the suitors till Telemachus takes the throne. "I always knew you would come back. I just figured it would take ten years more, perhaps."

Athena is silent for a bit, absorbing that. And then, because she can't hold it back any longer- "I am sorry about your men." His breath hitches under her and she turns to take him in her arms, knowing what's coming. "I am sorry about your friends."

He sobs, ugly and loud, and she holds him tighter. "I am sorry that Titan's whelp had you for so long, and what she did to you. I am sorry the Fates were so unkind."

"Athena," He keens, finally falling to pieces. The sobs are mere loud gasps for air at first, before it dissolves into wailing, screaming, grieving for all the men they'd kept alive through a war, only to lose them to this cruel tragedy instead. Even she hadn't known- hadn't anticipated how wrong things would go after she left. Hadn't even thought that he hadn't reached home.

"It's all my fucking fault," He shouts, shaking. "If only I had- if only-"

"It is not. No one could have known," She whispers. "The Fates are unknown to us all."

He sobs louder and she closes her eyes.

But finally, their tears dry up. She holds him still, as the night fades and the sun rises again, trying to take his hurt into herself so he can be happy again.

"I am sorry," She whispers, seaspray around them. "That my enemies became your own. That I pushed you so hard. That I chose you, and brought pain to your life so."

"Hey now," Odysseus says, pulling back to look at her, a broken smile on his face. "Hold your blasphemous tongue, before you insult the wisdom of Pallas Athena." She laughs, even as tears spill over. "Even if I had the chance to choose again right at this moment, my goddess, I would still choose you."

"That means more than you know," Athena murmurs, overcome. She gathers all her strength and reaches out to run a hand over his head, soothing his mind and driving away the last tendrils of madness that were still holding onto him. He sighs and relaxes under her, some visible weight lifting from his shoulders. "Still. I will learn from my mistakes. If you would give your old friend a chance-"

"Stop right there. Of course I-" Odysseus scoffs, reaching out to hold her left cheek for emphasis. "Athena, your left eye is half gone."

"Ah. Well, that explains the depth perception," She mutters, then bursts into giggles at the incredulous look on his face.

"Are you drugged?" Odysseus demands, but he's already trying not to laugh himself. They both move on fast. "What am I saying, of course you are- have you been drugged this whole time? Who on Earth drugged you?"

"That would be me," Apollo says, crossing his arms.

Odysseus snarls, grabbing his sword and swinging wildly in an arc, half-animal in his panic, pushing Athena behind him.

"FUCKING- whoa, hey, calm down, it's her brother, it's Apollo!" Apollo half-shrieks inelegantly, jumping back. "Honestly! Athena, call off your hero, please."

"Apollo?" Odysseus tilts his head, lowering his sword and narrowing his eyes.

Apollo stares at him. "Wow, you two- really do act the exact same, huh. Yes, Apollo, god of please let me change your fucking bandages, do you mind?"

Odysseus bows and murmurs apologies, clearly wary of getting into more trouble, but to her mild surprise walks behind Athena instead of to the other side of the raft.

"I don't need assistance," She mutters to him, even as she grimaces at the length of the chiton as she tries to pull herself upright.

"You're still dizzy," Odysseus points out, settling in behind her to hold her steady. He wipes at the tears still on his face and smiles at her. She manages a half-smile back. "Do you need to go back to Olympus?"

"Yes," Artemis crosses her hands and Odysseus' fingers tighten painfully on her shoulders.

"I'm not quite certain there's space for so many on this raft," Athena mutters.

"It's a magical raft, it'll survive- but never mind that, could you not have at least sent a message that you were okay?"

"Well, maybe you should have thought of that before running off without a word!"

"Really, daughter, you should know better!"

Odysseus grip is bruising now, and his sword is in front of Athena protectively; she can already tell what moves he's planning to use if they choose to attack. "Who..?" He asks lowly.

