❝ 𝐈 𝐍𝐄𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐑 ❞
❝ 𝐈 𝐍𝐄𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐑 ❞
❝ PROF. GETO'S CLASS IS SO HARD, BUT HE'S SO HOT!! ❞
✧ pairing: professor!geto x f!reader (part one of the prof geto series)
✧ summary: you were a 4.0, straight A student, until professor geto's class, the same far too hot ethics professor fawned over by faculty and students alike. you didn't understand what was so special about him...until you start having dreams about him.
✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, a lot of smut (mostly fantasy), depictions of student/teacher relationship (only ok in fiction not irl!!!), reader is a grad student in my mind, but age is vague, masturbation (f + m), fingering (f! receiving), sex (p in v), getting off to his voice in recorded lectures, arousal from reading his writing, amateur's take on moral philsophy and ethics, art by @/jatinsohanvi, google scholar graphic by platonic loml @laneysmusings
✧ wc: 10,149 (i have a problem)
“You’re late,”
Your first impression of Professor Suguru Geto’s class was that you could never be late again, unless you would like to be chided in front of all your peers for your tardiness.
Your first impression of Professor Suguru Geto himself was that he was truly the most breathtaking man you’d ever laid your eyes on. His inky black locks tied into a neat bun, his deep royal purple vest buttoned over a crisp white button up with pressed gray slacks, his pretty lips pressed in a small frown, as his dark gaze pierced through you. And you don’t know what stirs in your chest — a fleeting moment that is tucked away under a bite of your bottom lip and burning cheeks.
And now you knew why when you had walked into class, the amount of unfamiliar faces in this course had far outnumbered the ones in your usual course load — the same reason why this man undoubtedly had three chili peppers next to his professor rating on some website out there.
And now you were faced with him staring you down as you stumbled down the stairs of the all too full lecture hall.
As you muttered apologies, and took your seat far too close to the front of the class, smack dab in the very front of the very same professor whose eyes still were concentrated on you, before sliding back to the class at large.
“Now, where were we?” he says, continuing the lecture.
Ethics was not your major — you were a philosophy grad student, and although the two went hand in hand — no, they were not the same thing. Ethics are the moral principles — like rules to follow to live a moral life — people can follow, while philosophy is the study of knowledge, reality, and existence. And this class encompassed both — an ethics and moral philosophy class. Your eyes slid around the room — and compared to all the random majors stuffed into this classroom, you had no doubt you’d do well. Your eyes met Professor Geto’s — maybe one slight doubt.
And when you get your first essay back, you eagerly flip to the last page of the paper, wondering what accolades and compliments you’d receive this time. Your eyes find the grade, and your stomach drops, a gaping maw that consumes you from the inside out.
You got a B.
A B+ — an 88 on your paper in this course, and you stared at the grade on the very last page of the paper you had collected from his desk — Professor Geto had insisted everyone submit their papers both physically and electronically — his scrawl in red pen littered each page of what you thought was a thoughtful and even clever paper on the existence free will and the ethical and moral dilemmas that surround it. And he had given it an 88.
You had a 4.0 point average — you had gotten the highest scores in some of the most difficult courses required by your major, and now you were going to be derailed by a class you took on a whim? That’s not happening. No, you were going to get him to change your grade. You were seeing as red as the ink that tore your paper to shreds.
“Come in,” your knuckles had rapped against Professor Geto’s door, your heart in your throat, as you heard his reply, entering his office. His office was as pretentious as he was. A much larger office than you had seen before (poor Professor Ijichi had a shoebox of an office), while Professor Geto’s was three times the size, outfitted with large, beautiful windows, distinct bookshelves, and even a lovely deep mahogany colored couch with decorative cushions. And you knew why that was the case — Professor Geto was an expert in his field, revered, even at his relatively young age. And the university had coveted him, and managed to lure him to work behind these ivy covered walls. While other professors who have been here longer are stuck with offices that don’t begin to compare.
Academia was truly hell.
And yet, Professor Geto seemed to rule over it with an iron fist. Even now, you found your professor looking as annoyingly perfect as ever — his elbow resting against his desk, pen in his other hand, as he flipped through more papers on his desk, his hair in a messy bun, a few black strands falling across his furrowed brow, his pretty lips pursed in concentration, and his dark gaze flicks up from his work to you, and his lips curl, your name leaving his lips, “good to see you, please sit,”
You had planned to attend these office hours in victory, to apologize for your misstep in the first class, and let your professor praise your paper to no end — but instead you were going to see why your paper was graded so harshly.
Your speech was ready, you were going to lay it out, you had the perfect explanation and the excellent reasoning “Professor Geto—”
“I know why you’re here,” he cuts you off, lips forming in an utterly condescending smile, “you want to discuss your paper, correct?”
“I am, I wanted to—”
He sits forward in his chair, setting down his pen, “I’m going to save us some time by explaining my comments on your paper, do you have it?” and you close your mouth, pulling the paper out of your folder and handing it to him, “Your paper was one of the best in the class — it was thought provoking, grounded in research, persuasive, even made me consider some points I hadn’t before—”
You blink, his praise catching you off guard, your thoughts twisting in on themselves, “Then why did you give me B?”
“You didn’t allow me to finish,” he sighs, as he flips through your paper, looking up to meet your gaze, “your paper was excellent when it came to philosophical concepts, but your ethical conclusions on the other hand, could use some work,”
You gaped at him, “What did I possibly—”
“To put it simply, you were trying to use your knowledge of philosophy to cover up your lack of knowledge in the field of ethics,”
“I wasn’t—”
“And that’s okay, because that means I have something to teach you don’t I? That’s why you’re in this course, to learn,” he gives a tight lipped smile, tilting his head. Oh you’d like to learn a lot more from him — like the ethical dilemma of wanting to murder your professor, “and I’m here to teach — and this paper is a teaching moment — and from your expression, I assume you didn’t read the comments I left in detail,”
And your cheeks burn, as your eyes fall away from him, “Not fully in detail,” you still swallow your shame, and meet his gaze, “I don’t mean to be a bother, Professor, but how can my paper still receive a B — I’ve never received that low of a score on any single paper—”
“There’s a first time for everything,” and you have to bite back your retort, “yeah first time having an annoying prick for a professor,” and he rises from his desk to hand you back your paper, “the bottom line is, I know you’re capable of better, this class isn’t going to be easy — I’m not going to hand you accolades for no reason. You have to earn them — if you aren’t up for the challenge, you can drop the class.”
The option was there — you could simply drop the course, rid yourself of Professor Geto and his ridiculous criticism forever. You could take a class with one of the many professors who delighted in your papers (even the ones you’d written at 3 AM and submitted not proofread), and go on with your life and preserve your 4.0 GPA with ease.
But then you looked at him again. He was unfairly hot, even when he was fucking putting you down, he stood in front of you, offering your paper, his fingers long and thick brushing yours by mistake as you took back your paper, a watch on his wrist gleamed in the low light of his office. You glanced around his office, saw the awards on his walls, pictures of him giving lectures or receiving honors, and the books that lined his shelves weren’t dissimilar to your own academic shelf at home. And your eyes fell back to his, as he stared at you curiously, lips pursed, as your paper slightly crumples in your fist.
“Next paper is due in two weeks?” and he pauses, before his lips curl in that same grin.
“Yes it is,” and a smile graces your lips, lightning quick.
Like hell you were going to let him win. You were going to get him to praise your papers (and maybe that wouldn’t be the only thing he praised) — if it was the last thing you do. You’d get an A in his class, hell, you’d get him to beg you to be his teaching assistant (he’d look very nice on his knees for you, wouldn’t he?).
You rise from your seat, and grab your bag, “I’ll see you at your next office hours then, to discuss my paper topic,” and he watches you leave, his eyes piercing into your back as you do.
“See you soon.”
Oh, he would.
“Right on time,” Professor Geto barely looks up now when you knock on his door, his door now always ajar for office hours.
Now you had made a habit of showing up for his office hours, you’d bring your paper topic all picked out, along with your handpicked sources you had chosen for your paper, all typed up in a neat bibliography. And he’d kindly rip it apart with that same damn smile on his lips. It had been a few weeks, a few papers later — and you finally had worked your grade up to an A-, not quite an A+, but you’d get there. You had to.
Because it wasn’t just about your GPA now — you were going to get Professor Geto to praise you — through any means necessary. The man was stubborn, even when you’d come back with an improved draft, he’d only hand it back to you with a smile barely tugging at the corner of his lips, with no compliment to be had — only small check marks scribbled in the margins in your papers, with the occasional “good” written next to it.
“Well, we all know what happens when I’m late,” he laughs, a noise that makes the ice dagger clutched behind your back ever so slightly melt, “I made you laugh, extra credit?”
And he rolls his eyes, and you notice that his dark eyes are hidden behind glasses today — and god, why does it only make him even more gorgeous? He’s already brilliant, it’s unfair for him to look as if he was sculpted by the gods as well, “It takes a lot more than a chuckle to earn extra credit,” and you can’t help but bite your lip.
No, no, he’s the worst. It didn’t matter he was the epitome of every academic’s wet dream, you were above that. You had a goal.
“So, can we discuss my next paper?” you hand him your bibliography, and he takes it, delicate fingers flipping through, your mind notes the absence of a ring on either hand, before brushing the thought aside.
“You’re writing on the morality of good or bad actions,” he hums, as he looks over the sources you had chosen, “Scanlon, good — have you read—”
“‘What We Owe to Each Other?’ Only about a million times — well more like six,” and he nods appreciatively, “of course you’ve read it,”
“I didn’t just read it, I wrote a paper on it, similar to yours, actually,” and your eyes flick up to meet his, he’s leaning forward in his chair, red pen in hand, as he scribbles notes in the margins, as well as on the back of your bibliography, “of course I don’t have your penchant for rambling,”
You pout, “I don’t ramble — I like to make my point—”
“Many times, and the same one,” and your mouth opens, only to find a wry smirk on his lips, “I’m teasing, another one of my very tedious qualities, and how you stand it during class astonishes me,”
You cross your arms, unable to meet his eyes, as you choose to stare at your bibliography instead, “You’re not completely tedious, more like irritating,” and he huffs a chuckle.
You had to admit, begrudgingly, Professor Geto was a…good teacher. And you had your fair share of awful teachers — many of them were brilliant, accomplished people in their fields, but didn’t know how to translate and convey that in their lectures to students who simply knew less than them. But Geto…he knew how to break down complex concepts and theories of moral philosophy and ethics to a science, he knows how to make students understand these complicated topics that you had seen other professors fail to, and he does it while being an intellectual dreamboat to most of his students — the ones that swarm his desk after class, still there even as you slowly make your way out of the lecture hall.
“A rare compliment from you,” he raises an eyebrow, “I’m touched,”
“You’re one to talk,” you furrow your brow, and a smile pulls at his lips.
“Didn’t know you wanted my approval,” he tilts his head, leaning forward to lean on his elbow on the desk, “well, you have improved remarkably in the class so far, and if you keep going like this, I may have no choice but to praise you,”
“You will,”
“Someone is very sure of themselves,” a pause and then he adds with a quirk of his lips, “as you should be,” and he’s sliding your bibliography across the table again, and passes it back, “read the sources I recommended, and see about adding them to your paper — you may have some overlap in the other papers you chose so use your discretion on which ones you use,”
“So don’t repeat myself?” You raise an eyebrow, and he leans back in his chair, crossing his legs.
“You learn fast.”
And you do — returning to your apartment to work on your paper, as you flip through his notes — as much as you hate to admit it, his notes and criticism did help — annoyingly so. He was far more detailed and perceptive than any other professor you had. Most had let you skate by without a second thought, and you wrote papers like you deleted your internet history after a scandalous romp through elicit websites — tools, clear history — and then onto the next paper or exam. But Professor Geto forced you to face your shortcomings, face the things that you didn’t like to give a second glance to, lest your rejection sensitive self feel the agony of having to deal with criticism.
Each time you did it, you got a little better, and he had a little less to say — time and time again.
You leaned back on your bed, scrolling through the papers he recommended, but so what? So what if he was a good teacher? Doesn’t mean he has to be as infuriating as he is — he knew exactly what to do to get under your skin, and he didn’t prod at it, he scratched it.
And you found yourself typing his name (“suguru geto”) and T.M. Scanlon’s name into the search bar of your university’s library collection, and his paper pops up right on top.
You stare at the paper for a good minute, before you click on it — and you start reading. And reading. And reading — and fuck—
It was good. It was more than that — it gave you so much insight on this topic, it made you rediscover T.M. Scanlon’s work in a new light — and you bite your lip. And it wasn’t just the research — the way it organized, the way it was presented, the way it was written — it was eloquent, but it wasn’t unreadable or incomprehensible. It was…really good.
You imagined him, pouring over Scanlon’s work as he wrote notes in the margins of his copy, pages dogeared and passages highlighted, as he sat in his office typing away at this paper. His sleeves rolled up, his hair let out of his usual bun, his glasses perched on his nose as he read, only his desk lamp and computer illuminating his office. The keys of his computer clacking under his touch, lengthy fingers pitter pattering as he wrote his thoughts and analysis of Scanlon’s work — his brow furrowed in thought.
And you felt yourself flush, swallowing the lump in your throat, as you kicked off your blanket — it was so warm all of a sudden, pressing your thighs together. You shook the thoughts from your mind — what the hell were you doing? You glanced at the time, 2:39 AM it read back at you mockingly. You sigh, shutting your laptop down, and putting it aside — you need to do your skincare and brush your teeth. You glance back at your laptop—the familiar of your flush clung to your skin like a forbidden kiss—
And you clearly needed sleep.
“Can you read this passage to me?” Professor Geto’s voice said, as he stood in front of you in the lecture hall — as you stood behind the podium that faced the entire class — hands in his pockets, in an olive henley, his hair tied in the usual neat bun, his black bangs falling in his eyes as always, glasses on, instead of the usual contacts. The class sat all around you — his exercise in getting the class to participate and get comfortable speaking in front of others, just as philosophers had done in the past (his very own “literary salon” he called it).
You swallow, keeping your eyes fixed on the book in front of you, “‘When I ask myself what reason the fact that an action would be wrong provides me with not to do it, my answer is that such an action would be one that I could not justify to others on ground I could expect them to accept—’”
“What do you think Scanlon meant by this?” he asks you, but his gaze was different this time, it held the amusement it always did when it came to you, but it was warm — no — it was burning. His lips were pursed, as he crossed his arms, the henley’s fabric seemingly straining under the action.
“He meant that an action that is wrong in his eyes when he couldn’t expect others to accept the ground on which he could justify it,” and his lips curve into that damned smile, as he takes a few steps closer, rounding the podium, as he brushes past you, the brief touch of temptation incarnate — the dangling apple of Tantalus personified before you.
“And can you give me some examples of what kinds of actions would be wrong?” and he’s standing behind you now, and you can’t bring yourself to look at him — but you can feel his gaze on you.
“Senseless murder,” and he hums in approval, his breath felt like it was warming your skin, “wanton violence, reckless assault—”
“What other everyday wrongdoings could fall under this category?” and suddenly the class before you is gone, and it’s just the two of you in an empty lecture hall, “theft, lying, student-teacher relationships?”
And your breath catches in your throat, his cologne strangling any sense left in your mind, as his body heat nearly radiates off him, “Professor Geto—”
“Suguru,” he corrects you, and he’s reaching for you, but he pauses, “can I—” and you only can nod, and his fingers brush your hair aside, ever so gently, “would this be considered a moral wrongness, sweetheart?” his lips press a chaste kiss to your shoulder, and you shiver at the softness of his touch.
“Well, I am a student in your class, and even though I’m of age, it presents a power dynamic and a favoritism that might be—” and your sentence cuts off as his arms wind their way around your waist, pressing himself to your back, “I—”
“Go on,” he’s murmuring his words against the nape of your neck now, as he pulls his glasses off to place them on the podium, “might be what?”
“Might be viewed as morally wrong—” and he’s chuckling, the vibration sending a delicious shiver down your spine, as he presses more butterfly kisses to your neck.
“How can something be wrong when it feels so right?” he asks, and his hand is sliding down your side, “feels so good, does it even matter what society views as right or wrong? Do their rules pertain to what we’re doing here?” and his fingers toy with the hem of your pants, teasing and pulling, as he pauses, waiting for your answer, “what do you think—”
“Please,” you swallow, as you turn to look at him, seeing his lips in that same smile that haunted you, “touch me,”
And his smile only grows wider, “Good girl.”
BUZZ. BUZZ. BUZZ.
Your eyes flutter open, your breath caught in your throat, as you stare at your ceiling, your hand reaching for your phone to silence the alarm. And you squeeze your thighs together, a distinct ache between your legs, your skin all too warm.
What the fuck was that?
You skip office hours the next week. You couldn’t bear it — you could barely tolerate going to class now, as the dream invades your nights, with filthy variations that leave you perturbed and horny (mostly horny). The common theme only being that each time you get close to anything remotely that’s anything (a kiss, a touch that’s more than a caress, anything at all), you wake up.
It’s as if your dreams are edging you — you groan into your pillow — and it was working.
You’re so wound up, you’ve even resorted to using your vibrator before bed, wondering if that would make a difference — it did, but only with you having a dream of Professor Geto using a vibrator on you during class — the vibrations growing even faster when you were speaking as he watched you—
You needed to stop thinking about this. But how can you?
God, it’s even worse when you’re in class. You sit in your usual seat, front and center — and why does it feel like his eyes are on you far too often? Even as he lectures Professor Geto attempts to catch your eye during his lecture, trying to make a point, you all but glue your gaze down to the textbook and your laptop, typing away his words, trying to drown out the whispered words and groans from your dream that ring in your ears. You can’t stop seeing him — unless you want to skip class, which you really couldn’t when attendance and participation counted for a good chunk of your grade.
Class ended and you were packing up your things. You had to weather the storm — avoid being alone with him until the dreams were just a distant memory—
And then you heard him say your name—
Your eyes flick up to meet Professor Geto — who had his usual swarm of students waiting by his desk, but he parted the crowd, he approached your own seat, hands in your pockets, “Do you have a class after this?”
“No, I don’t—” the words slip out before your sleep deprived mind can put the pieces together.
“Then can you please stay after class? I’d like to talk to you,” he says, and before you can say anything, he turns to speak to the students waiting for him.
And now you wait — your anxious energy singing at the frayed ends of your nerves, as you tried to hold yourself together — wondering what he could possibly want to speak to you about. His students dissipated one by one, until it was just you and him left in the lecture hall.
Just. Like. Your. Fucking. Dream.
You round the row you sat in, before walking down to speak to him, “Is there something wrong? The next paper isn’t due until the end of next week—”
“It isn’t about the paper,” and your heart squeezes, as you try to keep your breathing even, as he steps closer — and why, why did he have to opt to only wear a button up today — and a deep royal purple one no less, “I wanted to check in with you,” and he begins to undo the cuffs of his shirt, rolling them up — exposing his forearms and the pretty veins that ran along them — the same arms that he had used in one of your dreams to bend you over that desk, the whispers of heated kisses along your neck—
You needed to get out of here.
You blink, “I’m fine,” and he tilts his head.
“I only ask because you’ve looked tired the last two classes, and you didn’t show up for office hours this week,” he crosses his arms, unhelpfully, as he purses his lips, the lines of his brow furrowed.
“I’m fine, Professor, I appreciate your concern — I just haven’t been sleeping well,” you admit — it was the truth, “and that’s why I didn’t come to office hours. I was trying to catch up on sleep,”
He nods, sighing, fingers raking through his hair — those same fingers that would feel so pretty around your neck— “I know I’m hard on you,” oh he would be, “but it’s because I know you’re capable of more — most of these students are taking the class for an elective, but I know it’s more than that for you,” yes, it’s so you can finally earn his praise, “but I’m also here for your benefit, so if you need an extension or anything else, please let me know,”
God, all you wanted was for him to maybe wrap you in his arms and kiss you, or bend you over, pull your clothes off and fuck you, or just to leave you alone all together.
You weren’t sure which one you wanted the most at this moment.
“I will, Professor Geto, I appreciate it,” you murmur, biting your lip, as you try to focus on the task at hand — getting out of here, “I don’t think I need an extension, I’ve made good progress so far. I just need to finish it, so I can revise,”
“Well, let me know if anything changes,” his lips curl, “ok?” And you nod, and if you weren’t so hyperaware, you swore you would have imagined it — but you didn’t, “good girl,”
And you pause a moment — his lips did move, you pinch yourself discreetly — and you know it isn’t a fucking dream. You only smile in return, giving a curt nod and goodbye, before beelining out of the classroom.
But you didn’t stick around long enough to see the slight flush on Professor Geto’s cheeks — nor did you know that you two were thinking the same thing about yourselves—
What the fuck were you doing?
But to your relief, the dreams do subside, and you’re finally able to rest — but the thing that doesn’t subside is your awareness of your professor.
You sit in class, watching him teach — and you knew he was attractive, hell, it was one of the things that made you all the more embarrassed to have him ream you out — having your super hot professor rail at you for your mistakes wasn’t on your list of shining achievements (lest it was him actually railing you—).
You needed to stop doing that.
But it felt as if you weren’t the only one who was hyper aware. You felt as if his eyes skimmed over you during class this week, his replies to your weekly discussion board were less biting than usual, and his office hours were surprisingly canceled this week. First time all semester, but you weren’t so full of yourself that you thought it had anything to do with you — right?
Either way, you had submitted your paper and now you were done with this week—and as class finishes, you slowly pack up, looking forward to the week being over with and for a personal rendezvous with your bed. But as the usual gaggle of students make their way to chat with Professor Geto, your eyes flicker up to meet his, as he stares back a moment.
And you can’t make yourself look away, and for a moment, neither can he.
But then a student calls for his attention, so his eyes flicker away, a smile on his lips as he spoke — and you turn to leave, grabbing your bag, as you look back—
But why did his smile look so strained?
There must be something wrong with him.
Professor Suguru Geto drummed his fingers against his desk, but he felt more like shoving his things off his desk — if only to distract him for a moment. He pulls his glasses off, and runs a hand down his face—god, he hadn’t been sleeping well. No, his nights were plagued, plagued by you — you had slipped into his dreams ever since that day he stopped you.
Why had he stopped you?
It wasn’t the first time he had personally stopped a student who seemed to be struggling, he could count the times he had on both his hands.
But this, this felt different.
You were different.
But why were you different to him? He rubs his temples, from the moment you had stepped into his office he thought he had read you — an overachieving student used to getting their way, As handed out to them, and an inability to take criticism.
He knew, because he used to be one of them. But he knew you needed to be challenged to grow — but it was a matter if you would accept it. And from the moment you asked him when the next paper was due, he couldn’t help but smile.
And his time spent in office hours with you grew more enjoyable each time you came. And when you hadn’t last week, he couldn’t sit still, checking the time, checking his email, and even checking if his office hours had been accidentally listed wrong in his weekly email to the class (they weren’t). And the hour and half passed with many students hungry for his time and his charm — but not the one he was looking for.
Then those words had slipped from his tongue when he had stopped you, left his mouth like he was possessed, and now he had found himself here. Found himself thinking about how your lips parted when he said it, thinking about how you were feeling, thinking about you, you, you—
There’s a knock at the door, “Professor Geto?”
And it was you.
“I apologize, I know you canceled office hours, but I just had a few questions I didn’t get to ask you in class,” your fingers toy with the ring you wore, a folder in hand, a soft smile on your lips.
“Of course, come in,” and you did, your dress was painfully short, the fabric riding up as you sat, the folder in your lap, “is this about your paper?”
“It is, I was reading a few papers, and after our conversation, I couldn’t help but find your paper,” and he tilts his head, “and I want to include it as a source in my paper, but I had a few points you made that I wanted clarified,”
He raises an eyebrow, and he can’t help but tease, “Clarified or criticized? Are you planning on turning the tables on me?”
“Well I do have a red pen,” you click your pen, lips curved in a smile, and there’s a hint of heat that he wishes to unearth, pluck from the earth and possess himself, “but I promise I’ll be civil,”
“I have no doubt,” he had a million when it came to you — but that wasn’t one of them. He runs his fingers through his hair, a few strands coming loose, “of course, let’s discuss it,”
“You discuss Scanlon’s idea of a social contract, everyone within this moral society agrees on what’s right and what’s wrong — the basic principle is that if there is a rule no one can reasonably reject as a basis, but is there such a rule that can exist?”
He tilts his head, “Scanlon’s theory relies on this premise — are you questioning me or the premise?”
“Both, actually,” you shrug, crossing your legs, “is there a magic switch that changes every person to be rational? Because I think only rational people can agree on what rules cannot be reasonably rejected — what about people who are cruel, inconsiderate, self-absorbed? Do those traits go away when operating under Scanlon’s social contract? You propose in your paper that moral reasons are not subjective — nothing is uncolored by human opinion,”
“No, but—”
“How can we agree on what is truly right or wrong? How can one hundred people agree on that when everyone views these actions in different ways? Right and wrong? Black, white, or gray?” you rise from your chair to hand him his paper printed out, the paper more red than white with the amount of writing you’ve done, “like for example,” you lean forward, your hand braced against the edge of his desk, “can one hundred people agree that student-teacher relationships are wrong? Because one veto,” your hand trails ever closer to his, toeing that dangerous line either of you had even yet to approach to cross. But here you were, seemingly barreling toward it.
And he didn’t want to pull away.
He swallows, whispering your name, “This can’t—” and you were so close — too close, your perfume hypnotized him, your fingers brush against his and he can’t help but hold them, his thumb rubbing across your knuckles, “they can agree that it’s wrong — the power imbalance from the authority of the professor and the age difference—”
“I disagree, so the rule isn’t legitimate, right? Even if one disagrees, the rule cannot be make valid,” and his breath catches as your fingers slide up his arm now, resting on his shoulder, as you lean over his chair now, as your other hand toys with the loose strands of his hair, “if the two of us can’t even agree, then how could a hundred, or a thousand, or a million?”
“But—”
“But what?” you pout, your fingers dragging down his chest, toying with the top button of his button down, “I don’t see you pulling away, do you want me to stop, Professor? Because I will,”
And he swallows thickly, but he can’t stop you — he doesn’t want to, “But, we shouldn’t — it isn’t a reasonable objection—” he tries his hardest to stand firm, but he only crumbles when your fingers brush his cheek, tracing the cut of his jaw. And it feels like flames tickling at his skin, begging him to thrust his hand into the fire.
“Like I said, people are not reasonable,” your lips draw closer, and he can feel your breath warm his own, and god, why are you so tempting? And your lips stop short, barely an inch between your faces, “and besides, would you rather be reasonable or satisfied?”
And there’s only one answer — you.
He leans forward, lips nearly brushing yours—
RING. RING. RING.
He jerks awake from his desk, papers sliding as he does, his breath caught in his throat, and his eyes wander — and finds no one else there.
A dream. He runs his fingers through his hair again, crumpling the paper he had oh so lovingly drooled during his nap. He needed to get his shit together.
But his current predicament wasn’t making that easy — his cock strained against the fabric of his pants — was he a grown adult or a horny teenager?
Fuck. It wasn’t going away — no matter what he thought, his mind kept circling back to you.
And his eyes slide to the time: 1:40 AM.
Far past the time any soul would be here, even cleaning staff would have been long gone. It was just him—
And you.
“So good for me, baby,” he’s panting, palming his erection, an embarrassing amount of precum drips from his cock for a barely wet dream. He ignores the gnawing guilt in the back of his mind — but he can’t help but imagine the image of you, spread out on his desk, hiking that oh so teasing sundress up, only to find your underwear drenched — just for him.
His fingers would slide up your plush thighs, squeezing to draw a gasp from your pretty lips, “Professor—“ you’d say, unable to form a sentence, all those brilliant falling away under his touch, until it was just him occupying every crevice of your mind.
“Where’s that mouth now? So needy f’me,” he’d murmur, “but such a good girl,” and you were, his thumb tracing his slit, smearing his pre-cum, as he imagined you spread on his desk, your puffy folds nearly showing through your far too translucent panties, “my best student’s so pliant for me now,”
And his hand moves faster, and he can imagine your fingers reaching for him too, your smaller fingers wouldn’t be able to even touch as much as he can — but god it would feel so much better.
But he’d want you to feel even better than he did.
He’d tug your underwear down, stuffing it in his pocket (his fee for all of additional office hours), and he would prep you right — fuck you open with his fingers, two or three, before he tasted you. Your fingers would dig into his scalp as you moaned his name again and again, before you came all over his face.
He’d lick his lips clean of your release, before dragging his cock down your sweet cunt, watching his precum mix with your cum, as your walls flutter around nothing, craving to have him sink into you.
“Professor, please,” you’d beg with pretty, kiss bitten lips between pants, “please,”
“Where’s all those quips now, sweetheart?” he’d tease, as he would let his tip tease your clit, pulling a moan from your lips, “all those words fall away when you want this cock, don’t they? Been thinking about you like this, wondering what you’d look like spread out under me,” and he would lean down to kiss you, “it’s even better than I expected,”
He’s jerking himself off in earnest now, the lewd noises of his hand around his cock filling most of the silence, his low groans filling the rest. And he’d finally sink into you, inch by inch, until he’d kiss your cervix with his weeping tip.
And, god, he wishes his fingers fisted around his cock would be as good as your cunt would feel around him. He would fuck you slow at first, “I know those boys can’t fuck you as good as I can, as well as I can,” he’d tell you, as he would pick up the pace when you’d tell him to, making you cum again and again with his cock, thumb rubbing at your clit, until he was finally close. He’d either cum all over your stomach, marking you with his release, or if you’d let him, he’d cum inside you, filling you with his seed—and then he’d watch it drip out when he would pull out. He groans your name lowly, shuddering as he comes all over his hand, hard.
Fuck.
That’s the hardest he’d cum in a long time. He’s a mess — panting and flushed, as he leans back, head against the back of his chair, too spent to even clean up. And then he finally does, cleaning himself up well, and collecting his things to leave the office.
But he only treated the symptoms, not the problem itself. His hard-on is gone, but his mind is still filled with thoughts of you. How he’d kiss you sweetly after, how he’d clean you up, care for you gently, make you rest because you never seem to do enough of that, and he’d let you relax — finally relax, as you slept the night in his arms.
As he heads to his car, he knows that he’s utterly fucked (without even being fucked) because he has feelings for you. And he didn’t know if they were going to go away as easily as he hoped.
But he hoped they would. He owed it to you, your education, and your future career not to act on these feelings.
And he sighs as he sits in his car, starting it, but why did it hurt not to?
It was that time again.
Your next paper had come around again, and you needed to prepare a topic before you went to speak to Professor Geto. You had put it off, something you had never done with his class, but you wanted to limit the amount of time you spent with him, if only for the sake of your heart.
Watching him in lectures was bad enough, your thighs pressing together as you watched him speak, his impeccable looks and intelligence a deadly combination for your heart (and your body). You could barely focus, your eyes too fixed on the way he wrote on the board — his fingers too lithe and too thick, his voice all too alluring when discussing Kant and Aristotle and you can’t help but think what he’d sound moaning your name.
God. Fuck.
Either way, you needed to listen to the lectures again since you weren’t able to pay attention. Maybe without watching the video would be better, you settle on your bed, notebook and pen in hand, as you place your headphones on. His voice filled your ears, and you’re scrawling notes.
But your mind begins to wander. He’s lecturing on the deontological ethics, and all you can think about is how he could make you cum with just that voice of his.
Shit, you shifted your thighs again, feeling that familiar ache again. What would he sound like when he moaned? How would it sound to have him touch you, run those long fingers down your thighs, and whisper filthy things in your ear?
As you listened to the lecture, his voice became white noise as your fingers slipped past the waistband of your shorts, and you shut your eyes.
“That’s it, sweetheart, spread your legs for me,” he’d murmur in your ear, his chest pressed to your back and he’s urge your thighs wider, and his fingers would press against the wet patch on your panties, and he’d hum, “so wet f’me and I haven’t touched you yet, Princess,” his lips would kiss your pulse, “you like my voice that much?”
“Professor,” you gasp, as his fingers would tease you through your underwear, the fabric growing more soaked by the second, “please—“ and his thumb would ghost around your clit, teasing you, as his long fingers would piston in and out — they would reach so much fucking deeper “I need to—“
“Already begging? I knew you learned fast, but not this fast,” and his fingers would tug the crotch of your panties aside, his fingertips tracing around your outer lips, before a finger pushes past your sweet cunt, “fuck, my favorite student’s pussy is so fucking tight. These boys are not fucking you right,” and you whimper, his finger would be so much thicker than yours, as you glide another finger inside you, the two dragging against your walls, “listen to your pretty cunt,” he’d grin against your skin, “and the wet squelch of your pussy, “so pliant for me, takes my fingers so well,” he’d murmur with a chuckle, “practically swallowing me up,”
And you’re bucking your hips against him, wanting, needing him deeper, because your fingers don’t reach as far as his does, moans leaving your lips.
“I’m so—” you’re moving faster and faster, his lecture still filling your ears, your pre-cum soaking your shorts and onto the bed sheets, “I can’t—”
“Come on, Princess, use those big words of yours, you have no problem usually,” his hot words would whisper in your ear, and you’d hear him rub his erection against your ass, trying to get himself off, and you’d grind against him, wanting any friction, “tell me,”
“Let me cum, please,” and he would smile, running his fingers through your hair, before he bore his thumb down on your clit and sunk a third finger into your needy cunt, just as you did now. And it’s too much for you, your toes curl, your messy walls fluttering around your fingers, as you cum all over your shorts and sheets with a groan of his name. Your fingers were soaked, as you pant, trying to gather yourself, as you came down from your high.
“Fuck,” you murmur, tugging off your headphones, so your cunt doesn’t have to twitch listening to his dulcet words again. And you’re pulling your fingers out, your cum dripped down your fingers, as you shifted, far too wet underneath you, as you tried to slip off your bed to take a shower and clean yourself up.
And then you realized, you didn’t even hear any of the lecture.
Double fuck.
Why was this so difficult?
You stood near his office, trying to work up the urge to approach his door for office hours? Since it’s almost the end of the semester, there had been an influx of students attending office hours, and with everything, you had found excuses in your head to avoid office hours. But you couldn’t avoid him anymore.
For your final paper in the class, you had to have a meeting with him during office hours to discuss your topic, complete with bibliography and outline. And it was almost time for your meeting.
But you didn’t know how to go in.
The last few weeks in class have made things worse. You couldn’t help but watch the other students fawn over Professor Geto, his lips curled as he spoke to them. And you’d leave class without a word. You had to stick through the semester and your feelings would disappear with time. You wouldn’t have to see him, you wouldn’t have class anymore, and you couldn’t talk to him.
Or wouldn’t.
But now you had to. And you didn’t know how— otherwise than just to do it.
You knock at his door, “Come in,” and you open the door to see an empty desk, blinking, “I’m over here,”
And your head snaps to your right, and Professor Geto is sitting on his couch, his legs crossed with a stack of papers in hand. His jacket is slung over the side of the couch, his deep maroon button up sleeves rolled up, glasses perched on the tip of his nose.
“I thought you lived at your desk,” you raise an eyebrow, “decided to change it up for the end of the semester?”
“Everyone needs a change of scenery,” he leans forward, placing the stack of papers on the table in front of him, “do you want to sit here or move to the desk?”
You shift in place, before moving to the couch beside him, “This is fine,” he stares, “what?”
“Just surprised, you always have something to say,” he leans on his elbow, “no smart remarks today?”
“Fresh out, can I offer you my proposal for the final paper instead?” You say dryly, and he cracks a smile, holding out your proposal. He clicks his red pen, readying his sword.
He takes it, his dark eyes darting back and forth as he reads, his brow furrowed in concentration — and you can’t help but want to reach out and smooth his brow for him, tease him that he’ll get wrinkles. But you can’t. Can’t because that would cross a line that neither of you should cross.
“You’ve come a long way,” he says, as he flips it back the front, writing only a few notes here and there.
“But?” You wait for it.
His gaze flickers up, a tilt of his head, “That was the end of my sentence,”
You pause a moment, “Really?”
“Really,” he scribbles a few more notes, “I look forward to reading the paper, it will be excellent I’m sure, maybe you’ll even get higher than a B+,”
“Oh, ha, ha,” sarcasm dripping from your tongue, but you can’t help but smile, “you’ll miss me and my endless need for academic validation,” but was it really academic validation you were after now — your eyes gazed at him sitting with the tip of his pen pressed to his lips — or was it his?
And it’s his turn to pause, and his lips curl into a soft smile, “I will,”
Your breath catches, “Really?”
He chuckles, “Really,” he licks his lips, his eyes glancing downward at your proposal than at your face, “I’ve enjoyed our chats this semester,”
“Have you? Even when I argued with you,” a half nervous half serious laugh dies on your lips when his gaze meets yours, far too serious for your heart to take.