"Pantheon. At ease," She replies back shortly, before looking up at the others. "I thank you, my fellow go- my family, for your worry and concern. But we are only two days out from Ithaka and I would like to see this journey completed."

"You are not going to see yourself completed, if you don't rest," Apollo says, roughly at the exact same time that Athena undermines her own argument by throwing up on the raft.

"Athena, go," Odysseus says urgently when it's over, handing her helmet back to her and adjusting her cape as Hera kneels down beside her to hand her another glass of nectar, looking at him oddly. Odysseus grimaces and changes his tone. "I will be fine, patroness. I'll call for you when I reach the shores."

Movement catches her eye and she sees Ares remove his own helmet, giving her a reproving look. She remembers the speech he was talking about now- the one she'd loudly ranted at him when she was drunk a year ago, thinks about how much more at ease he is now.

"Alright," She acquiesces and everyone breathes a sigh of relief. "Two days."

Mania fills Odysseus' eyes as he smiles back, finally home from a war twenty years ago. "Two days."

Athena grins, even as she feels Hera wrap an arm around her to take her away. "Penelope is waiting."

Odysseus' eyes widen, then fill with tears, like he'd never quite truly let himself believe it; but his smile is wide and true. "Penelope is waiting. Thank you, Pallas Athena."

"You don't thank friends," She murmurs, exhaustion settling in. Odysseus laughs and the last thing she feels is a warm hand on her cheek and their foreheads pressed together, before the world goes black and she knows no more.

#favorites <3 #fuck you /affectionate #oh my god #i've full out sobbed while reading this #i could not stop crying #i didn't think i would cry this much while reading this #i was wrong #i was so so wrong #i wish i could say i was joking #but i'm not #athena you make me so so sad #her desperation and cries were so loud #the way every god in the room were feeling sorrow from what athena went through #athena being delirious when she woke up but still wanting to see odysseus— her champion #and then breaking down once she heard all of his prayers to her #odysseus still reaching out to her even though they haven't talked in a decade #and then odysseus and athena reuniting with each other #aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa #im crying #i love how protective odysseus was of athena when more gods started appearing on the raft #and then insisting for athena to go back so she can heal #i just hnngnfjdks #i love this so so much :(( <33

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curatorcreator · 5 days ago

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carlisle, my beloved <3

NOW PLAYING

ANYTHING BUT IT

Starring: Choso Kamo, Kento Nanami, Satoru Gojo, Suguru Geto, Takuma Ino, Toji Fushiguro

How does your man handle non-penetrative sex?

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Choso Kamo: Boobjob <3

Choso will take anything you give him. If you told the poor boy you could never have sex again, he wouldn’t bat an eye. Your presence is euphoric enough, he’s sure he’ll never truly be used to it. The way you smell, how you look at him when he says something funny, the way you nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck after a particularly long time apart (4 days), it will never be anything but thrilling to him. It’s a love he never thought he’d have & he’s certainly never going to get used to it.

Everything about this is so new to Choso, & with all your help, it’s coming at him a little too fast…literally. If for some reason he couldn’t put his dick in you for a couple days, he’d be thankful for the reprieve; or so he thought. It’s been just 3 days & he can barely make it through a conversation with you before having to excuse himself to the bathroom. You noticed because of course you did, you notice everything about him. It makes his head foggy with desire & by god if he doesn’t rub one out soon he thinks he might die. But he didn’t do that hardly at all anymore; not with you around.

He hears your voice outside the door, following a gentle knock. “Choso,” you called out sweetly, always so sweetly. It takes him a moment to pull his head out of the daze it’s trapped in to realize you’re really calling out for him, it’s not just his imagination. “You okay in there?” No, no he most certainly was not okay.

With a quick gasp, he stuffs his stiff cock into his pants & zips them up. He tentatively unlocks & opens the door.

& you’re standing there, smiling, shit-eating because you know, you know that this is harder for him than he thought it would be.