“Especially then,” his fingers run through his hair a moment, before he speaks again, “I can’t say you could say the same,”
“And why couldn’t you?” his eyes flicker with an emotion you can’t grasp fast enough, before it slips away into the depths of his dark irises.
“Because you stopped coming,” his voice is soft, his tone barely even, and this gives you a real pause, heat flushing your body, as if his words had set every nerve ending alight, your mouth growing dry along with it, and it gives him a reprieve he needs to brush it aside, “you don’t have to, of course, these office hours are not relevant to your—”
“I didn’t stop coming because I didn’t enjoy it,” you cut him off, swallowing the lump in your throat, “I stopped coming because I did,”
He stares, “What do you—”
“I don’t want academic validation anymore, I don’t care about my GPA,” you consider it a moment, “ok I do,” and he snorts, “but I care more about validation from you,”
“From me?” he says, and his gaze tries to meet yours and it can’t — but his fingers brush against your skin, making your breath catch, your eyes finding his, “and what kind of validation do you want?”
And you can’t find the words, and you hesitation makes him shake his head, “I apologize, I shouldn’t have—”
“Will you have a drink with me?” and he’s speechless for once, “after the semester is over, of course — I know it wouldn’t be ethical before,”
And his eyes find yours again, “Some would say it would be unethical after too,”
“I would say it depends,”
“On what basis?” and you can’t help but smirk.
“Am I being graded, Professor?” and you delight in a small crack in his smiling veneer as a light flush dusts the tops of his ears, “and if I’m good, will you call me a good girl again?”
He swallows, “I don’t want to cost you your education or your—”
“I understand the risks, but we aren’t contemplating shifting a trolley to hit one person or five, or murdering one healthy person to save five sick ones,” and he raises an eyebrow, “it’s a drink to celebrate the end of the semester,”
“And if it's something more?” he nearly whispers, the softness of his voice reflected in his features, as his fingers that rested on the couch twitched beside yours.
“Then we’ll cross that bridge then,” and then you add with a small smile, “Or hit the metaphorical person with the trolley,” and it pulls at the corners of his lips.
“You make a fair point,” and you gasp in mock surprise.
“The first time all semester you agree with me,” and he chuckles, a noise you wished you could hear him make innumerable times more.
“Not the first,” he replies, before leaning forward, pressing your outline back into your hands, his fingers brushing yours, “we both agree you’re a good girl, don’t we?”
And your breath catches, his words warm your skin, turning your blood to lava, “Professor,” and he smiles again.
“When we go for drinks, call me Suguru.”
~~~~
The semester wears on and finally draws to an end, but finals induced hibernation begins for you. A mix of papers and exams, you finish everything — including your paper for Professor Geto’s class. As always, he has you submit a paper and electronic copy, the paper copy to be dropped off at his office mailbox. And you do just that, the mailboxes being only around the corner from his office, and your heart squeezes at the thought of him. After this, the class was over, it was done. You weren’t his student anymore.
And you place the paper into the mailbox and sigh, chewing your lip as you pass by his office, but find the door closed (and locked, as you quickly turned the doorknob to test it). Where was he? This was the time he was usually in his office, but maybe he had left campus for the semester — had he forgotten about your drinks?
Fuck. You hadn’t even discussed a time or place, you had left it vague — “after finals.” Your cheeks burned at the memory, you were far too flustered to elaborate. And you had spent far too many nights imagining him calling you a ‘good girl’ in many other situations.
And then you heard a call of your name, your gaze snapping up, your heart leaping, but only to see the department head.
“Hi Professor, how are you?” and the two of you make polite chit-chat, until he asks you.
“Have you applied to be a T.A. for the department?” and you blink, “applications just opened and I think from what I’ve heard about you around the department, I think you would be an excellent candidate.”
“I’d love to be — how does the application process work?” and he explains that it’s a double blind process where applications are viewed without personal information of the candidates, and then matched with a professor based only on resume and writing samples.
You can barely listen to the department head, still far too distracted with thoughts of Professor Geto — so you agree to apply, if only to placate the department head, and make an excuse to leave.
It had been a week or so, as you lay in bed in your apartment, staring at your ceiling — you hadn’t even bothered to get Professor Geto’s personal number. You couldn’t even reach out to him if you tried, as the only way you could was through his university email, which was out of the question — the university had rules against a professor and student dating, and if anyone found that email — you sighed — it wouldn’t be good.
Maybe it was for the best.
The only communication you had gotten from him was an email from Professor Geto’s mailing list to the class from a few days ago, stating that he was out of state in a conference, and he would return soon, but your grades would be emailed to you. But the paper copies would be available to pick up in his office from 3:00 PM to 6:00 PM on Tuesday. It was almost time to pick up your paper, and your nerves bit at you as you thought about the possibility of seeing him. Who knows if he would even be there to begin with.
Would it be anything? Would it be nothing? Was there not any point to this at all?
Oh, great, you were becoming existential.
You sat up, the only thing you could do was go. So you do, taking your time to get dressed. If you were going to see him, you might as well look your best.
Fuck. You couldn’t go in. It had taken you longer to get back to campus than you thought, and now there were only a few minutes of his office hours left.
And you’re about to knock when the door opens, and you find yourself face to face with the man who has consumed every thought of yours for the last few months — good and bad alike.
“Late again?” and you can’t help but smile.
“I prefer fashionably late,” and his eyes rake over your outfit, making your cheeks burn.
“You certainly are,” and he steps aside to allow you into his office, and you glance between the couch and the desk, but he makes the choice and sits at his desk, “I have your paper right here,” and he’s rifling through his file of papers, “how did your finals go?”
“If I have an A on this paper, perfectly,” and a smile tugs at his lips, and you raise an eyebrow, “what? Something funny?”
“Not at all,” and he pulls your paper out, ha “I just recall you saying you wanted something more than, what was it? ‘My academic validation?’”
And your cheeks flush, “I did, but I also didn’t hear from you,” and your fingers reach for the paper, and he holds onto it, “Professor,”
“I couldn’t reach out to you because I was still your professor, but once you get this grade, I’m not anymore,” and his gaze is sharper without his glasses today, his dark blue Henley doing nothing to help the flush on your cheeks — memories of your dreams flooding your mind, “and once you get this grade back, I’m not anymore,”
“And what does that mean?” you can’t pull your eyes away from his, but his fingers let go of your graded paper, “how about you look at the last page of your paper and see?”
You pull the paper into your hands, flipping to the last page:
99 — I was impressed by this paper not only by the content but by its comprehension and use of both ethics and philosophy. But I was also impressed by the person who wrote the paper. You’ve shown determination and growth throughout the semester — and you have reminded me what we owe to each other. And I think we owe each other a drink, and a chance for this.
You feel his eyes watch you as you read, your eyes finally meeting his — his brow knit together, his lips pursed, concentrated gaze trying to decipher your reaction.
“Why a 99?” And his eyebrows raise, as if to ask, “that’s your question?”
“You had some spelling and grammar errors,”
“Really? You couldn’t let it slide?” And he tilts his head, before he sees your lips curling into a grin.
“So you think it’s funny to mess with your professor?” And his voice drops, a playful tone that makes you nearly shiver, as he leans forward, resting his chin against his elbow.
“You’re not my professor anymore, are you, Suguru?” he likes that by the way his teeth bite his bottom lip briefly, his eyes flitting to your lips for a moment and back to your eyes, “so I guess we’re using that trolley after all,”
“If you want to,” he says softly, “I wouldn’t blame you if you change your mind, it’s a risk,”
It was. It was a risk to your reputations, your careers, your futures — especially to yours. But, your eyes met his again.
“Contractualism is about avoiding risk,” and he nods, as his gaze falls away, “but some risk is necessary in life, and I think this is one that’s worth taking,”
“We will have to be careful,” he murmurs, but already his fingers are twitching, far too eager to touch you, “we can’t make any mistakes. I don’t want to hurt you,” he adds softly.
“I know, I don’t want to hurt you either,” and you rise before slowly rounding his desk, “but I want to know what it’s like,”
And he can’t stop himself — he gets to his feet, his fingers finding your cheeks and he kisses you. You can taste the black coffee on his lips, his kiss is gentle at first, so chaste and fleeting that you’d swear he didn’t kiss you at all — and so it’s not a second before your lips find his again, in a deeper kiss that steals every ounce of breath from your lungs, and leaves only heat behind. This was dangerous. The very risk you were both trying to avoid, but as he’s pressing you into the edge of his desk, you can’t find the logic you misplaced when those goddamn fingers you’ve been dreaming about squeeze your hips.
“Fuck,” he’s panting — god that word sounded more sinful on his lips than it should — as he presses sweet kisses to your neck, “we shouldn’t be doing this here,”
“Not very ethical,” you chuckle breathlessly, as your fingers rake through his now disheveled bun, “but I can’t find the sense to care,” your noses brush, as you can’t help but smile, “what would Scanlon or Kant say about this?”
And his arms lift you onto his desk, several papers crumpling underneath, “Who the fuck cares?” he’s hissing, his lips find yours in a searing kiss, as his thighs press yours apart, as he settles himself between your legs, his knee grazing your core, drawing a delightful gasp from your lips, “I know what I want,” and his eyes soften, his fingers tracing the length of your cheek, “do you?”
Before you can answer, two pings catch your attention — your phone and his computer lighting up with a notification, and you both pause a moment, as your eyes glance at the banner notification on your phone, skimming over the words. The T.A. positions have been assigned.
“Fuck,” you hear him mutter, and you gaze snaps up to his on his computer, the email now opened on his screen, “this can’t be right—”
“What is it—” and the question dies on your lips as your eyes find where his rested —
You — you were his T.A. for next semester — for the very class that you met in.
Fuck, indeed.
✧ a/n: lets all remember that student and teacher relationships are bad in real life. it's ok to live vicariously through reader but unfortunately no professor will be as hot as professor geto or gojo T_T. s/o to @/laneymusings and @bucky-of-the-opera for beta reading this for me and being just absolutely wonderful!!
✧ tag list: @sokkasmoon, @unoriginalideas, @waytootiredforthisss, @sinnerstardoll, @secret-pages-of-my-heart, @drthymby, @hanlay, @catsgomurp, @hatsunemitskislobotomy, @esuz, @difficultdomains, @poopyface222, @iwassentfromhell, @diogodxlot, @totallynotcc, @llovekami, @deadmarygolds, @teatreeoilll, @carcarcraziiv2, @forest-hashira, @aliyalala, @esuz, @that-goth-bisexual, @hehehehesthings, @imjustmememe, @j1jay, @iwassentfromhell,
More Posts from Outleak and Others
BSD men: who fell first and who harder
~~just a friendly reminder that this is my own interpretation, feel free to share your thoughts~~
Dazai: he fell first but you fell harder
Ranpo: you fell first and harder
Atsushi: he fell first and harder
Kunikida: you fell first but he fell harder
Fukuzawa: you fell first but he fell harder
Tanizaki: he fell first and harder
Katai: he fell first and harder
Chuuya: he fell first and harder
Akutagawa: you fell first and harder
Tachihara: he fell first and harder
Ango: you fell first but he fell harder
Oda: you fell first but he fell harder
Poe: he fell first and harder
Mushitarou: you fell first but he fell harder
Junō: you fell first and harder
Tecchou: you fell first but he fell harder
Sigma: you fell first but he fell harder
Nikolai: he fell first and harder
Fyodor: you fell first and harder
This is my first time requesting something but HEAR ME OUT, "Slow Cuddle-fucking with og Sukuna while he is holding (and caressing) Reader (His wife) tightly and praising her (with him having size(difference) and breeding kink) oneshot please please please PLEASESSS😭
𝐚. 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: NAH CUZ I SEE THE VISION, HOLD ON–
⊹ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: true form! Sukuna x fem! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - size difference - monster-fucking (he got 2 dicks, y'all) - double penetration; anal and vaginal - spooning dp position - breast fondling + nipple play - breeding kink - clitoral play (pinching and swiping) - dacryphilia - pet names ([little]dove, good girl, my wife, woman) - soft! kuna, but not too OOC - mention of drool/spit and tears.
⊹ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.5k
“Stay still, woman…Mmnnn, good girl, nice and easy…”
It’s not a rarity for Sukuna to have his hands on you as you two slept through the night. After all, he is the King of Curses; asking permission to touch his is beneath him. You were made for him to hold – sculpted for his cursed hands to touch – everyone else was far behind or had no standing compared to your demonic husband. And with you both sharing a futon every night, who’s supposed to tell him to keep his hands to himself?
You, his little spouse, knew of this. Marrying the King of Curses was something you never imagined would happen — let alone falling in love with the giant man! You’ve always had dreams of becoming a sweet little partner to someone; for that to be fulfilled by the cursed man who could kill thousands in the blink of an eye is astounding.
And, of course, being a wife entails all the duties accompanying the package. Especially now, as you two lie together on the floor, nude bodies nestled close on the futon above the tatami floor, and your naked figure trembling from the insertion of one of Sukuna’s paired cock. And your heart drops at the second one brushing up against the crevice of your ass when he pushes the one inside your throbbing, velvety channel.
“Mmmph…! Sukuna, no,” you whined, your butt inching away from the second member. “I can’t handle both—“
“Don’t lie; you’ve done it before and did it well,” a hand brings your waist to him. “Or maybe I should just have one of the concubines take care of me, seeing as though my own wife is neglecting their duties.”
He wouldn’t do that; Sukuna’s interest in his insignificant mistresses had long been diminished once he took you up as his bride, practically collecting dust as he hadn’t visited them since you shared a bed with him. Now, he uses them as tools to probe you. And he has to hold back the mischievous snicker when your eyes widen with anxiousness, wrapping your arms around his neck in desperation.
“N–No, please!” You pleaded; it was the only sufficient approach. “I’ll be good to you, I promise!”
The four-eyed curse scoffs. “Then do what you’re supposed to,” Each crimson orb takes in information about your bashful expression, “And attend to your husband like a wife should.”
Further complaints cease at his command, so you quiet down and arch your behind to him submissively. Sukuna takes your initiation with his hungry bottom hand on your ass, squeezing the flesh as you guide his other dick to your lubed asshole. With a hum, he pushes himself and forces you to take his cocks with your bottom, needing a few seconds to breathe when your holes reach the base of his members.
“Good girl,” he says to your ear to make you shudder, and he lifts your leg with the hand that finished groping your asscheek. “Obeying me so well like always…”
He begins to move without a signal, slowly pulling himself in and out of your warm wetness that coats his length with your slick. You can’t help but grip the girth limbs that massage your insides, involuntarily throbbing on them with shaky breaths.
“Mmmaah, ohhhmyG—Mmm!” Speech isn’t easy, even with his upper left hand cupping your cheeks. And your brows furrow as the upper right sneaks to grope a breast. “Faaahh, Suk..una, I’m too full already…”
“Mmm? Is that so?” Sukuna asks with a patronizing tone, licking the helix of your ear to hear you gasp. “But we’ve barely started yet, my wife. Don’t bore me before I can enjoy you yet.”
His hips go at a gradual cadence that has you keening a mess, the sensation of the veins of his cocks felt by the walls of your holes. You howl silently, not wanting to make too much noise.
But that doesn’t fly with your husband, speaking to your ear with that hoarse voice. Almost has you melting as he squishes with your cheeks, “Let it out, princess,” he commands. “I want to hear that voice; don’t you dare hide that from me.”
Fuck, the way you felt on his dicks was so fucking good, having the cursed behemoth burrow his face into the cubby of your neck. Slow kisses on your skin segway to sucks that should mark for later. He could never get enough of how small you were up against him. His giant palm swallowed your tit, your ass bouncing with every thrust, and how damn tight you were as you accommodated the two members making your entrances busy.
Goddamn it, he bites his lip, dialing up the speed of his ruts a bit. Scratching your inner walls has you squeaking louder, unable to stop yourself when he grinds his hips after a sudden grim pound. So warm and snug for him as if you were meant for him. He knew you were meant for him — taking his huge, fat shafts with no objections, just arching your back further so the sensation could be more pleasurable like the loyal, little pet you are. “Hmngh…! Yeah, just like that, little dove; keep clenching around me like that…”
Restraint was gone long ago, letting your voice and shrieks fly out and fill the quiet bedroom. The sound of his skin shaking against your ass, the heat of your cheeks making it hard to think, and the shivers crawling your spine with every graze to your sweet spots. Everything feels like a haze, your brain too clouded to think outside this moment.
And then you sense the hand on your breast let go, slithering down to your unattended clitoris, which has your eyes shoot wide as your demon husband presses down. “—Khhff! Nooo, ‘Kunaa, you mustn’t…!”
He lifts a brow with a grin; you dare question him? “And why shouldn’t I?” He pinches the delicate bud, resulting in a scream sneaking past your lips. “Hmm? Plead for yourself.”
“Becau—Ahhh! Mmmm, I’ll cum. I’m gonna cumm…”
“Then don’t,” Sukuna doesn’t remove his digits playing with your clit, and the hand on your chin pulls your face to look at him. “Cum without my permission, and I’ll make sure to not be so kind next time...” His words carry a warning filling your bones with apprehension, yet his soft lips greet yours and he hums into your mouth. The kiss serves as a distraction from his thick digits gently swiping on the pearl.
The rhythm of his hips, however, increases in speed and prompts more moans to be taken by Sukuna. Drool trickles down your lips, same with tears that welled up earlier from the insertion of his girth inside your ass. Your eyes roll at the jab to your silky walls, breaking the sweet yet passionate kiss to cry out as your husband’s fat balls smack your ass.
“—Ooooo, fuuuck, I can’t,” your eyelids shield your vision, using the rest of your senses to indulge in this euphoric pleasure. “‘Kuna, I’m so close, so—Ooohh!”
“Me too…Ghhh! Shit, me too…” Sukuna presses his hot face to yours when you throw it back, licking the tears off your sweaty skin. You looked so stunning like this, all disheveled and immodest because of him. “Gonna take my load, huh?” He licks the sweat off your shoulder and bites when you don’t respond. “Answer me, Y/n.”
“—Ahhh, yes!”
That’s not enough. “I said,” he pinches your clit again as he gives slow yet rough ruts to your holes. And he can tell by your twitching that you’re doing everything in our power not to come. “Answer me.”
Holy shit, this was borderline torture. “Mmmph! OhhhLord, ‘Kunaaa, I want you to fill me up. Pleasee, pleasepleaseee, I wanna be full; wanna be all ‘round and fat with your child…!”