He watches as your eyes travel down to where he’s nearly bulging out of his pants. “Awww, Choso…” He looks away. God, he’s so embarrassed; you embarrass him. “Why didn’t you say something?” You grab his hand to pull him closer.

He can’t meet your eyes.

“I-I didn’t want to bother you…after you said we-that we couldn’t…” He shrugs so delicately, so subtle you barely catch it. “You know…” The implication is there, heavy in the minute space between you.

You can’t help but giggle to yourself. He doesn’t know. How could he? You’d just barely had sex with him the first time a couple weeks ago, & since then, not a day had gone by that he’d been stuffing you full with his cock, begging for whatever you’d give him. Anything, you’d give him anything.

“Cho, there’s other things we can do, you know?” His eyes nearly pop out of his sockets because good lord, he thinks he might have a clue what you’re saying & –fuck him–he can’t take it. But he wants it. So bad.

You thought it’d get old, this whole doe-eyed, innocent thing, but here you were, turned on as ever by it. You hadn’t meant to upset him by telling him that you couldn’t have sex for a little while, but he just didn’t understand. He was fucking massive, & not always in a good way; he had you calling out of work once a week after a long night of fucking you. It hadn’t occurred to you that it would be such a problem for him. He would never have complained, not to you, not to his perfect, straight-out-of-a-porno girlfriend.

His hard on wasn’t going anywhere, he was sweating, & that desperate look in your eyes had you dragging him out of the bathroom & to your bed.

You’d sat him on the edge of the bed, kneeling in front of him, unzipping his pants; he was so sure that he was going to cum from just this, & he felt bad, ashamed, but he just couldn’t help it. Your bedroom always smelled so nice, just like you, sweet & floral. It was hard to smell you & not think of your sweet cunt, how you tasted, how you felt wrapped around him, so perfect, so—

“Choso.” His gaze snapped down as you beckoned him to sit up a little so you could pull his boxers off. God, just the sight of your pretty eyes staring up at him had him twitching as you slowly slid his pants off. He waited for you to touch him, but you took your time, gazing up at him so lovingly. He watched with animalistic scrutiny as you hooked your hand under the hem of your shirt & swiftly pulled it off. Your bra next.

He didn’t understand, but he didn’t need to. Just like always, you’d show him exactly what to do, & that’s what really sent him over the edge. You were perfect, & this was his favorite part about you.

“Let me help you, Cho,” you smiled, softly taking him in your hand, up & down a few times, enough for his thighs to start shaking & for all the breath to leave his lungs. You guided him closer to your breasts & he watched with lewd fascination–sheer awe–as you let your spit fall down your chin to the valley of soft skin between your chest.

It takes every ounce of strength in him to simply blink, he doesn’t want to look away for even a millisecond, not wanting to miss anything. You circled your tongue around his weeping tip, & already he was bucking into your mouth, needy for any stimulation. “S-Sorry, I didn’t mean to–”

You smile, fuck he wishes you’d stop smiling, stop being so sweet about all of this, it was fucking humiliating, but deep down, that was the part he liked the most. Because no matter how embarrassed he was, you smiled anyway, stayed all lovely & sweet.

“‘S’okay Choso, I just want to make you feel good.” You slowly wrap your breasts around his leaking cock, pressing your hands against them so you can slowly jerk him off like this. “Does it feel good?”

Regardless of coherency, there’s no answer he could give you to accurately convey just how fucking good it felt. How could you even ask that? “Y-yeah, fuck–ngh—yeah, f-feel’s good.” God he felt so stupid.

He tried to pull himself together, to think a single clear thought. Something came through to the forefront of his mind. “D-does it feel good for you like this?” You nod. You weren’t the one desperate for stimulation, you just wanted to get him off, to see him fall apart like this; the spectacle was addicting, so sure, it felt good.

Even whilst you spoke to him, trying to talk him through it, all he could do was stare at you: the way your nipples bounced with each thrust, the way you stuck your tongue out to lick at the red tip of his cock.

Dimly, he’s aware that you’ve asked him something. “Wh-what?” he chokes out.

“Do you want to?” He doesn't get it. There’s nothing else he could’ve wanted more in this moment, no, in his whole life, than this right here. But he understands when you let go of your breasts, the loss of contact making him whine, & grab his hands, putting them where you’d once had yours. & then, by god, does he get it, & yes, he wants to.

It takes him some time, to find a rhythm, to slide his cock between your breasts more than twice without having to stop & whine for a bit. But he gets there, & he's oh so pretty like this: eyes screwed shut, bottom lip tucked firmly beneath his teeth, loose hair sticking to his forehead, your name slipping from his lips.

His orgasm is shattering, he can’t even rationally tell you when he’s close, it comes up on him like a tidal wave. He whines, so pretty, just for you, like he always does when he cums, & he’s sure he’ll be 80 years old & touching himself to the sight of his cum on your tits, dripping off your nipples. You sit up, close enough to kiss him, & he pulls you to him, starving for it. “You’re so perfect, I love you so much…” he starts his post orgasm rant, like usual, telling you how amazing you are, how you were made for him, how perfect he thinks you are.

Yeah, he’s pretty sure he could get off like that for the rest of his life.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Kento Nanami: Jerks off <3

Nanami is just so ashamed of himself. He feels so guilty. I mean, his pretty little wife…she’s so perfect. It’s only been a couple weeks since you two brought home your bundle of joy, & (if he didn’t know it already) you were proving to him every minute just how perfect you were.

So here he was, harder than a rock, trying his very best to act normal, reserved, like his usual self. Nanami was a man of much restraint. It wasn’t a difficult part to play; he prided himself on being better than those mindless, horny men, unable to control themselves, only able to think with their dicks. But good fucking lord he can’t help it, & it’s not like you’re doing him any favors, but no, no, the last thing Nanami wants to do is blame his poor wife. Not while you’re still recovering, not while you’re busy 24/7, not when you haven’t had a full night’s sleep in who knows how long, but what on earth is he supposed to do?

Nanami hasn’t rubbed one out since his early sorcerer days, he hasn’t needed to, not with you around. You & your saccharine words, you velvety cunt, everything about you got him off in ways you didn’t even know.

It’s not like you didn’t adore your dear husband, of course you did, how couldn’t you; but Nanami was so observant, so understanding, so sweet. He noticed everything about you. They way your eyes rolled back when he hit that special spot deep in you, how you tugged harshly on his stiff hair when he made you sit on his face for hours, when you sighed dreamily as you sat on his lap, his hands dragging your hips lazily over him. What Nanami felt for you couldn’t be replicated, he was just obsessed with his pretty wife.

Which led him to seek solace behind the shower curtain; you were sleeping, at least he hoped. He was gloriously naked, soapy, lip tucked tightly under his lip: it was something out of one of the erotica novels he reads. Fisting his cock was nothing like the vice grip of your heavenly cunt, but it would have to do. He growled, something animalistic deep in his throat, so worked up he felt his orgasm coming on far too quickly, his hand meeting his deep thrusts, eyes screwed tight, thoughts of his sweet, pregnant wife flooding his mind. You round & glowing, breasts full & aching for him; it’s a good thing you weren’t here to see him humiliate himself. Worse still, that made his dick twitch at the thought of you watching. God he was worked up. It was taking everything in him not to wantonly moan your name like a horny teenager.

Nothing could compare to your sweet cunt, but the thought of it alone was doing wonders for him. He wondered when the next time would be that you'd let him fuck another baby into you; the thought of having you in a mean mating press, stuffing load after load into you, watching it spill out before shoving it back in with his fingers, pleas of "Just one more for me, sweetheart, just one more. . ." over & over & over.