“Keh, dumb pet; who said I wanted a brat, huh?” He scoffs, yet you can hear the groan as he licks and sucks on your neck while squishing your hot, tear-stricken cheeks. “Fine then; go on and cum with me. So damn needy for my seed…”
Sukuna brings your chin for another steamy kiss, his lower left hand holding yours as his pelvis goes at an irregular pace. Your muffled shrills are taken by feisty lips, teeth clashing with his fangs before sucking on his tongue, and the upper left hand releases your chin to caress your chest once more, tweezing the nipple along with swipes to your clit.
Release gradually creeps up your shaky frame, crying to his mouth when your chasm and anus pucker around the lengths that graze your walls with the tips. Sukuna is not too far behind you, pumping his load into you with a few harsh plunges, making your contracting cunt and rear full of his hot and thick semen. The lower right hand propping your leg up leaves soft kneads on your inner thigh, hoisting it up further so his shafts are deep enough until his pulsing balls meet your ass.
You withdrew from his lips to breathe, your figure quivering through the aftershocks, and your slit and asshole still flutter around his girths. And you mewl when he kisses your cheek and temple.
“Mmm, that’s my princess,” he purrs while placing your leg down to massage your waist. “Such a good dove…”
© 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲2024 – reblogs and comments are appreciated wholeheartedly ✩ dividers by @/benkeibear.
✩ ‧₊˚ ✩ how long does it take to fuck your brother's best friend? (four whole days)
synopsis. suguru comes home to visit from college at the same time you do—except he brings satoru along. this is going to be a long break
word count. 8.5k (i am tired of this tomfoolery)
contents. college! au, brother's best friend! satoru, fem! reader, minors do not interact, three-year age gap (you're both early twenties), slightly mean satoru (when you’re kids), slight enemies to lovers, jealous! satoru, mentions of reader having an ex-bf, male masturbation, satoru is taller + carries reader, cunnilingus, fingering, handjobs, unprotected sex, brief mentions of alcohol (satoru), creampie, pet names (baby + sweetheart), not proofread i could not be bothered i’m sorry
notes. this was not supposed to be this long bye i am embarrassingly down bad for the blue-eyed freak
everyone knows that where there is satoru, there is suguru—and likewise, where there is suguru, there is satoru.
they’re a bit of a packaged deal, really. satoru befriends your brother in what you think must be some twisted stroke of luck—there is no way suguru would lower his standards for some rich bastard who’s had life made for him since the day he was born. but apparently, he does, and you’re stuck with a white-haired nuisance in your house at least once a week. for years.
you’ve known satoru since he was a whiny, snot-faced, and spoiled little brat. back then, he used to call you toothless—you were six, it’s normal for children at the age of six to lose a few teeth. just because satoru is nine and has grown his teeth back doesn’t mean he escaped the toothless phase himself—but satoru is just a jerk like that, pushes your buttons, and calls out your insecurities to get a good laugh.
you don’t smile with your mouth open even once around him that summer, not until suguru assures you that regardless of how many teeth you have, you have a lovely smile.
when you’re twelve, puberty does its thing, and now you’re stuck with acne-prone skin—also a normal occurrence for people your age, but satoru makes sure to point out the giant pimple on your forehead every time he sees you. you make sure to let him know his haircut is as awful as his sense of style, and suguru tries his best not to choke himself with his charger as you both bicker.
satoru is gone that entire summer for a family cruise that you’re sure costs double your house—he comes back frighteningly taller than you remember him within the span of just a few weeks.
it’s been like that since you were kids. he comes over, finds a new thing to pick on through his smug grins and smooth chuckles, and you fume as you bite back with just as snarky rebuttals. he makes sure to never cross the line of going too far—it’s more for suguru’s sake, you’re fairly sure—but stays right on the dot of getting just under your skin.
he’s annoying. a jerk. a rich snob. a privileged dickhead. he’s rude and disrespectful, with no tact, let alone any semblance of respect. you don’t understand what could possibly make suguru want to hang around such a douchebag, but suguru cares about satoru—and satoru has always been there for your brother.
you don’t understand it, but you respect it. as long as he doesn’t wet your entire bathroom sink and mirror in the mornings after he stays over, you suppose you can coexist.
but you haven’t seen him in ages—not outside of suguru’s instagram stories and posts. it’s been a long few years since the two of them have left for college, and by the time you leave too, life has its funny way of working, and, well…you don’t bump into him anymore. it doesn’t occur to you that satoru is not the same guy you used to know until you come back home to visit after your second year of college.
“suguru,” you call, “i borrowed your hoodie. but you can have it back—”
you cut yourself off when you open the door to your brother’s room, and lo and behold, stands a very shirtless gojo satoru, the white-haired and blue-eyed asshole you’ve had to deal with since childhood. except he’s way taller than you remember him—just how much does this guy grow, exactly? his shoulders are broader and….and since when did he have abs? there’s a small tattoo just under his collarbone—when did he even get that? his hair is also longer, just enough to fall over his forehead and curtain those striking blue eyes of his.
he looks…well, handsome. very handsome, in fact. dangerously handsome that it catches you by surprise as you blink.
he’s still shirtless, holding his t-shirt in his hands as he grins.
“hey, toothless,” he greets, voice deeper than the last time you heard it—but it still sounds relatively the same. you think you’d always recognize satoru’s voice, whether you’d like to or not. and, of course, he just has to still use that ridiculous nickname after all these years. “long time no see.”
“i have all my teeth now—i have for a long time, y’know. and put a shirt on, you freak,” you huff, rolling your eyes, “where’s suguru?”
“what, you don’t enjoy the view?” he motions at his bare torso, like the shameless bastard he is, “most girls love this view—”
“and yet, you’re still single,” you cut him off, staring at him pointedly.
he grins impossibly wider, tugging his shirt over his body swiftly—you have to exercise all ounces of control not to gulp as you watch his biceps flex.
“keepin’ track of my love life?” he wiggles his brows, “i know older men can be appealing but have a little class. your poor brother would lose his shit if you went after his best friend—”
“satoru,” you sigh, pinching your nose, “do you age backward or something? how are you still this obnoxious after so long?”
“i practice in the mirror,” he winks, “it’s my charm.”
“that’s hardly charming,” you roll your eyes, “anyway, whenever suguru comes back, let him know i left his hoodie, yeah?”
“sure,” he chuckles.
and then you close the door as you leave—right before you stop, pause, and open it up again as you’re sticking your head back in when you make a shocking realization.
“wait, how long are you here for?” you ask, eyes wide.
he has the audacity to look smug as he taps his chin and pretends to think—“oh, y’know. just the rest of break. my old man took my mom on some trip, so i’m killing time here,” he shrugs.
great. lovely. wonderful. just what you needed.
you wish he’d drop dead—maybe suguru will finally be forced to go outside of his one-man circle and actually befriend some respectable people.
“you can’t just stay at your place?” you hiss, “it’s certainly big enough.”
“well, why be lonely in an empty home when we can have fun here?” he hums, “consider yourself lucky—you get to be housemates with me for a—”
“keep to yourself,” you warn, cutting him off again through narrowed eyes and a dangerous glare—satoru only looks more amused, raising his hands up in surrender.
with that, you turn again and almost shut the door when he calls for you—“hey, toothless,” he says lowly, making you pause before turning to him with a raised brow. he smiles—it’s so unlike that usual smirk of his…somehow this one is a bit gentler as he murmurs, “you look good. grew up well, y’know.”
you blink. you’re not ready for that…didn’t expect a compliment from gojo satoru himself—especially not after all this time of throwing mediocre insults your way.
you decide he must be messing with you, so you purse your lips as you click your teeth in irritation. “yeah, sure,” you say dryly.
you can hear his chuckles as you close the door again—this is going to be a long break.
—————
just as expected, the house is simply not big enough for you and satoru.
the first time you run into him happens to be first thing after waking up—you’re walking up to the door just as he twists the knob and opens it, walking out shirtless. again.
this time, however, he’s got beads of water rolling down his skin from his shower, right between his pecs, as a towel hangs around his shoulders. you can see his tattoo from up close now, a small infinity sign right under his collarbone that contrasts against his pale skin.
how tacky, you think—just as you’d expect, even his choice of tattoos is questionable.
his hair is wet—it’s sticking to his forehead instead of the multiple directions it usually scatters around in that messy way it always does. you’ve only felt satoru’s hair once—when you were fifteen, and you’d hit him in the back of the head as you walked past him at the breakfast table. he’d made a jab at your dark circles. tests were around the corner, and unlike satoru, your grades actually mattered. you didn’t expect his hair to be so soft, but it is, and you almost itch to twirl the strands around your fingers for a quick feel.
instead, you scowl and stomp off to your room as soon as your dishes are washed.
his hair is probably just as soft now—maybe even softer now that he actually probably cares to look after it. you’ve heard suguru grumble about using two-in-one shampoo too many times when he comes back from spending the night at satoru’s. for a second, your fingers twitch to reach up and brush through a few strands on his forehead—just to feel them because they look soft. nothing else.
the urge is quickly killed as soon as he opens his mouth, however.
“oh, hey there, roomie,” he grins, “you’re really doing all you can to catch me half naked, huh?”
“don’t flatter yourself,” you grumble.
“i’m just sayin’,” he chuckles, “that’s twice now. if you ask nicely, i might walk around like this just for you.”
it’s way too early for this.
by early, it’s actually late noon. now that finals aren’t killing your free time, you stay up until ungodly hours to catch up with your social life—and it doesn’t help that you can hear satoru and suguru stay up playing video games the next room over, either. suguru is probably still sleeping.
that’s a bit of a shocker, in fact—usually, it’s satoru that has to be dragged out of your brother’s room to have breakfast (or brunch, really) before the kitchen is cleared up. why satoru is up first is beyond you.
maybe it’s just a cruel way for the universe to enjoy watching more of your veins pop.
“does that apply to asking you to leave? because then i suppose i can ask rather politely.”
he grins, eyes sparkling with amusement as he shoots you that smile with those pearly whites that irritate you to no end. you’re not sure why, but something about his smile looks so much different nowadays—something about it just seems so….mature.
that’s a word you didn’t think you’d ever use to describe satoru.
“mm, not quite,” he hums, “you’re still stuck with me.”
“whatever,” you mutter, rolling your eyes. “move, i want to shower before suguru wakes up.”
“you have time,” he steps to the side, letting you enter the bathroom, “he’s probably not waking up anytime soon—woah.”
satoru’s shirt is on the floor—why, you may ask? because he’s an annoying idiot who doesn’t have to clean up after himself when people have always been around to do it for him. he never has to care to aim and toss his clothes into the hamper because the maids will pick up after him anyway. old habits die hard, you suppose—you’ve listened to suguru complain about satoru’s messiness not improving even after being his roommate for the last few years. it’s never been your problem, but you don’t appreciate it now that you’re slipping over the fabric on the tiled floor, falling backwards with a squeal.
but satoru’s quick—he catches you with those strong arms of his and wraps them tightly around you, keeping you securely in place as he steadies you against his chest.
his bare chest, in fact.
you can feel the slight dampness seeping into your shirt, and you can feel his hot breath on your neck as he exhales in relief once he makes sure you’re safe. you almost shiver—almost, but you manage to scrape together enough self-control to stay painfully still in his grasp.
“you okay?” he murmurs gently, voice a low whisper against your skin. there’s no bite to his words. no amusement or teasing or even smugness. it’s genuine, the way he checks on you.
this is…new. very, very new.
“yeah,” you breathe, letting out a sharp breath. and then—“maybe keep your clothes in the fucking hamper next time, though.”
“sorry,” the smile in his voice is almost audible—you can’t see it from where you are, but you can hear it in his voice. you roll your eyes, and satoru makes no move to loosen his arms around you. for some reason, you don’t move.
you’re not sure why, but you just don’t.
“you’re still just as messy, huh?” you roll your eyes—he laughs, and it’s a smooth, boyish chuckle that almost makes you wonder for a moment if this is why girls seem to love satoru so much despite his god-awful personality.
it’s a pretty beautiful sound—you hate that you have to admit that to yourself.
“yeah,” he admits, “it drives suguru nuts.”
“yeah, i can’t imagine why,” you snort. it’s like that for a moment—satoru’s muscled arms around you and hard chest pressed against your back. finally, you clear your throat. “you can let go now, you know.”
“right,” he mumbles, slowly pulling away—and when you turn to face him….is that disappointment? on his face? you don’t get a chance to be sure because then he’s bending down to pick up his shirt before he’s standing—he’s already wiped the expression from his features completely by then. “sorry about that, toothless. i’ll keep my shirts off the floor next time.”
“that would be so kind of you,” you smile sarcastically.
and then you shut the door in his face and exhale as you lean against the wall.
this is going to be a longer break than you thought.
—————
the next time you run into him, it’s late at night. everyone is asleep—even your brother and his headache of a best friend, if the silence tells you anything. you can’t sleep, though, so you make your way to the kitchen to hunt for snacks. you’re skimming through the pantry before your eyes land on a surprise—a box of strawberry pocky sits nice and enticingly, right there for you to open and devour.
you grin, reaching over when—
“those are mine,” satoru calls, stepping into the kitchen, “brought them over myself. you should ask before touching people’s things.”
“you literally ate my leftovers the other night,” you say incredulously.
“those were yours? i thought they were suguru’s.” he raises a brow in surprise, making you click your teeth in irritation.
“the principle of asking still applies,” you purse your lips. and then defiantly, you open the box and grab a pack right before his eyes.
he scowls—but you know he doesn’t actually mind because he waits for you to finish grabbing yours before taking the box and grabbing his own pack and a coke from the fridge. you both take a seat at the kitchen table, across from each other, as you open the packaging and silently eat your newfound snack.
it’s satoru who breaks the silence first.
“do you still throw away the ends of these?”
you huff indignantly, not meeting his eyes as you take a bite off the strawberry-covered end, stopping at just where the cookie portion is uncoated. “yes. i’m eating these for the coating—not the bland biscuit part.”
“what’re you, five?” he snickers, earning a glare from you. defiantly, you pop the end of the pocky stick into your mouth just to prove a point—and then the look of distaste makes him cackle louder.
“shut up,” you hiss, “you talk too much.”
“the ladies love it when i do,” he bats his lashes—you stare at him blankly, unimpressed.
“yeah, as if.”
“hey, my ex-girlfriend totally did,” he defends.
ex-girlfriend? that’s a bit of a shocker—you didn’t know satoru dated anyone in the last few years, you haven’t seen or heard anything of it through suguru’s end. in all realness, you didn’t even think satoru was the boyfriend type…but then again, he’s not really the anything type. he just kind of exists to take up space and be the bane of your existence.
“i hope the poor girl is recovering well after dating you,” you shake your head, feigning a concerned look on your face that makes him roll his eyes—they’re still disturbingly bright even in the dark kitchen, dimly lit by the slightest bit of moonlight pouring in through the small window.
“i dated her freshman and sophomore year,” he says casually. you also didn’t expect that—that it lasted that long. something about satoru doesn’t strike you as the long-term relationship kind of guy. something about him doesn’t seem like the relationship kind of guy at all. not because he’s the type to mess around casually, but because he seems the type to seem disinterested all around—he’s snobby like that. “she was…alright, i guess.”
yeah. very snobby.
“you are such a sick bastard,” you spit.
he snorts, taking a bite of his pocky as he shakes his head in amusement. you’re as feisty as ever—it’s always fun riling you up, even if unintentionally.
“hey, it’s not like she was bad. she was just…well, she wasn’t interested in me like that either,” he shrugs, “i think it was just the sex. it was good, can’t lie there.”
“you’re so gross,” you roll your eyes, “have some decorum.”
“what, you’re still sixteen?” he raises a brow, lips curling into a smirk as he reaches for another pocky, “can’t say the word s-e-x?”
“i don’t broadcast my sexual activities out in the open,” you shrug.
satoru chuckles, taking a bite that more or less finishes the entire stick in one go before he presses a finger to his lips, “shh. don’t say that too loud—suguru will come chase you from his room if he hears.”
“suguru,” you groan, “he’s such a pain to have around sometimes. y’know i dated this one guy last year. i think suguru might’ve paid him to dump me.”
“i know. he definitely thought about it,” satoru hums, “he used to go off about it all the time. he was right, though—that guy was a total prick.”
something about you is mildly shocked that satoru knows about your private life—sure, it’s not outrageous or even the slightest bit unlikely that suguru mentions you. satoru and suguru are best friends, and you happen to be suguru’s sister—of course, suguru is bound to mention you here and there. it’s just the fact that satoru even pays attention to anything to do with you that surprises you—although you suppose it would be a good way for him to find his next source to push your buttons.
“i’m not surprised you think he’s a prick,” you nod, “it takes one to know one, after all.”
“oh yeah?” he snorts, waving you off, “i do, in fact remember anniversaries, y’know.”
“okay,” you sigh, defeated—your ex-boyfriend is admittedly not at the top of the list of your brightest choices. not even up halfway on the list. in fact, he’s so low on the list of good choices you’ve made, that willingly choosing to interact with satoru feels like an exceptional decision in comparison. and that’s saying something. “he was pretty bad. but he was really hot. when a guy looks like that, his values are the least of my worries.”
it’s a joke—you’re sure he knows that. but satoru takes a long sip from his coke, silent for a moment. you don’t think you’ve ever seen him so serious, especially so suddenly.
“he can’t be that hot,” he mutters.
“oh he was really hot. probably the hottest guy i’ve ever talked to—” satoru bites his pocky a bit aggressively at that, “and he was so tall. maybe taller than you—how tall are you again? anyway, he was pretty enough to overlook his shortcomings.”
“he’s probably not taller than me,” he grumbles, frowning. you snort—men and their fragile little egos, you think in amusement.
“he was,” you tease, “he was so tall, i’d let him do whatever he wanted.”
“that’s a terrible way to look at it,” he scrunches his brows, “you shouldn’t let some guy walk all over you because he’s tall and his face is a bit easy on the eyes—”
“i know you’re not talking—”
“i’m serious,” he cuts you off. something about him reminds you of suguru for a moment—like he cares who you’re with because he has a reason to. as if you mean something to him, as if knowing someone who doesn’t deserve you has you in their palms is upsetting.
but then you shake the thought out of your head—satoru doesn’t care. he’s never had a reason to, and you don’t exactly plan to give him one, either.
“okay, dad,” you roll your eyes, “i learned my lesson. i have standards now.”
“good,” he nods—and then, as if to keep himself in character, he adds, “because i don’t want to help suguru kill someone, and it’s over something lame like forgetting his little sister’s anniversary. i’d like to go to jail for something more badass.”
“you and badass don’t belong in the same sentence,” you raise a brow. “let’s be realistic.”
“oh yeah? that’s rich coming from—”
“guys, it is five in the morning,” suguru grumbles, throwing a water bottle at satoru’s head. you glance at the kitchen entrance, eyeing a half-asleep and very irritable suguru as he crosses his arms, “can’t you idiots fight over who’s more of a loser at reasonable hours? some of us like to sleep.”
“want one?” you offer your pack of pocky, holding it out to him.
suguru blinks, contemplating for a second before sighing and trudging over.
“yeah,” he mutters, flicking your forehead. “gimme that.”
you watch woefully as suguru takes the entirety of your pack, swiftly sitting next to satoru and leaving you empty-handed. satoru snickers obnoxiously at the deflated look on your face—and then he holds out his pack to you.
you look between him and the pack for a moment before giving him a genuine smile. it’s a rare sight—he drinks it in as you carefully take one and bicker over something with suguru.
you’re pretty when you smile, he thinks—pretty enough that if you had horrible values (which you don’t), he might feel inclined to understand your (awful) reasoning for a moment.
and then he blinks and shakes the thoughts out of his head—it’s going to be a long break.
—————
satoru meets you when you’re six.
he’s nine at the time, and he feels on top of the world knowing he’s three whole years older than you—in hindsight, three years is not a very large gap, but to nine-year-old him, it feels like centuries. he’s remembered you as the fun little drama queen that’s too easy to poke fun at for years—that’s all you’ve always been: suguru’s younger sister who puffs her cheeks out and scowls way too often to be normal, the girl that’s way too easy to tease than should be standard.
somehow, he wasn’t expecting for you to come back so grown…and so hot. suddenly, it really hits him that you’re not a kid—have not really been for a long time now. he’s always treated you like you’re way younger than he is, way too little to be in his presence and be worthy of it—but you’ve really become a fine young woman.
a magnetizing one, in fact.
it’s now his third night at your house—your parents are as lovely and welcoming as ever, and suguru is always a good time to be around. but somehow, satoru is not satisfied. not anywhere near sated by the few, minimal moments of contact with you.
when did you get so pretty? although, as much as satoru has always liked to poke fun at you, you’ve never been ugly. not even a little—but you’ve grown into your features better, outgrown the awkward teenage era of your life, and now present yourself with a newfound confidence that just looks…so good. satoru doesn’t see his best friend's kid sister anymore—no, there’s something so alluring about you now.
the nail on the coffin that solidifies he’s officially screwed is when you mention your ex-boyfriend—why would your dating life make him this irrationally angry? why is the thought of someone being on the receiving end of your praise (and shameless heart-eyes) so aggravating for him?
he doesn’t know—but what he does know is that the raging boner has been killing him all morning ever since he woke up from…well, less than proper dreams about you.
so now he’s here, forehead pressed against your shower wall as the hot water hits his back, swollen cock in his fist as he thumbs at the tip, teasing the slit just the way he likes. he thinks about you—how he’d show you what makes him feel good, how you’d probably learn fast and take care of him just the way he needs.
your hand would look so much daintier compared to his—smaller, but he’s sure it would still feel infinitely better.
he bites his lip, fighting back a moan as he strokes himself slowly, pre cum smeared along the length of his hard, aching cock—red and angry at the tip, leaking with more pre cum no matter how many times his thumb collects every drop.
“f-fuck—” he breathes, and his voice lets out a shaky, breathy little call of your name—he’s screwed if anyone hears it. he’s sure you and suguru will both band together to kill him, but thankfully, the words are lost in the sound of the shower running. “fuck baby,” he says hoarsely, voice cracking ever so slightly as he whines.
it’s soft and quiet, the noises he makes—careful and deliberately hushed to make sure no one hears the improper way he’s thinking of you right now. but fuck, your tits are so pretty when you walk out of your room in a t-shirt in the mornings—he can just tell you’re not wearing a bra. he can’t stop thinking about it, can’t stop trying to picture what they’d look like uncovered and bouncing.
“jus’ like that, baby,” he pants, whimpering softly as he squeezes around his tip, teasing himself with that slow, painful pace of his.
satoru is sure that if it were you, that if the hand stroking his cock right now was yours, you would never let him cum so easily—you’d drag it out just like this, pump him slowly and twist your hand around him in a pace that’s painfully not enough before ever thinking about letting him come undone.
it’s just the way that you are—never ready to back down from a challenge, unwilling to go down without a fight. but he loves it, he thinks—lives for the way you keep him on his toes and work for the satisfaction.
“more,” he gasps, “n-need more—gimme more, sweetheart.”
he imagines it—the way you’d kiss his jaw, maybe even the corner of his mouth, as you hum. say please, toru, you’d probably say—and fuck, he’d kill to hear you say toru.
“please,” he rasps, “please, baby. d-don’t tease.”
he can practically hear your light giggles, the sweet, okay, baby. no more teasing, that you might whisper. he’d also kill to hear you call him baby—he’s almost nauseous at the idea that some other guy must’ve heard the pet name from your lips before him. and then he lets himself pump his erection faster, squeezing tighter as his thighs quiver while he stands in the shower.
fuck—you feel so good. you’re not even here, but he’s sure you do, and he’s desperate to envision it. it practically hurts—the way he’s so hard and swollen and ready to release. just for you, he wants to tell you, he’s going to cum all for you.
“baby,” he whimpers, “‘m so, so close—fuck ‘m gonna cum. ‘s for you—gonna cum for you—ngh, sh-shit.”
and then there’s cum on the tile walls, on his hands, on his abs as they flex with every labored breath. satoru cums—hard. his eyes are squeezed shut, lips parted with a silent cry as he pants and strokes himself through his high. you’d kiss him, he likes to think, on his jaw and cheeks and maybe the tip of his nose as you sit on his lap and work him through his orgasm. you’d watch him closely, take in the way he comes undone for you, maybe even call him your pretty boy as he paints your hand white with his seed.
would you praise him? murmur softly into his ear and seal the gentle words with a kiss to his skin? would you stroke his hair from his face as you admire his blissful, fucked out little expression? maybe he’d ask you then—maybe he’d ask you to admit he’s way more handsome than that douchebag you dated as your hand holds his softening cock, sticky with his release.
god, what he wouldn’t do to see your hands coated with his cum—did you do this for your ex? did he look as hot as you claim he was when he came for you? the thought makes him sour—he grits his teeth and clenches his jaw at the idea, panting and catching his breath as he stares down at the mess he’s made.
he should feel bad—this is wrong. so, so wrong—suguru would kill him if he was aware satoru was lusting over his little sister. but it felt so fucking good—he’s never cum as hard as when he’s pictured cumming for you.
it can’t be that wrong, if that’s the case—can it?
——
“suguru,” your voice is shrill, deadly—like you’re out for blood. “next time you jack off in the shower, maybe clean the fucking wall? are you joking?”
“wha—i definitely cleaned that,” suguru defends.
oh, fuck, satoru thinks—he forgot to clean that. so he makes himself very scarce and stays within the confinements of suguru’s bedroom—his messy habits are starting to really catch up to him. if his defense, he really would clean that up…it’s just that he was a bit distracted.
“so you admit you jack off in our shower? our shower?” you sound inconsolable, downright devastated, and borderline hysterical. having siblings seems like a lot of trouble, he thinks—but then again, sometimes satoru is jealous of your bond with suguru. it’d be nice to have someone in his family he can actually depend on. “keep that shit for your bedroom, you jackass!”
“well, how am i supposed to do that when satoru is there? you tell me.”
“i don’t know! figure it the fuck out—you guys probably jack off together anyway.”
“what?” suguru sounds appalled, “we do not—that’s outrageous.”
“whatever,” you say—you sound almost murderous as you warn, “next time you better clean up your fucking mess, you asshole.”
satoru can’t help but smile a little—your pointer finger is definitely held up as you scold suguru—you’re so cute when you’re mad, he thinks. he almost wants to step out and catch a glimpse, but he decides against it for now.
silently, satoru thanks his best friend for taking one for the team—even if it was unknowingly.
—————
it’s night four.
satoru has surprisingly kept to himself—he even promptly looked away after meeting your eyes in the kitchen yesterday morning as you walked in for breakfast. that’s…new. a lot about satoru is new.
he’s taller and more muscular now—at one point, suguru used to tower over his scrawny little form. now he’s seemed to grow into his body, seemed to learn how to style himself better, and actually do his hair a bit. it’s still messy now that he’s just lazing around in your home—but it’s oddly handsome.
scarily handsome, in fact.
you don’t enjoy the idea of thinking about the jerk of your childhood like that—but ever since you felt the hard press of his chest against your back, sometimes you wonder what it’s like to know satoru outside of just your older brother’s obnoxious friend.
maybe, somewhere along the line, had you put your pride aside and actually tried to get to know him, maybe you both could at least be friendly. but then again, there’s never been any real animosity between you two—you can share a lighthearted talk from time to time, like that night in the kitchen.
you decide not to dwell on it too much, decide that he’s not really worth your thoughts when he’s just a guy who’s always been a bit too spoiled to learn how to be humble. instead, you go down to the kitchen to grab another pack of strawberry pocky—satoru will just have to deal with it. if he doesn’t want his snacks eaten, he shouldn’t keep them in the pantry where anyone could stumble across them.
you walk into the kitchen until—oh. it’s satoru. again.
“oh, hey,” he grins cheekily, taking a sip of his coke—he needs to break the habit of having so much sugar this late at night…but then again, why would it matter to you? “stalkin’ me?”
“for an unwelcomed guest, you sure do talk a lot,” you roll your eyes, making his lips curl into a smug little smirk.
“i don’t know—your parents seem to love having me over. what if i become their newest son?”
“i doubt my parents are looking to adopt you,” you raise a brow, slightly amused.
he hums, sipping his coke before blinking at you through those long, perfect lashes of his. “well, there are other ways to blend into a family. marriage, for example, is a great way.”
“you and my brother might as well marry each other,” you snort, “no one else will do it.”
“who said anything about suguru?” he winks, chuckling when your face twists into an exaggerated look of horror—always as dramatic as ever, you are. he can’t help but find an endearing side to it now.
satoru stands, walks over to where you are and stands in front of you as you scoff, shaking your head as you huff out a disbelieving chuckle.
“that’s pushing it,” you muse, “marrying you would be the last open option i’d have left—and even then i doubt i’d ever take it.”
“yeah?” he raises a brow, leaning in so close, you can practically feel his breath fan over you. he smells like expensive cologne and your shampoo—why is he using yours instead of suguru’s? before you can even ask him what he’s doing, he throws away the empty can of coke in the trash can behind you, eyes bright with amusement as your breath hitches.
it’s like he knows—the fucking asshole.
“yeah,” you breathe, “you don’t deserve me,” you try to say matter-of-factly. it comes off a bit more breathless than you intended—the air feels suffocating. maybe because satoru is so close, maybe because his breath is on your face, maybe because all you can smell and feel and hear is him.
you can’t find it in yourself to pull away—why aren’t you pulling away? it’s just like that day he caught you, when his arms wrapped around you and all you felt like doing was lean into his chest. what about satoru and you has shifted so quickly to make you want to do that? what makes him so easy to fall into when all you’ve always known was to shove at him?
he hums, leaning in closer and closer until his forehead touches yours. “you know who didn’t deserve you?” he asks, “that shitty ex of yours.”
you look up at him with wide eyes, speechless as his hands find purchase of your hips, grabbing them and pulling you closer—and against better judgment, your hands lay themselves across his chest. it’s as firm as you remember it.
“how would you know—”
“heard suguru rant about it all the time,” he murmurs, “how he forgot your dates. got you a shitty birthday present. didn’t show up to your anniversary. made you hang out with his friends and didn’t even meet half of yours. you’re tellin’ me he deserves you more than me?”
“he was hot—”
“yeah? and i’m not?”
he’s cocky—you hate that about him. always did. but he’s so close, so intoxicating, so irresistible, and fuck, he is hot—so incredibly hot, you’ve been losing sleep over it the last four nights no matter how hard you try to deny it.
“satoru, what are you—”
“y’know, i’ve been helping suguru pick your birthday presents since you were twelve. i’d pick you the best gifts,” his nose is brushing against yours now, lips just millimeters away from his as he speaks—“and i never forget an important date. i’m very punctual too, believe it or not. i’d meet your little friends—show ‘em what a catch i am when you introduce me.”
“and what am i supposed to do with this information?” you ask defiantly.
it’s a last-ditch effort—you both know this. you know exactly what he wants you to do with this information.
“i don’t know, sweetheart,” he chuckles, “what do you think?”
and then you’re kissing him—because fuck, satoru is right there, and how could you not? his chest is under your palms, his lips are right against yours, and you can feel his thumb rub circles into your hips.
so you kiss him—loop your arms around his neck and tug him closer and press your lips to his. he groans, responds almost instantly as his mouth molds against yours, kissing you deeper as his hand moves to cup your cheek.
your lips are softer than he thought, and his hair is silky against your fingers. you tug at the strands, grab a handful, and feel them against your fingers like you’ve wanted to for so long. and when he nips at your bottom lip, who are you to deny him? your lips part, letting his tongue slide in and taste you with a breathy sigh that makes your knees wobble.
“s-satoru,” you stutter, whispering between kisses, “suguru might come in like last time—”
“god,” he groans, head burying into your neck, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses against the skin, “don’t fucking talk about your brother right now. please.”
“my room,” you say urgently—it’s all he needs to hear before his hands are on your ass, grabbing you as you wrap your legs around his hips. it’s urgent, the way his mouth is back on yours—he doesn’t pull away even once the entire walk to your room, not even when he lets your back fall onto the mattress as he hovers over you, pressing kisses along your collarbone.
no bra, he notes happily, his hand sneaking under your shirt to toy with your pert nipples.
“god, you’ve been driving me fuckin’ crazy,” he mumbles, tugging the hem of your shirt over your arms and tossing it over his shoulder. he stares, takes in the sight of the same tits he’s been fantasizing over for the last few days in awe. “you know that? been thinkin’ about these for days,” he says lowly, cupping your tit and massaging as he presses a kiss to your jaw.
“you’re shameless,” you mutter, snorting before you cut yourself off with a gasp as he squeezes your nipple, pinching and rolling it between his fingers and pulling a soft whine from you.
“shhh,” he chuckles, tilting his head toward the wall next to you, “don’t want suguru to hear, do you? that wouldn’t be nice, would it?”
“it’ll be worse for you than me,” you grin, tugging at the hem of his own shirt, indicating you want it off. he grins widely, wiggling his brows and making you purse your lips.
“wanna see me shirtless again, huh? third times the charm, as they say,” he winks. you would retort with something as witty, but then your eyes fall on that tattoo again—right under his collarbone, making your hand reach out to trace it with your thumb.
“what compelled you to get this corny little tattoo of yours,” you grin, giggling as you trace over the small infinity sign.
for the first time, you think you witness satoru shy, blushing as he rubs the back of his neck and chuckles awkwardly. “that…that was an accident. when i got drunk for the first time.”
“oh,” you snort, “you’re so weak, satoru—”
“do me a favor, sweetheart,” he hums, cutting you off, “as much as i love when you say my name, say toru for me, yeah? i wanna hear it.”
you roll your eyes, huffing as your hand finds the back of his head and pulls him into another kiss, moaning into his mouth as he grinds the throbbing erection in his sweats over your heated core.
“toru,” you say breathlessly, “more.”
that’s all he needs to hear—satoru doesn’t waste a second before he’s crawling between your legs, sliding your cute little pajama pants down your legs before meeting your dripping pussy.
it’s wet—so wet, he almost wants to chuckle and tease you a bit. just for old-time's sake. but the ache that shoots down to his cock reminds him that he’s in no position to tease you when he’s not faring any better himself. so he spreads your legs, kisses lightly at your clit in a feather-like touch that has you whimpering and clutching the sheets in anticipation.
“how pretty,” he mumbles, “been hiding this pretty little thing all this time. what a perfect pussy.”
“satoru,” you gasp in embarrassment, hands reaching for his hair and tugging him closer to where you need him most—equal parts because you really need his mouth on your cunt and equal parts because you really need him to shut up.
but he chuckles, takes his time to spread your folds open with his thumbs, and watches in wonder as you flutter around nothing, arousal dripping and leaving a mess. it’s perfect—you’re perfect, and he wants to take his time with you.
“god, you’re soaked,” he groans, chuckling as he murmurs, “that’s fuckin’ cute.”
before you can even whine at the way his words are shameless, his mouth is back to kissing your clit, lips wrapping around it as he sucks and rolls his tongue along the sensitive bud. his fingers sink deep into you, pushing past your folds and slowly bullying into you until the tips of his fingers curl and brush against a spot that makes you squeal.
you gasp a breathy, “fuck, toru—” before he hums around your clit, vibrations making you whimper as he thrusts his fingers back in to hit that spot again. it’s sensitive, the way he makes you feel—your nerves are on fire, and your head is light, and fuck, it feels so good you can’t help but sob brokenly and squeeze your thighs around his head. he moans against your cunt, pulling his fingers out before letting his tongue lick a stripe along your slit, tasting you with a sharp inhale.
“f-feels good,” you whimper, biting your lip as your eyes crinkle at the corners from squeezing shut.
“yeah?” he hums, kissing your inner thigh, leaving a wet little sheen of his spit and your arousal on the skin, “that’s a good girl—just keep telling me how good i make you feel, kay?”
he could stay buried nose-deep into your pussy for as long as you let him—tongue alternating between fucking into you and rolling over your swollen clit, hearing the broken little gasps and whines of his name as you repeat toru over and over again like a prayer. his hand grips at your thigh, sinking his fingertips into the plush skin and rubbing soothingly with his thumb as you rut your hips and grind against his face.
satoru has half a mind to watch it again—to lick and suck at your core again and again just so he could burn into his mind what you look like when you cum. it’s divine—like he’s halfway to stepping into heaven and has to pause just to admire the sight before him.
your hips leave the mattress as your back arches, and your fingers tug relentlessly at his roots as your walls quiver, letting satoru taste every drop of your release as you press a palm to your hand and try to keep yourself from squealing at the pleasure.
suguru is right next door. you can’t wake him—can’t let him know this is what you and his best friend get up to in the late hours of the night.
it’s not until satoru pulls away, catching his breath as he wipes the wet trail on his chin does he realize how hard he is—how badly he’s aching as his cock strains against his sweats. he hisses as he frees himself; ridding his sweats and boxers and wrapping a large hand around the tip of his erection and smearing the leaking pre cum along his length.
you watch in awe, reaching over and replacing his hand with yours. satoru was right—your hand is infinitely smaller than his, and yet, it feels a great deal better. so much better, in fact, that his arms shake as he hovers over you, burying his head into your neck and groaning as you slowly stroke him, squeezing at the tip and rolling your thumb through the slit.
he didn’t even have to show you what he wanted, what makes him feel good, what makes his mind fog with pleasure and burn through every nerve. no, you figure it all out on your own, pulling strangled moans and hushed gasps from him that make your clit ache once more.