He tried to do what he thought you might do if you were here. Of course, his perfect wife would’ve gotten right down on her knees & sucked the soul out of him. But you liked to tease him, as much as you could. . .you didn’t always have the patience. But he traced the veins slowly like you might’ve, wrapped his hand around his pretty tip like you definitely could have, slowed his hands as he came close to his inevitable orgasm like you definitely would’ve.

He finished unceremoniously, embarrassed still. He finished his shower methodically, trying to put such weakness from his mind, wrapping himself up in a towel that smells like you–get a grip, Kento–face growing hot just at the scent of you. Face growing hotter still when he hears the door creak open, precious you slowly padding over to him.

But…why did you look so upset? “Gee Kento, I know I was a little fat & sweaty towards the end there, but I didn’t know you planned on jerking off from now on instead of sleeping with your wife.”

“Wh-what? I didn’t know you were-were ready.” Poor guy, he truly looks guilty. But you give him no sympathy.

“Ken, I’ve practically jumped your bones four times a week since the pregnancy hormones kicked in, of course I want to have sex with you.”

Nanami smiles softly. Good God it’s been a long two weeks.

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Satoru Gojo: Pussyjob, oral sex, anal stuff <3

Unfortunately, he doesn’t handle it, at all. Satoru is insatiable, his need is constant, so when you tell him, doe-eyed & apologetic, that the doctor said you can’t have sex for two weeks (two weeks?!), he fears a tear will escape him. But he plasters on a smile; he can’t be anything but incredibly accommodating to his precious girl. As you’re leaving the doctor’s office, though, he can already feel himself chubbing up at your mention of ‘sex.’ Needless to say, it’s going to be a long two weeks.

Or so he thinks. But of course, you’re dating for a reason; you really are perfect for him. The very next day he’s got you sittin’ pretty for him, riding his dick with your panty-clad pussy, eyes rolling up & back. How could he ever think you’d go two whole weeks without cumming on his dick?

“Ngh–ne-need you to go faster, ‘Toru, s’not enough,” you pout, hands splaying out across his pecs, nails dragging harshly across his perked up nipples: a punishment, if you will, for taking sooo long to get you off.

He plays the innocent, teasing you. “Not enough for you? You’re the one who said we should go slow. Doctor’s orders, yeah?” but he speeds up for you anyway, rocking you back & forth, the delicious friction making your head feel heavy.

But it’s just not right, Satoru thinks. His pretty girl should be cumming on his face, no? You whine at the loss of contact as he drags you up to sit on his face. “‘T-Toru, what—”

“I want it like this,” he purrs against your cunt, slipping your panties to the side, & god you’re so wet for him, just how he likes you. “I want you like this.” & that’s enough, you think. Those words alone are enough to have you gripping the headboard, head thrown back, as you slowly rock back & forth on his tongue. He’s so romantic like this, you think as he places chaste kisses to your thighs, a stark contrast to how he was just burying his entire face in your pussy. He’s humping the air, frenzied, as he tugs you closer, lapping at your cunt like the dog he is, he wants you cumming on him, overwhelmed by it, dumb & sex-brained. He’s got both hands on your hips, pulling you down, down, until he has you squirting right where he wants it.

& Satoru thinks of himself as selfless, but he’s learned to give & also take with you; so he’s not complaining as you peel off his already stained boxers, he’s not objecting when you nuzzle your face into his balls—in fact, he prays to whatever god is listening in gratitude for his perfect fucking girlfriend—simply resting his head back while you tease the underside of his length with your tongue. He likes the display of it all: you, back arched, looking up at him, tongue darting slowly around his weeping tip.

“That’s it, sweetie, just like that.” His moans are guttural as you take him down your throat; he’s nothing but a hormonal boy, worried he’s going to cum from the feel of your mouth, warm, wet, sucking. He’s got one of his hands on the back of your head—not pushing, as much as keeping you in place; nose brushing against the unruly strands of hair that sprout at the base of his cock, spit dripping down his balls as you swallow around him. This is how I’ll die, he thinks, but instead he cums—one in the same, really—& you let him put it right where he wants it, all over those pretty tits. That might be his favorite part about you, but he’s not sure, not when your ass is perfect, not when your thighs squeeze his head, not when your hands know him better than he knows himself, & not when your pussy was made for him.