“fuck, baby,” he pants, “can’t last long like this—c’mon, g-gotta feel you.” gently, he pries your hand from his thick, pulsing cock, laying it against your stomach as he peers down in fascination. “i’ll be right here,” he hums, drawing a line on your skin right where his tip ends, “see that? that’s where you’ll feel me, sweetheart.”
“then let me feel you,” you murmur, cupping his cheeks and brushing a thumb over the skin, “fuck me, toru—wan’ it so bad.”
so he does—drags his tip along your folds and collects the slick pooling at your entrance before pushing his tip past your folds, splitting you in half as he slowly buries himself to the hilt. his jaw is clenched, breath labored as he waits for you to adjust, lets you kiss his cheeks and nose as you murmur how handsome he is, how perfect he feels, how good is to you.
“that asshole ever make you cum?” he asks lowly, “he ever eat your pussy like that? make you cum hard enough you had to cover your mouth so you’re not screaming his name?”
“no,” you breathe, quivering as his thumb rolls over your clit in slow circles, still painfully still as he stares down at you, “n-no, never. just you—only you—”
“good,” he grins, “that’s what i like to hear. and when i make you cum on my cock, make sure to tell me he’s never done that either, yeah?”
“you’re full of it,” you scoff, “always have been.”
“and you’re full of me,” he says cheekily, chuckling as you glare half-heartedly. “can i move, baby? please? need more, ‘s not enough. n-need more—”
“yeah,” you whimper, pulling him closer, chests brushing against each other as your lips meet in a sloppy kiss, “yeah—need more too, toru.”
satoru, in all his years of knowing you, has never seen the side of you that could be this gentle. the side that glides your hands over his back, feeling every flex and every pull of his muscles, gently caressing the skin like it’s holy, like it’s not worthy of marks—instead to be worshipped and revered with thoughtful touches. your lips sear into every part of him they can find—his lips, his forehead, his nose, his hair as his face digs into your neck. even your voice is a gentle whisper of his name, so soft and careful, it’s like saying it wrong could break him.
your hips buck up in tandem with his, meeting his rhythm as he slams into you, his balls slapping against your skin as he buries his cock into you as deep as it’ll go with every harsh thrust. you can feel his tip kissing against that sweet spot in the back of your walls, your abused cunt sucking him in and hugging around him as he groans.
the friction feels sickening, like he’ll pass out any second, like he’s floating between the precipice of pleasure and the edge of consciousness.
you do that to him—he doesn’t know how or when or why, but you make him feel like he doesn’t have a grip on his own senses. he doesn’t mind it so much, he thinks—doesn’t hate the idea of letting himself fall into your palm and wrap around him. it feels nicer that way, like it’s where he belongs.
“fuck, ‘s so tight,” he rasps, whining into your neck as your hand cups the back of his head, holding him in place. his hips are rutting into you sloppily now, barely maintaining the rhythm from before as he nears his high—but that doesn't stop him from angling into you perfectly, slamming into your sensitive spot every time without fail. “c-cum—’m gonna cum. cum with me, sweetheart.”
“‘m so close, toru,” you sob—and then, just as his thumb finds your clit again, rubbing harsh, desperate little circles to get you over the edge, you cum again—harder than the last time, spasming around his cock and pulling him in as you squeeze around him. “t-toru,” you gasp brokenly, “fuck, ‘s good—so good.”
“baby,” he moans lowly, “fuck, you’re so perfect. prettiest thing ever—prettiest pussy ever. i, sh-shit—” your orgasm quickly has him falling into his own, hot, thick ropes of cum spilling into you with every twitch of his cock, sweet little noises pulled from his throat that he sings into your neck, fucking his load into you.
it’s messy, the way cum spills out of you and coats his cock—but it’s perfect and feels so, so right. you can’t help but think how perfectly satoru fits against you as his body slumps on top of yours, panting and spent as he cages you in his arms.
your hand doesn’t leave his hair—now that you know how it feels, you don’t think you can stop threading your fingers through it, ever.
“wow, toothless,” he chuckles after a bit, “you’re seriously obsessed with me, huh? i mean, how long have you been nursing this crush on me, hmm? thinking about your brother’s best friend, you naughty little thing—”
“satoru, would you shut that mouth for once,” you hiss, rolling your eyes—still, there’s an affectionate grin on your lips this time as he chuckles into your skin.
“oh baby, i’m afraid this mouth never shuts, so you should get used—”
suddenly, you both freeze as you hear suguru’s voice through the door. “you two better not be fucking doing what i think you’re doing,” he growls, making your jaw drop and satoru’s eyes widen.
fuck—that was never supposed to happen. suguru was never supposed to hear, let alone know.
“hey,” satoru starts, “if suguru kicks me out of our place, i can come be your new permanent housemate, right?”
do not comment about a part 2
yeah he can come live with me any time and as long as he pays by sucking my tiddies i shall provide all food and utilities and everything
TR MEN WHO HOLD YOU UP WHEN YOUR LEGS GROW WEAK
CHARACTERS: MIKEY, DRAKEN, IZANA, RAN, SANZU
PAIRINGS: ALL X FEM!READER (FEM TERMS)
WARNINGS: UNPROTECTED VAGINAL SEX, COWGIRL, REVERSE COWGIRL, STANDING SEX, SEX OVER A SINK, CREAMPIES, SIMULATENOUS ORGASMS
𓇬 𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐉𝐈𝐑𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐎
You're unable to even breathe properly. The wrecking force of Mikey's hips plow into your sorry cunt with each inkling of lust that coarses throughout his body. Slamming his cockhead into the fleshy bulb of your cervix, you start to feel your knees buckle. Mikey's got you spread out for him in a variation of reverse cowgirl. Your feet planted to the cushions of the sofa and your legs parted to the ends of the earth. Mikey nestles his head in the crook of your sweaty neck, complimentary moans slipping from his soft lips and going in one ear and out the other. You can't help but crash forwards, nearly flailing on the floor before Mikey wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you back into his embrace. "I got you, sweet girl." Resuming your position, you continue to bounce up and down on Mikey's cock. Your ass slams against his base and you douse his balls in your slick. Mikey's nearly about to burst, thrusting his hips with one final push and emptying his load deep into your cunt as you milk him to completion.
𓇬 𝐊𝐄𝐍 𝐑𝐘𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐉𝐈
Draken fucks you in a similar manner, though he ensures that you're facing him. Riding Draken on your knees, you're spread out for him in all of your glory. Watching you eagerly, Draken maneuvers his cock in and out of you excitedly. "This is fun, baby. Havin' ya cum on my cock over and over again." You've just about obtained your third orgasm of the night, and the shock of such a wicked climax causes you to crash forward onto Draken. Your boyfriend's quick to catch you as you fall, biceps flexing as his forearms come up. "Pretty little thing, riding me so good she almost lost her composure." Draken laughs, urging you to continue riding him. You plant your feet to the mattress, palms flush against Draken's chest as your ass claps against his heavy balls. A moaning, blissed out Draken thrusts his hips upward to meet your deranged ones. His urge to cum inside of you is strong, and before he knows it, he's milking his own cock with the friction of your tight, wet walls. Followed by a generous load of seed that coats your slit as he pulls out.
𓇬 𝐈𝐙𝐀𝐍𝐀 𝐊𝐔𝐑𝐎𝐊𝐀𝐖𝐀
Izana has your leg hoisted over the counter of the kitchen sink, rutting his strong hips into your ass. "Take it, baby. Take it." Mutters Izana, both of his hands grabbing at your sides as your head lightly nudges against the mirror, causing it to shake. Your legs begin to tremble, your vision failing you as Izana pushes his hips forward, his chest flush against your exhausted back and his entire weight positioned against you. "So, so deep. Izana!" You cry, feeling the head of his cock slam into your needy cervix and plow into the globe of flesh easily and relentlessly. Izana's a man of power. He's quite frankly the dominant one in your relationship, and will at any cost do what it takes to break you. "Izana... I can't." You feel your legs turn to mere mush, your jelly-like limbs supported by Izana's embrace alone. "You can, and you fuckin will," he delivers a smack to your asscheeks. "I've got you, princess. My babygirl." Izana repositions your ankle that was previously dangling from the edge of the sink. "Want me to cum?" It's almost as if there's a hint of demand in his voice. You nod excitedly, and Izana spurts a tremendous load inside of your weeping cunt. So deep that when he withdraws, you have to stall a couple moments before the creampie takes it course dribbling out of you.
𓇬 𝐑𝐀𝐍 𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐈
Ran's a force of nature. Plowing into your tight cunt from behind in your standing position, hands placed around your hips. "Got me a nice, obedient little whore." Ran bites his lip between his teeth, licking his lips at the sight of your gorgeous body being wracked back and forth against his own. Ran stills momentarily, catching a glimpse of your hand trailing down to your clit. "It's my turn." Ran snatches your wrist away, and instead places his nimble fingers over your sensitive bundle of nerves. "Ah! Ah... Ran, baby." You whine as you endure the assault of your boyfriend's fingers. "Yeah, yeah. Like that, babygirl? Like having your little clit played with, angel?" You're completely enamored with bliss. Eventually, your legs give out, and Ran's cock slips out much to his demise as your body writhes upon the floor. "Baby, what'd I do? Fuck ya too hard?" Ran aids you in standing up, repositioning you as quickly as possible. His desperation to cum was in the forefront of his brain, and as soon as he felt the noticeable twinge in his balls, he released his seed, painting your walls with the milky fluid. "I know how much you needed that, princess." He places a darling kiss on your neck.
𓇬 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐔𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐘𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐙𝐔
Sanzu's not one to play games. When he's in the mood to fuck, you'd better prepare you cunt for a harsh pounding. Sanzu's strong arms lift you up, legs on either side of him as his cock recklessly slips inside of you, bottoming out immediately. "Fuck!" Sanzu gasps, the feeling of your wet walls no longer a distant memory in his mind. You're right there, he's here. There's nothing more the man could ask for. His body does not tire quickly. Each thrust is another impetus for his impending orgasm. Sanzu can feel the way your legs tremble and shake within his grasp. Embracing you, his hips pound forward into your awaiting hole as slick drips down both your thighs and his. "Such a darling cunt, and it's all mine. Mine!" He angles his hips in order to pound straight into that fleshy cervix of yours. Stationing his hands tightly around your hips and digging crescents into the soft skin. "Sanzu! Cumming..." You cry. "Cummin' too, princess. Fuck..." Sanzu elicits, body writhing as he feels your legs wrap around his waist in desperation. "Your cunt feels too fuckin' good for me not to spill my fuckin' load." His raunchy choice of words spur you on, and you're clenching hard around Sanzu's cock as he slams his hips in tangent. With a disdained wail, he unloads ribbons of seed into your soft walls, filling up your cunt with hot and sticky ropes that are sure to stain the heated flesh once he's withdrawn.
𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐤𝐞!!
pairings: dice’s dream 6-some x fem!reader (atsumu x iwaizumi x fem!reader x matsukawa x ushijima x tendou); no m! x m! interactions, only m! x f! interactions; afab!reader, she/her pronouns
synopsis: tendou brings the boys back together to celebrate your birthday. you thought you had seen the extent of satori’s playful antics, but this one takes the cake— literally. a sequel to three holes, two hands.
warnings: EXPLICIT CONTENT. 18+ MINORS DNI. 6-some/gangbang (but everything is consensual); mentions of food (a cake in specific, but no actual eating occurs); some bondage with rope (atsumu’s part); consensual nude photo taking; cum (lots and lots of cum!); thigh fucking; titty fucking; face/throat fucking; unprotected sex; pull-out method; creampie; cum swallowing; mild impact play (a few ass and tit slaps); overstimulation; mild degradation; lots of praise; please lmk if there’s anything that i missed! (there’s a lot going on in this fic!)
word count: 7.1k words
notes: a postponed installation for my birth month event! you can read this as a stand-alone but i recommend checking out the prequel to this, which is linked above. happy birthday to the sweetest boy ever and the love of my life, satori tendou <3 reblogs are super appreciated!
All you really wanted for your birthday was a custom box of chocolates from your husband’s shop, a bouquet of baby pink roses from the local florist, and a back massage that maybe leads to something more.
But after opening your front door and hearing the scuffling coming from further inside your house, you know that your husband has more plans for your birthday— a lot more, judging by the amount of shoes neatly lined against your wall that belong to unknown owners.
“Shh! I think I just heard the front door open! She’s home; everyone be quiet!”
Satori’s hushed whispers echo off the walls of the foyer of your shared home. After taking off your shoes and placing them on the rack, you follow the sound of your husband’s voice through the hallway, turn the corner to enter your dining room, and find a sight that you hadn’t seen in six months.
Keep reading
Best Friend’s Brother
Sanemi x Fem! Reader + Genya
Warnings: Mentions of eating & Food
NSFW Warnings: manipulation, rough sex, cunnilingus, blow jobs, unprotected sex, picture and video taking, breeding kink, multiple orgasms, slapping, tit fucking, shower sex, no preparation, cream pies, ‘face painting’, sending nudes without consent
A/N: I enjoyed writing this one a lot lol. I’m also happy that it’s one of my longer works! Also the way the paragraphs get progressively longer is killing me LMAOO
Word count: 12.3k
“I’m talking to you!” Genya was beginning to lose his patience with you. Your nose was practically pressed to the glass of his window as you watched his big brother work out in the backyard. “Go ahead, ‘m listening.” He rolled his eyes, watching the way your breath fogged the glass.
“No the fuck you aren’t!” He tossed a pillow at you, trying not to laugh as you let out a yelp of surprise. Your face nearly knocked into the glass, “C’mon Genya!” You wailed in frustration as you turned to face him. “Don’t c’mon me! I invited you over to hang out and you’re fucking drooling over my big brother! That’s! Gross!”
“Okay okay! Fine I’m sorry. Tell me what you were saying, I’ll listen this time.” You threw yourself down on Genya’s bed, head tilting back to look at him. He looked away for a second, slightly embarrassed that he had made such a big ordeal over your attention. “What movie do you want to watch, that’s what I was asking you.”
“A movie? It’s such a nice day Genya! Why don’t we go swimming or something? Maybe even invite over Tanjiro and the others.” Genya sighed, eyes trailing over to the sunny summer day that was sitting beyond his bedroom walls. “You know ‘Nemi can’t stand them, hell he barely tolerates you.” You made a noise of shock, as if it was news that Shinazugawa Sanemi couldn’t stand people.
“Oh give it a break. You just want to go swimming so you can drool over him at a close distance.” Genya was by no means oblivious to your crush, he even tried to crack jokes about it despite it making him wildly uncomfortable. “So not true Genya! I’m already wearing a swimsuit, I figured you invited me over to use the pool!”
“You know what, fine. Let’s go swimming.” You leapt off the bed, cheering as he stood. “I’ll wait for you in the kitchen!” With that you disappeared from his room, leaving the younger Shinazugawa brother to try and calm his racing heart. Maybe moving in with his big brother wasn’t the brightest idea when he had a friend like you.
You on the other hand couldn’t be more pleased with his choice. You were slightly heartbroken when you learned the eldest of the Shinazugawa children had bought his own home — albeit very impressed. A few months later he offered Genya to move in with him so he could be closer to campus. That opened up the world of opportunity for you to admire the man from a distance.
Though, the man never really paid you any mind. You were luckier than the others though, he actually somewhat tolerated your nearly constant presence in his home. You peaked through the glass doors that lead to the backyard. Even at your distance you could see the sweat making his skin glisten. “Fuck…” you were shamelessly swooning.
“You ready?” You jumped, turning to see Genya in swim trunks and white shirt. Two towels slung over his shoulder and sunscreen on the other hand. “Yeah!” You pulled at the door handle, sliding the door open and stepping into the hot day. “Yuck.” Your skin was already beginning to feel sticky from the heat. “You wanted to go outside instead of staying in the air conditioning.”
“Oh shush it will be fine when we get in the water.” You began the walk across the large yard towards the in ground pool, you still couldn’t get over the sheer luxury this house held. You glanced over at Sanemi, he was only about twenty feet from the pool’s edge. Headphones sat on his head, the music so loud you could hear it from here.
“Stop it.” Once again you stiffened as Genya called you out. “Genya!” You hissed, head whipping to look at him. “Don’t prove me right by coming out here.” A smile was tugging at his lips anyways. “Fine, fine!” You couldn’t help but begin to laugh as well, eyes lingering only a second longer as the man continued his push-ups.
Genya got himself comfortable on one of the lounge chairs, dropping both towels onto the other. “Aren’t you going to get in?” You’re reaching for the sunscreen, applying some to your face. “I will when I get hot enough, I’m sure that water is still freezing despite the temperature out here.” You shrugged, handing him the bottle once more so you could begin undressing.
You went for your shirt first, tugging it upwards. As your arms raise, Genya finds himself turning red. He didn’t think the bathing suit you were talking about would be that revealing. A simple bikini, two triangles covering your breasts. He swallowed thickly, forcing himself to look away as you got the shirt off. Unknown to him, that caught Sanemi’s attention.
Eyes flicking upwards towards the pool at the sight of your arms raising. He observed for only a moment, looking away before you or Genya caught his smirk. “You sure look hot enough now Gen, you’re all red.” You were absolutely oblivious, undoing the button on your jean shorts. “Yeah maybe you’re right…” he nearly lost his mind as you pulled your shorts off.
Genya wasn’t one to show off skin, unlike his brother. So it actually surprised you a bit when the shirt was being pulled over his head as he made a running leap into the pool. That fully caught Sanemi’s attention now, laughter bubbling out of him at the sight. “What the hell!” You were shocked, shorts pooled at your feet as Genya resurfaced.
“I-I was hot.” He was pushing his hair back, relieved the water wasn’t as cold as he feared. “The fuck was that Genya?” You nearly jumped out of your skin as Sanemi’s voice reached you. Your head turned, swallowing thickly as you took him in. He was standing,headphones around his neck, music blaring loud and clear. You wondered how he wasn’t deaf.