Of course, there’s only so much you could do without sticking it in. . .but when you suggested playing with his ass, he definitely said no. He did not let you lay him down on his stomach, face down ass up, & even if he did, he certainly didn’t enjoy it when you placed feather-light kisses down his spine until you reached his pretty hole. No, definitely not. . .& he didn’t like it at all when you pressed your thumb in small circles around his tight rim, which in turn did not make him shift uncomfortably, trying—in vain—to relieve any pressure from his rock hard cock. He did not whimper when you asked him in that pretty little voice to spread your legs for me, ‘Toru. His hands were not fisting the sheets & he was not biting his pillow when you pressed your finger against his sweet spot, & most importantly, there’s absolutely no way he came after just the first couple thrusts of your fingers, pushing so perfectly against his prostate. Nah, none of that happened.

But needless to say, Satoru doesn’t mind fulfilling your needs in other ways.

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Suguru Geto: Panty thief <3

Despite his cool demeanor, his complete dominion over you in your bedroom, Suguru is a nasty man. & maybe, deep down (not deep down at all) you knew that much already. . .but you didn’t mind any proof you could get of just how gross you made him. Just how hard he got from the most innocent of things, just how easy it was for him to get off to the simplest fantasies of you. He always seemed so unaffected, so in control, but that’s not at all how he seemed now, just a few days after you’d told he couldn’t put his dick in you.

At first, he seemed fine, no problems; it didn’t take him long to realize just how much he needed you, your pretty moans, your tight cunt, your nails digging into his back, how he missed it, missed you. But he just felt so bad, he didn’t want you to feel like you needed to help & of course you would, you’d never pass up an opportunity to help Suguru felt good; in fact you’re pretty sure there wasn’t anything you liked more in this world.

But now. . .now he was desperate, he was needy, & he was embarrassed. So he did what any shame-filled man would do.

You were asleep, you had to be, he’d gotten home so late & had said not to wait for him for this very reason. He had never deemed himself so humiliating, so pathetic, but there really was no other way to describe himself, sifting through your dirty laundry. He had his options, but he wanted one specific pair, the ones you wore when you knew he was going to fuck you, black & lacy. He knew, he just knew, it would be that much better with those, & he remembered the last time you wore them.

God he doesn’t even have his robes off, he doesn’t need to, the sight of them, the smell of you, has him palming his cock through his clothes. & that’s how he likes it, gross & messy, cock barely sprung out of his briefs, fisting the soft lace around himself. His hand pressed flat against the wall of the bathroom is the only thing keeping him upright, legs going weak at the thought of you. He thinks of you: pretty, naked, legs widened as you try & get yourself off without him, fingers softly pumping in & out of your sweet little cunt, but it’s j-just not the same, Sugu, you’d say. Need you to help me, & the pout you’d give him would be irresistible. The guilt of the act fueling him, it’s never this good, it never used to be. Thank god for you, his perfect girl–

“Are those my panties? You’re such a pervert, Geto.” His eyes dart up, &—he’ll never admit it—the humiliation, the shame heating his face, makes him rock hard (like he wasn’t already), any sense dripping out of the precum leaking from his tip. The door creaks fully open & you’re there, moving his hand off the wall, kissing him like he’s not some sick perv (he is, but you love it), replacing his hand with yours, telling him how cute you think it is, how these are your favorite panties, how he’s so hot like this. & your hand feels so much better than his, so much softer. The way you seem to know him better than he does, you know just how he likes it, your other hand snaking down his chest to squeeze his balls, tracing the pointed veins on his cock, teasing his tip.

“Please, fuck, just like-just like that, fuck,” & you do, you do it just like that until he comes, groaning deep in your ear, the vibrations shooting straight down to your cunt, aching for him.

But he’s back to his cocky self soon after. “I didn’t know you thought me jerking off was so hot,” which is a ridiculous thing to say because of course him jerking off is hot, enough to make you salivate.

“I didn’t know my dirty panties were such a turn on for you, you perv.”

Why is he getting hard again, damn it?

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Takuma Ino: Dry-humping, vibrator <3

“S-Shit, are you okay?” Ino is pulling you upright, disorienting considering he’d just been stuffing you full of his horse cock mere seconds ago.

“What do you–oh.” You’re so embarrassed, but you know he would never make you feel bad. You clear your throat. “It’s just my period. I’m sorry Takuma.”

“No, no don’t be sorry, I’m not upset, but. . .are you sure it wasn’t my fault? Like, I didn’t hurt you or anything, right?”

Your repeated no’s & it’s okay’s do little to soothe the poor guy, he’s so sure he hurt you like he’s worried he would. So he says you guys should cool off for a little while, at least until he’s sure you’re okay. Begrudgingly, you agree, mostly just because you don’t really want to have sex with him on your period anyway. But-but how can you expect your poor boyfriend to go such a long time (not long at all) without cumming, I mean, what’s a guy to do, right?

He assures you over & over that he’s completely fine, that you don’t need to do this, he promises.

“But I want to, Ino, wanna make you feel good, like you make me feel.” It’s a miracle, truly, that he doesn’t come from that, right then & there. & you know exactly what you’re doing to him, there’s no way he can deny his girl what she wants, & you know that all too well.

Plus, how’s he supposed to do anything but whatever you want him to when you’ve got him like this, mindless, head resting on the wood of your headboard, gently grinding down on him, not nearly enough friction for him to come, but certainly more than enough for him to be putty in your hands.

He doesn't know how long you keep him like this, out of breath & whining for more, hands gripping your hips in an attempt to create more pressure for his poor, weeping cock. He just needs a little more, he thinks, just a little more, a little more & he'll cum for you, all for you, like a good boy. Your good boy.

He’s so sweet like this, so nice, it makes you want to ruin him, though he does a fine job of that himself, succumbing to all the pleasure you give him. The way you roll your hips, how you pull your clothed cunt over his dick, the small smile you keep on your face as you do it. “Please, pl-please, wan’ it, pretty, wan’ it so bad,” he’s begging like he always does, & you're not really sure what he's even asking for, just that he needs it.

“You don’t have to beg for it, Ino, I wanna give it to you,” you smile, devious. You slide his boxers down, slow, teasing, the way he is like this, drooling, throwing his head back over the lightest touch, has you wanting to take your time with him.

But you’re quick when you want to be, like when you pull your vibrator out of the top drawer next to the bed as you're fisting his cock in your hand. & even though it’s unexpected, & it’s too much, & he can hardly take it, he does, like the good boy he is. You make sure to tell him as you press the vibrator to his balls, stroking his cock all sweet-like. “My pretty boy, Ino, you’re doing so good. Always so good for me.” Teasing his sensitive tip, you trail the vibrator down his length, relishing in his pretty little whines, his ah-ah-ah’s as you rub your hand over his poor, abused cock-head. Mouth agape, the most filthy moans & whines spill from his lips.

His cock twitching each time you let the vibrator ghost around his tip, it takes everything he’s got not to thrash around in you sheets when you tease him like that. He hates it when you do that, right? So why can’t he find it in himself to stop you?

“You like it, Ino? Huh?” God, how could you ask him that, he can’t think right now, & you just coo & smile at him, awaiting his answer. He looks down at you with dewy eyes, on the verge of tears because of course it’s good. What a stupid question.