You blinked, beads of sweat were slowly dripping down his torso, nothing but a pair of basketball shorts clung to his hips. His chest was heaving slightly, scars littering his skin. That was the most unique thing about both Shinazugawa brothers. A childhood accident left them covered in scars, especially along their faces.
Genya’s scar stretched from his ear all the way to a little after his nose. Sanemi on the other hand had four distinct scars on his face. Three reside on his forehead, the other stretched from his ear to past his nose similar to Genya’s. Sanemi continued to do reckless things with his life, leaving even more scars along his body. You overheard him once saying he was proud of them.
“Like I said, I was hot!” He called back, face turning red again as he caught sight of your fully exposed legs and barely covered ass. “What the fuck is that bathing suit, y/n?” He didn’t intend to ask the question out loud, but it was really just a couple of strings. “Oh! Do you not like it?” You twirled around, head looking downwards as you tried to get an idea of how you looked.
“It-it looks fine! J-just get in the pool!” What he really wanted to say was that you looked fucking sinful, not an ounce of your body left for the Imagination. But that’s not really a best friend thing to say. “I think I’ll run and jump like you did.” You took a few steps back, laughing at the horror passing over his features. “Ready?” Clearly he wasn’t but he couldn’t get the words out fast enough.
Two seconds later you were cannonballing into the pool, spraying him with water. You surfaced again a second later, regretting getting your hair wet just a bit. “It’s not even cold!” You turned to him, laughing as he pushed his hair out of his face for a second time. “Yeah, it’s not.” You began splashing the water around, legs kicking for a moment before you settled on your back.
You felt fully relaxed, body floating easily against the water’s surface. Genya on the other hand was beginning to feel suffocated, water clung and glistened all of your dips and curves. “Fucking help me someone…” he muttered under his breath, thankful your ears were below the water. Your eyes opened a second later when a shadow hovered over you.
You nearly sank as you made direct eye contact with Sanemi. As you straightened, you realized Genya was talking to him. “Are you going to stand there or join us?” Sanemi seemed to be disgusted by the idea for a moment. “I’d have to walk all the way inside to change, at that point I may as well just shower and be done with it.” You blinked, eyes zeroing in on his shorts.
“You’re wearing mesh shorts, that’s nearly the same as swim trunks.” You kicked your way back to the shallow end, somehow floating until you were way over your head. “I’m not wearing underwear though.” You swear in that moment you nearly drowned. “That’s not the sort of thing you should say out loud.” Genya’s nose scrunched at his brother.
“Oh fuck off.” He stretched, muscles flexing and you swear you could explode. He had no right being able to walk around dripping sex appeal like that — in his own home of all places. “Are you going to stand there all day?” Genya tried again, shifting eyes between you and Sanemi. You were doing your best to act unaffected, starting to float again in the shallow end.
Instead of answering, Sanemi took a few steps forward before diving straight in. The waves rocking you made you straighten again, eyes flying wide as the basketball shorts he was wearing floating to the top. “No fucking way.” Genya’s eyes were as wide as yours, laughter bubbled in your chest as you realized what had just happened. Sanemi was completely naked in the pool.
“Are you…serious…” Sanemi emerged a moment later, slicking his hair back. “Would ya look at that…” he moved to grab the shorts, dragging them under the water to step back into them. “Too bad you’re both in here, skinny dipping feels pretty good after working out.” You felt your cheeks get hot, praying it would pass as the sun getting to you.
“Like I said, keep those thoughts to yourself, Aniki.” Genya was trying to keep his composure, all the while he was mentally cursing you for wanting to leave his room. “Oh give me a break, you two are the ones that convinced me to get in.” You didn’t know what came over you, but you decided to send a huge splash of water in his direction. He looked shocked for a moment, Genya was slightly prettified.
After a second of silence, he drew his arm back and pushed it forward. Water hit you just as hard, which caused you to do it back. “A splash fight?! Really?!” Genya tried to shield himself as you and Sanemi engaged in a full on battle. Ten minutes later you were out of breath, yelling that you surrender. “Lame!” Sanemi scoffed, a rare smile on his face as he decided to float on his back.
“You two are like little kids.” Genya was sitting on the pool's edge now, it was a futile attempt to keep himself from getting drowned above the water. But your splashes had soaked him over and over nonetheless. “And you are a party pooper.” You stuck your tongue out at him, swimming over to softly splash at his legs. “Do you mind if I stay over for the weekend? I don’t have classes till Monday and I’m sure Kanao wouldn't mind some alone time with Tanjiro.”
“Yeah that’s fine, knowing you, you already packed clothes.” You smiled, pushing yourself back out towards the middle of the shallow end. “I did, even though I have a whole drawer dedicated to my clothes in your room.” You and Genya were close, so close people were shocked you weren’t dating. That caught Sanemi’s interest, his eyebrow quirked a little but he said nothing.
“I think I’m going to dry off, I’m hungry.” You waited until Sanemi’s attention was on the two of you before pulling yourself up and out of the pool. You were fully bent over as you used your leg to hoist yourself onto the pavement. That position alone gave the white haired man a full view of your bikini hiked up your ass. This time, he really couldn’t react. Genya was staring him dead in the eye, as if daring him to say something.
He kept his mouth shut, lips pursed into a thin line. That was the thing Genya never once told you about. Sanemi knew you liked him, knew you wanted him. Unlike Genya, Sanemi wasn’t afraid to do something about it. A conversation the two had only a week prior was still haunting his thoughts.
“So that girl, you sleeping with her?” Genya nearly choked on his soda, losing control of his car on the video game they were playing. “Y/n? No, she's my best friend.” Sanemi scoffed, side eyeing his brother. “Are you just fucking with me?” Genya quickly regained control, eyes narrowing as he focused. “No, I’m not fucking with you.”
“You’re telling me you are best friends with a girl that looks like that? And you haven’t made a single move? What, does she have a partner? Is she gay?” Sanemi couldn’t seem to believe they weren’t anything more. “No, she doesn’t have a partner. And to be honest I never felt the need to ask her about her sexuality.” He jumped as he nearly crashed.
“So I can make a move on her then?” That time Genya did crashed. “Excuse me?!” Sanemi was laughing now, easily winning the race due to Genya’s fatal mistake. “You heard me, Genya. I want her, does that bother you?” Genya set the controller down, turning to glare at Sanemi. “Yeah actually, it does.”
“Oh? So you do like her.” Sanemi set his controller down as well, facing Genya completely. “I never said that… she’s my best friend, Nemi. That would make shit awkward if you went and broke her heart.” Sanemi’s face morphed into one of interest. “You think I just want to fuck her and be done with it?”
“That’s what you do to every fucking girl you sleep with! You have no regard for their feelings! You’re not doing that to her.” Genya turned more to face his brother, this had to be some kind of joke. “So if I told you I wanted to pursue a relationship with her.” Genya groaned, hands coming up to rub his face. “No!”
“Then do something about your feelings for her. If you don’t, I will.” Genya froze, eyes widening as his hands dropped to his thighs. “You’re serious?” Sanemi smiled, one that held no warmth in it. Genya couldn’t believe he was actually being serious. There was no way, what was even worse is Genya knew of your little crush on his brother.
“I wouldn’t dare?” A harsh laugh followed. “I see the way she looks at me Genya. If I asked her to strip naked and spread her legs for me, she’d do it without hesitating and you know it.” His heart sunk, Sanemi knew? Genya knew you weren’t exactly subtle with your interest, but he at least thought Sanemi was clueless to it.
“Shut up.” He was getting fed up with this conversation. “Do something about her, Genya. Or I promise you I’m making a move the first chance I get.” He clicked start on a new game, leaving Genya to scramble for his controller and think over what he said.
“Gen, your phone is ringing.” You were laid out against one of the loungers, the sun was beginning to descend at this point. Sanemi on the other hand was starting to push himself out of the pool. Those same basketball shorts slipped dangerously low and you had to suppress a groan. Genya scolded you as he got closer, a sheepish smile appearing on your lips.
“It’s Zenitsu.” Genya picked up the call with a ‘what’s up?’ You decided to lean back, try and soak up the last of the sun before it disappeared for the day. Sanemi on the other hand was sprawled out on his stomach, eyes closed as he tried to take in the last of the sun as well. As if it was taunting you, you could see his tan lines peeking above the waistband of his shorts.
“What the fuck?!” Your head turned to look at a very distraught Genya, only one of Sanemi’s eyes peaked open. “What’s wrong?” You sat up slightly, “that fucking sucks. I’ll be there in like twenty minutes.” You sighed, clearly something went wrong. Genya clicked the phone off and groaned, hands coming up to rub his face. “That doesn’t sound fun.”
“You know the model Zenitsu, Tanjiro and I had to make for our engineering class?” You nodded, it took them weeks to finish. “Well apparently the classroom we were told to put them in got vandalized. Our project was among the casualties.” You gasped, feeling his pain all of a sudden. Genya often ended up crashing in Tanjiro and Zenitsu’s dorm room, too tired to drive home.
“So now we have to fix it. It's due Monday and the professor isn’t extending the deadline.” He was standing now, grabbing his towel. “We can leave in a few minutes.” He started walking and you blinked, “we?”. He froze, turning to look at you. “Aren't you going to come with me?” You gave him a slightly embarrassed grin. “I have to shower and all that. I’d rather not see campus again till Monday.”
Genya wanted to scream, instead he forced a smile on his face. “I guess you’re right. You can just use my bathroom to shower. Hopefully this won't take all night.” You smiled, oblivious to the fake calmness he was giving you. “Sounds good, if you aren’t too tired when you get back, we can watch a movie.” You grabbed your towel, walking past Genya who was staring at Sanemi.
Once you disappeared into the house, he spoke. “Don’t you fucking lay a finger on her, Aniki.” Sanemi barely acknowledged him, eyes shut still. “If she tries to make a move on me, Genya, I’m not stopping her.” Genya wanted to explode, part of him was tempted to call Zenitsu back and say he didn’t feel good. Naturally that wouldn’t work.
“Is there a reason you even want her? Is it because I want her?” He nearly slapped his hand over his mouth in horror. Sanemi on the other hand began to laugh, eyes opened as he turned himself over. “So you finally admit it! Proud of you little bro!” His voice was dripping with sarcasm. “Shut up! Don't do anything to her.” He knew this was hopeless. “Why can’t I do anything to a girl I want?”
Genya blinked at him, teeth clenching before he spoke. “Because I want her!” A shit eating grin appeared on Sanemi’s face, Genya continued. “Why the fuck do you even want her so bad!? Is it really because I want her?” Genya was turning a deeper shade of pink with each word, he couldn’t believe he was admitting this out loud.
“There is nothing more thrilling than wanting someone you hypothetically can’t have, Genya. If anything, it makes you want them even more.”
He has a sinking feeling, the moment he left this house, it would never be the same. And there was quite frankly nothing he could do about it. You and Sanemi were your own people after all, what say did he really have in the matter? He took a deep breath, you had said you were hungry. With any luck you were probably sitting in the kitchen this whole time watching him.
He stared at Sanemi for only a moment longer before turning to actually walk away this time. Sanemi knew there was more that he wanted to say, but chose not too. He waited until Genya had disappeared inside the house before laughing. “Sorry Gen, but this opportunity is just to fucking good to pass up.” He settled back on the lounge chair, he’d wait till Genya left and make his move.
“You look upset.” Just as Genya suspected, you were sitting in the kitchen, helping yourself to their fridge. “I’m just annoyed, that’s all.” He smiled as shut the fridge, pizza from your lunch earlier in your hand. “It sucks, but you guys work well together. Hopefully the damage isn’t too time consuming to repair. If you need extra hands just call me.” You took a bite, wondering why Genya was looking at you funny.
You swallowed, “Gen, you look like you just got the news that you’re being shipped out to war. Are you sure nothing is wrong?” You took another bite, staring at him while you chewed. Under your gaze he nearly crumbled. “I’m just annoyed about this, that’s all.” He hoped you’d fall for the lie, he watched your throat bob as you swallowed again.
“It’s fucking annoying, I get that. But the quicker you leave the quicker you’ll be done. Go change!” He held back a groan, that wasn’t exactly the answer he wanted. You on the other hand had goosebumps trailing over your body, it seems the air conditioning was finally getting to you. All you wanted now was a warm shower, get the chlorine off your skin and hair. “Are the towels still in that cabinet?”
He nodded, before walking down the hall towards the staircase. “Yeah, everything is still in that cabinet. I only have men’s body wash though. You can check the guest room though, one of Sanemi’s flings may have left stuff there.” You rolled your eyes, Genya’s feet could be heard walking up the steps. “Okay.” You called back, taking a deep breath to try and cool your nerves.
You’d be in Sanemi’s home without Genya present only once before now, and you two didn’t even see each other for that brief thirty minutes. Now thought? You could be sharing his home for three hours or more. The possibilities were endless…but also unrealistic. It was a Thursday night after all, Sanemi probably had work in the morning. You shook your head, finishing your pizza slice as the back door slid open.
“Genya leave?” You jumped slightly, this was actually your first time alone in his presence. “N-no. He’s upstairs changing.” You mentally cursed yourself for the stutter, fidgeting slightly. “Oh, alright.” You deflated a little as he walked away, disappearing down the hall and up the stairs towards his own bedroom. “This is going to be so boring…” you mumbled as you leaned against the counter, resting your chin in your palm.
After what felt like an eternity, Genya made his way back down the stairs. “It’s all yours, be good.” He grabbed his keys off the counter, sliding them in his hoodie pocket. “Be good?” You raised an eyebrow, straightening to cross your arms in defense. “Yes, I’m leaving you alone with my brother. Be fucking good.” He was trying to seem intimidating like Sanemi, but he was falling a little flat.
“Oh yeah, cause tonight is going to be like one of those pornos. He’ll wait till you're gone, wait till I’m in the shower and catch me by surprise.” You rolled your eyes, giving him an ‘are you serious?’ kind of look. “Knowing Sanemi, you never fucking know. If he’s bored or horny enough, anyone will do.” Ouch. Your eyebrows raised, mouth parting slightly. “Shit I didn’t mean it like that…”
“Oh? Cause it sure sounded like you did. Whatever Genya.” You stormed past him, feelings clearly hurt. “That’s not what I—fuck.” You were already flying up the stairs, leaving him alone with his own guilt. The phone buzzing in his back pocket was a reminder that he couldn’t stay. So, even though he didn’t want to, he made his way to the front door and out of the house. Dread filling him as he unlocked his car.
You on the other hand we’re standing in Genya’s bathroom, staring at yourself in the mirror. “He’s just stressed.” You couldn’t get your lower lip to stop wobbling. Rolling your eyes at your own sensitivity. “Maybe I’ll just take a nap.” The sun had worn you out, but you couldn’t do anything until you showered. Just as you turned to reach for the curtain you flinched.
“That’s right, he only has men’s stuff…” you would have to go check the guest room shower for some women’s products. You held your breath as you made your way out of his room and down the hall towards Sanemi’s. The guest room was just across from his. You were sneaking now, not even sure why but just afraid of being caught. As you reached for the door handle, movement caught your attention.
Sanemi’s door was opened just a bit, enough that you could see inside. You nearly squealed as you realized he had nothing more than a towel wrapped around his waist. It seems he was about to shower as well. You snapped yourself out of it, head flying back around to push the door open. You began to feel a throb between your legs, suddenly too excited for your own good.
You shook your head, walking into the bathroom of the guest room. “Jack pot!” You laughed softly as women’s shampoo and body wash sat half full on the counter. “I wonder what happened that they’d just leave their shit behind.” You grabbed the two bottles, turning to leave the room and nearly dropping them as a surprised scream left your lips. “What the fuck?!” Sanemi was standing in the doorway with his arms folded, shamelessly taking in your bikini clad body.
“That was cute.” He seemed unaffected by your clear shock, a smirk growing on his lips as his eyes moved up to your chest. “Really skimpy bathing suit you chose…did you wear it just for me?” No way, you were only joking when you said those things to Genya. Were they really about to happen? “Excuse me?” Your voice was steadier than it was in the kitchen ten minutes prior. “You heard me. I want to know if you wore this just for me…”
His hand reached out slightly but he stopped himself, eyes finally meeting yours. “No, I didn’t.” A lie, of course, but you weren’t going to give in that easily. Even though the butterflies in your stomach were telling you to. “I find that hard to believe.” He moved a little closer, only a foot of space separated the two of you now. You took a small step back, bumping into the bathroom countertop.
“Trying to run? That’s surprising…” he closed the little distance you had made. “What are you saying…” you clung to the bottles of soap, as if they’d somehow protect you. “Cut the shit, sweetheart. I know you want me. And you may or may not believe it, but I want you too. All these little stunts you pulled worked wonders.” He inches closer and your heart rate picks up.
“W-what are you…” the stutter again, your cheeks got hot. “I’m giving you what you want. Since my little brother is too dense to make a move, I’ll do something about it.” You blinked, clutching the bottles tighter…what did Genya have to do with this? “You’ll do something about it?” He was less than six inches away from you now.
“Sure am, I’m sure you don’t mind.” Five inches away at least, your chest was heaving out of pure shock. “I…I don’t…” he knew he got you, only four inches left, your hands were beginning to shake. “See? You don’t mind at all…I’ll take good care of you.” You 're leaning slightly, the countertop biting into your lower back. “Genya isn’t home, he won’t be home for hours. That means I have you all to myself.”
You held your breath as he closed the distance, two hands planting firmly on the cool countertop. He was leaning down slightly so he was level with you, eyes boring into your own. “So, what will it be?” You blinked at him, throat feeling impossibly dry. “H-huh…?” He smiled, forehead nearly touching yours. “What will it be? What do you want me to do… if you don’t want to do anything, I won’t force you.”
You blinked, weighing your options for only a moment before deciding. Instead of answering verbally, you leaned forward and pressed your lips to his. You were shocked to hear a noise of surprise leave his lips, but as quickly as he made the noise, he recovered. He pulled away, forehead pressing to yours. After a second he smiled, one that seemed genuine.
His lips pressed to yours again, this time they were more needy. His hands pressed to the counter shifted to your waist. Both coming to you with the strings of your bikini bottom. When his chest bumped the cool plastic of the soap bottles he began to laugh. “Put these down…” his words were muffled against your lips. His hands pulled away from your bottoms reluctantly to try and pry the bottles away from you.