“Ngh–it’s good, s-so, so good, s’too much, s’good,” he cries, babbling, incoherent. Muscles on his thighs clenching as he tries to suppress his orgasm but the poor boy just can’t take it anymore. It’s all “too much” & “g-gonna cum.” He grips your wrist as he cums, unable to handle such stimulation, because like he said, it’s all too much. & yet, he’ll let you do it again. . .whenever you want.

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Toji Fushiguro: Messy head <3

Toji loves you more than anything, even if he’s a little bitch when it comes to telling you so. He does, he really, really does love you. But, instead of telling you that, he just likes to fuck your throat & tell you that you’re taking it so well.

You all but moan when he pushes you down on your knees. “Who said I have to use your cunt, sweet thing?” He’s in his underwear, precum staining the front of him, as well as your saliva whilst you gently lick his tip through the cotton fabric. He doesn’t like it when you tease him (sure he doesn’t), but he lets you have your fun. Your fingers graze over his abdomen, your eyes fixated on his growing bulge, raking your nails down his sensitive thighs, while he holds back a whine. “Just fucking suck it already, woman.”

You snap the waistband of his boxers. “Be nice, Toji,” you warn, but it was an empty threat.

“Whatever, just, j-jus’—hah, fuck–” You fist him roughly, dry, smirking as you do. He’s getting ready to scold you again, but you don’t give him the chance, taking him in your mouth, sucking hard on his red, leaky tip. Flattening your tongue against his cock. It was never easy to suck Toji off, but that was your favorite part; you liked a challenge. It didn’t necessarily feel good, but you moaned around him anyway because you knew he liked it. You always did all the things he liked & it drove him fucking nuts just how well you knew him. Playing with his tightening balls as you kitten-licked his tip, fisting the base of his cock as you began to take him in your mouth, over & over & over. . .god, he’d let you suck his cock all day. Who gives a shit about a refractory period? In fact, he’d let you suck it soft because that’s just the type of weird shit you’d be into.

It was so messy, always messy with you, spit was accumulating on the base of his cock, & his pelvis, watching a string of spit connect from the base to your small hands & lips. . .Much to his dismay, you popped off his dick, continuing to stroke him with your hand. “Just do it, Toji.”

“Wh-what the fuck’re you talkin’ about?” You give him a deadpan look. But you didn’t feel like giving him the satisfaction; you grabbed his hand & guided it to the crown of your head before sucking him back in your mouth, & he took it as the invitation he knew it was. “Aww, you just wanted my help, sweet thing.”

Bold of him to tease you whilst he was balls deep in your throat, but you digress. You dig your nails into his thighs, rubbing your legs together as you try to alleviate some of the neediness between your thighs. “That’s it,” he groans as you take him particularly deep. Throwing his head back when you trace your finger down further than it’s supposed to go, teasing him how he hates (loves).

At some point, it gets a little too much for him: your hands are too loose, your mouth is too tight, & fuck he's gonna cum in your mouth right now if you keep swirling your tongue like that.

You used to cry, used to gag around him, used to tap your hand on his abs, but now you just took it like Toji’s pretty girl, letting him fist your scalp & bob your head up & down for you, let him hold you down on his length for a bit, let him babble his nonsense as he cums. He doesn’t even have to ask if you’ll swallow it all for him because of course you will.

“‘Atta fucking girl, there she is,” he preens when you take his whole length in your mouth, choking a little, but not much. See, he’s got you trained right up, he’s shown you just how he likes it. & what does he like, you ask? When you make a filthy fucking mess. He doesn't help by any means, he just cums so much, there's nothing you can do but let it slip from the corners of your mouth & spill down your chin. It's straight out of the fucking porn Shiu sends him. It's disgusting, but Toji prefers it that way. He brings your face up to his, kissing you all sticky & sweet: his sweet thing.

“Give me ten minutes & then do that again, for fuck’s sake,” he rasps, breathing hard, still holding your chin.

You grin, shit-eating, “Only if you say please.”

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