You let them go slowly, unsure of what to do with your hands once they were empty. For all the fantasizing you had done about this moment, you suddenly felt helpless. As the bottles were placed on the counter, his lips returned to yours. This time he didn’t hold back, teeth sinking into your bottom lip. Your lips parted, Sanemi’s tongue slipping right in. Shakily, your hands came to rest on his shoulders, all the while he began tugging at your bottoms again.
You flinched slightly as he pushed you further into the countertop. Long fingers coming to squeeze the flesh of your hips before easily lifting you. You gasped as your nearly bare bottom hit the cool stone of the counter. “Better?” His words were muffled against your lips, his whole body straightening now that you were technically the same height.
You mumbled some sort of response, nerves making you too tense to actually relax into the kiss. Sanemi could sense your anxiety, hands running up your thighs to your hips and back again. His lips pulled away from yours reluctantly, instead trailing them along your cheek to just below your ear. He sucked on the skin softly, tongue lapping at the skin once he was satisfied with the bruise that was forming.
“We won’t get anywhere…” he sucked harshly, your pulse going a mile a minute under his lips “if you don’t relax a bit…” though he guessed a cold bathroom while you were already shivering probably wasn’t the best place to start this. Due to his words, you forced yourself to relax a little, arms wrapping around his neck and keeping him close. Luckily for you, he was warm, radiating it at that.
He snaked his arms up your body, both circling to your back and tugging at the string holding your top together. Nimble fingers undid the knot you had tightened, pulling the damp material off your body. You couldn’t help but shake slightly, not only was your chest exposed to Sanemi, but to the air conditioning as well. It was no surprise when your nipples were already hard. Arousal mixed with the cold making them feel almost painful.
“Cute…” he barely pulled away from your skin, white hair brushing your face as he looked down at your chest. His hands came back around, one taking the flimsy top with it to toss to the floor. The other cupped your breast, massaging the flesh. A shaky moan left your lips, eyes fluttering shut as you relaxed into his touch. Your whole body leaned into him without you realizing. “Such a good girl, you’re getting the hang of it.”
You felt your arousal start to pool in your gut at his praise. Sanemi noticed the way you were squirming, a smug smile creeping up his face. “You like that? You like being praised.” You could have combusted on the spot, arms tightening ever so slightly as if he’d just stop and walk away from you. “Use your words.” His hands trailed up your sides before taking a breast in each hand. “If you don’t start speaking up, I’ll never know what to do.” You rolled your eyes, “oh please of course you—oh…”
He cut you off completely as his lips suctioned to the column of your neck. Sucking so harshly you actually jumped a bit. “Y-you…you know what I want…” you felt breathless, eyes squeezing shut for a moment as he rolled your nipple between his thumb and pointer finger. “Do I?” He pulled away with a smile, a bruise was already forming on your skin. He moved a little lower, repeating the same steps. “Oh don’t play dumb. You’re a heartbreaker…” you decided to keep the other part to yourself, now certainly wasn’t the time for cheesy jokes.
“I’m a heartbreaker? You’ve been listening to Genya too much.” He tugged on your nipple, a yelp leaving you as his lips traveled lower. “I’m h-hear often enough to know when you have girls over…” your head fell back, his lips were nearing your chest. “Oh? So you know what you’re in for?” He looked up at you, disappointment filling you as his lips never made it to your chest. “I…I wouldn’t go that far.” You tried to maintain the level of composure you had when his eyes weren’t locked on your face.
“Oh? So you haven’t heard them screaming for me?” You noticed him begin to shift his towel, swallowing thickly as you waited for it to drop. “Oh c’mon now, Genya would turn the TV on full blast to drown anything out.” You're a bit surprised that Sanemi thought you and his younger brother just sat around listening to him blow some random girl’s back out. “Is that so?” He seemed genuinely amused by that revelation. “It is.”
“How cute, Genya is such a pussy.” You blinked, certainly not expecting the conversation to take a turn. Better yet, you didn’t think you’d be having an actual conversation right now. “Instead of playing twenty questions, why don’t we get a move on. I’d like to see what you do to make girls scream so loudly.” You tried to get off the counter but Sanemi’s hands were right back on your waist, keeping you down. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“You’re doing a lot of talking and not enough touching. I think I can give myself a better time by taking a shower.” You didn’t know how you made it through that without cracking, you just wanted to make the man before you absolutely feral. “Oh? You think you're cheeky don’t you? Am I not moving fast enough for you, princess?” Instead of returning to your chest, his hands pulled at the waistband of your bottoms. “I’m trying to be nice, not treat you like a whore.”
He used his free hand to shove them down your bottoms, earning a harsh gasp in response. “But if you want to be treated like one, I’ll fucking treat you like one.” He used his free hand to push you back, head nearly hitting the mirror behind you. This new position gave him better access, two fingers slipping between your folds and circling your clit. “How’s that? Hmm? Better for you?” His words were cold, fingers moving at a dizzying speed.
“Y—yeah…” your head hit the wall, eyes shutting as Sanemi’s finger sent waves of pleasure through you. “Oh? So you wanted to be treated like a stupid slut since the beginning. Probably should have known, especially with the way you were trying to seduce me. Even with Genya watching, how shameful.” He dipped lower, ghosting across your entrance and collecting the arousal on his fingertips. You hands tightened on the counter, one gripping its edge while the other tried to find stability on the smooth sink.
His fingers moved back up, circling your clit with even more fervor than before, a slick squelching noise now accompanying it. “Listen to that, nothing more than a needy bitch in heat.” You groaned, hating his choice of words. Nonetheless you didn’t stop him, allowing him to pull one of the strings keeping the bottoms together. At the sight of your partially exposed flesh he only moved quicker. Fingers abandoning your clit to pull apart the other strings on the opposite side. “You know what? Stand up.” He was dragging you off the countertop before you could even respond.
“What are you…” your bottoms were fully pulled off, discarded off to the side with your top. You were fully bare now, Sanemi’s eyes trailed over your frame, a smirk creeping up his lips. “Turn around.” Once again Sanemi gave you no time to actually respond, hands gripping your waist firmly and turning you to face the counter. You didn’t expect his hand to come up and grip your cheeks as hard as he did, but he forced your face to remain trained on the mirror. A smile creeping up his face before saying “this would be such a cute picture to send to Genya.”
The other hand that was on your waist moved up to squeeze your breast, the smile never faltering as you whined for him. “It’s a damn waste that neither of us have our phones right now. Really this would be cute.” His cheek pressed to the top of your head, after a second of looking over your reflection you realized his towel was slowly but surely slipping off his hips. “We’ll save that for another time.” You yelped as he pressed forward, you could clearly feel his cock through the towel.
“Let’s get a move on before you start running your mouth again.” He smiled at you one last time in the mirror before pressing you forward, not stopping until your breasts were squished against the countertop. You heard rustling behind you, face turning hot as you realised he had dropped to his knees. Sanemi’s breath was ghosting over your fully exposed cunt, two hands coming up to massage the flesh of your ass. “I mean really, I’ve been doing nothing but wasting both our time for the sake of working you up. As if you needed to be…”
You held your breath, waiting to feel his tongue against you. Instead you got a soft kiss pressed to the back of your thigh, then another and another…you could have burst into tears. This wasn’t exactly how you expected this to go. “Sanemi! Fucking come on!” You slammed your hand flat against the counter, forehead pressing into the mirror. “Taking it too far I see…” there was laughter in his voice, laughter that was so infuriating you could scream. Yet before you could open your mouth a second time, his tongue delved between your folds.
“Oh…” you relaxed, only encouraging Sanemi to continue. You whimpered as his hands tightened their grip on your ass, effectively keeping you in place. It seems he was finally calming down a bit with the teasing. Sanemi’s tongue remained focused on your clit, lapping hungrily at the sensitive bud. His nose - surprisingly - was adding to the stimulation due to the angle you were at. “S-Sanemi…” you whined, eyes shutting as you focused on the feeling of his tongue against your pulsing cunt.
For a second it hit you — Sanemi, your best friend’s big brother, had you bent over a bathroom counter while he ate you out. Your best friend’s big brother was fucking eating you out. For some reason that had you gasping, pleasure only intensifying as that realization echoed in your mind. This was really happening. His tongue only moved faster, lips suctioning around your cunt as he began to suck. The feeling made your jolt a little, moans tumbling from your lips as you finally began to feel your orgasm building up. “C-close” your voice was strained, knuckles turning white as you grasped the edge of the counter.
Sanemi’s tongue only worked harder, your legs started to feel like jelly despite most of your weight resting on the counter. He continued to suck, tongue flicking your clit in a rhythm that had tears threatening to well in your eyes. You clenched around nothing, breath hitching in your throat as you finally fell over the edge. As you came, Sanemi pulled away. Leaving you to twitch and clench around nothing as your orgasm fizzled into nothing. It wasn’t even satisfying. “W-what the fuck!” You straighten a little, turning to look at Sanemi on his knees behind you.
“You really think mouthing off to me was going to get you what you wanted?” His lips and chin were glistening with your arousal, he stood, towel falling off as he stood. Your annoyance faded as his cock came into full view, he was massive, at least by your standards. Maybe eight or nine inches in length, but he was girthy, so much so you questioned if it would actually fit. He certainly had something to be proud of, the smug smirk on his face only fueled your certainty. “Oh? You want it don’t you?” You nodded without an ounce of shame, you wanted to do absolutely everything to it and you wanted him to do absolutely everything with it.
Something about that nod gave Sanemi new motivation, you just looked so innocent all of a sudden. You yelped as his arms snaked around your waist, pulling you off the counter and straight to his chest. “I’m certainly not done yet, but I’d rather not continue this in the guest bathroom.” You nodded, you assumed he was implying to move this to his bedroom. Instead he reached forward and grabbed the two soap bottles you had originally come for. “Hold these.” You did as you were told, not expecting him to turn you around to face him once you did.
He said nothing, instead crouching down slightly to hook his arms under your ass and lift you. “S-Sanemi?!” You were suddenly over his shoulder, face staring at his back with both soap bottles still clutched in your arms. “Don’t worry, there for later.” He backed out of the doorway before turning. Luckily for you he thought ahead as to not smack your skull into something. You figured it would be a short walk, the pulsing between your legs becoming more persistent with each step he took. However, he made his way past his bedroom, going further down the hall.
You couldn’t imagine where he was taking you until he passed through the doorway. You landed on a plush bed a second later, blinking up at him only to gasp. “G-Genya‘d room?!” You used your hands to push yourself up, of all places…he wanted to fuck you in Genya’s bed. “What sort of sadistic shit are you into?!” He was still silent, smiling down at you with that same cocky grin. One that sent a chill down your spine as your needs only grew stronger. After a moment, Sanemi’s eyes left yours, noticing your phone on the nightstand. “Perfect.” His words had a drawl to them, one that made you swallow and squeeze your thighs shut.
“What are you…” you couldn’t even finish your sentence, your phone was in his hand and after a second you heard the familiar click of your camera. Your hands shot up to cover your breasts, a shocked expression settling on your features. “Oh don’t be so shy, it’s your phone after all.” He had a point, but you didn’t budge. “They’re just gifts for Genya.” He clicked again as you gasped, “you wouldn’t!” You leaned forward completely, looking up at him through your lashes as he groaned. “Just like that, I think Genya would love this angle.” He chuckled as you reached for your phone, not even realising how close you had come to his erection.
As your eyes lowered, another picture snapped. A second later your phone was tossed by the pillows, Sanemi’s hands cupped your cheeks to pull your face closer to his as he bent down. His kiss was far more hungry than the previous ones were, slowly pushing you back against the mattress as he crawled on top of you. The warmth of his body made you forget all about the goosebumps that were running across your skin, arms wrapped around his neck and pulling him flush against you. You let out a shaky moan when his cock pressed against your abdomen. As badly as you wanted him, you still were hesitant to know if he’d even fit.
“I’m sure Genya has lube somewhere.” He spoke against your lips, making you wonder how he had read your mind. “He’d know…” you whined as he pulled away just enough for you to catch your breath. “He’d know? What do you not want him to know?” He was being sarcastic, “do you want him to know?” You blinked up at him, watching him shift his weight so he was on his knees. Your waist was caged between his muscular thighs. “You think I’m going to hide? It’s my home, my choice. Genya was too much of a coward to do shit about it.” Your eyes trailed lower once more, his cock looked irritated now, the tip oozing with precum.
“Open your mouth.” A million thoughts ran through your mind as you did as he said. What didn’t cross your mind, however, was him spitting in your mouth. Yet again you drew another laugh from Sanemi as you jumped, swallowing before he even asked you too. “Good girl, especially when your mouth is occupied.” He seemed conflicted for a moment, as if he couldn’t decide what he wanted to do first. “Squeeze your tits together.” Obedient as ever, you did it with no hesitation. “Shit, yeah I think I’ll go with this option first.” You blinked, Sanemi’s hand pushed on your forehead so your head was laying flat, hands still squeezing your breasts together.
“Spread them.” You kept your grip tight and spread them like he asked. It still caught you by surprise when he spit, coating your sternum in the slick substance. “Squeeze them together again.” A lazy grin appeared on his face as you looked at him, eyes wide with anticipation for what he’d do next. Truly he didn’t understand how Genya lasted so long. He finally stopped neglecting his cock, spitting for a third time in his hand before wrapping it around his tip.
“I think you’ll look cute in white.” You whined, watching him toy with himself until his cheeks turned red all the way to the tips of his ears. After what felt like an eternity, he positioned himself between your breasts, pushing forward slowly. “Oh…” a gasp left him, one that made your clit pulse with arousal. He was absolutely shameless, eyes focusing on his cock thrusting in and out between your breasts. The tip coming dangerously close to your mouth as you had lifted your head to watch him. “I’ve been…ha….waiting to try this… with the right person…” his head fell forward, thighs twitching as a majority of his weight rested on them.
“But honestly… none of them excited me…” his thrusts were steady now, moaning as you stuck your tongue out to ghost his head each time he thrusted forward. “You though? Fuck. You have endless possibilities.” The compliment drew a whiny moan from your lips, only fueling Sanemi to move quicker. “You really are something else…shit… I couldn’t believe my fucking eyes when he brought you home.” His cheeks were flushed, eyes lidded and lips shiny with his own saliva. He looked ready to burst, eyes trained on yours to gauge your every reaction.
“I was amazed that someone like you found any sort of interest in my little brother…ha…” he stopped talking, falling forward so both hands rested on either side of your head. His thrusts were sloppier, he was close. That realization caused praises to leave your lips, he must be more sensitive because of the pent up lust. “Come on…cum for me Sanemi…” you squeezed your breasts together just a little tighter, earning a groan in response. “You’re close…I can tell…cum for me please. I want it so bad.” You drew out your words, voice deepening slightly to a more sultry tone. “Shit.” His hips stuttered and your eyes closed instinctively, white ropes painting your face as he came.
Only a little landed on your tongue and lips, as if he purposely meant to cover your cheeks in white. “D-don’t touch anything…” your hands froze halfway to your face, aiming to wipe your eyes. After a second you heard the familiar clicks of your phone’s camera. “Really…” you began to laugh, after a moment Sanemi said you could move. You wiped your eyes as Sanemi shifted his weight off of you. Unknown to you he was searching for his contact, sending himself every picture he had taken so far. “Good to know…” he said it more so to himself, pleased that his little trick to unlock phones without the need for a passcode still worked.
“What?” You were sitting up now, Sanemi was standing at the side of Genya’s bed, tossing your phone to the side. “Nothing.” A yelp left your lips as he grabbed both ankles, pulling you towards the edge of the bed. “We aren’t done yet, sweetheart.” You were flat on your back again, a bit disappointed that he didn’t seem interested in switching positions at all. “I would hope not…” you suppress a smirk, watching his eyes widen as you mouthed off back to him. “What did I say about talking like that? You don’t want to have another unsatisfying orgasm now, do you?” He lowered, bending over you so your lips were centimeters apart.
“N-no I don’t want that…” you swallowed, debating on moving your head forward to meet his lips. “Good.” Sanemi closed the distance instead, one hand cupping your face while the other guided your legs around his waist. You followed quickly, ankles crossing to keep yourself secure. Sanemi’s hand moved to his already hardening cock again, pumping himself a few times and grimacing slightly at the stickiness. You tensed a bit when you felt his head press to yojt entrance, his lips parting from yours. “You’re not a virgin, right?” He didn’t care either way, but he wanted to at least be prepared to walk you through this if it was your first time.
You shook your head, you had a fair share of hookups and relationships, nothing like Sanemi though. Experience wise you felt you may as well be a virgin when comparing yourself to him. “Okay, good…” he smiled, kissing you again but this time it was a little sweeter. That eased your nerves a bit, but still, his size was nothing like you have had before. That’s what was worrying you. Especially the lack of preparation, nothing more than his tongue had toyed with your entrance so far. “I want to see how much you can handle…don’t worry… I’ll go slow.” There it was, that more sadistic side shining through.
When Sanemi felt you shake slightly, he toned it down, lips pressing to your ear. “I promise, just say the word and I’ll stop if it’s too much.” You nodded, arms coming to wrap around his neck as you waited for him to move. Sanemi’s lips pressed to yours again, hand still wrapped around his shaft as he guided himself into you. You whimpered against his lips, the stretch burned but it was bearable. At least you thought it was until he began telling you to breathe. You forced air back into your lungs, as you exhaled he pushed further. “Oh my fucking…” your head pressed further into Genya’s mattress, nails raking up Sanemi’s back.
He was only half way in, your walks stretching to accommodate his size. “You’re doing so well.” His voice was hoarse, you were gripping him like a vice, so warm and wet, he was beginning to see stars. “A-am I?” You wailed, not meaning to cry out as loud as you did. “You are…” he pushed further, just a bit more and he’d bottom out. You didn’t even realize tears were sliding down your cheeks, not until Sanemi began kissing them away. After a moment you realized his hips were pressed to the back of your thighs, he had bottomed out. “Not so bad…right?” He was laughing softly, hands moving to push your legs further to your chest. “I’m going to move.” As much as he wanted to wait until you were ready, he just couldn’t help himself.
You gasped as he pulled out half way, moving his lips right back in a second later. The more he moved, the more you realized how full you felt. “Oh…oh…” your nails dragged along his shoulders, body being pressed further into the mattress as all his weight resided on you. Sanemi was nothing compared to anyone you had before, he wasn’t even comparable to any of them. “Feels fucking good…doesn’t it?” He was panting softly, hips finding a steady rhythm as your walls pulsed around him. “You’re everything I could have hoped for and more.” He loved watching your face morph with the praise he gave you. You yelped as his cock brushed your cervix, he was focusing more so on speed rather than depth.
“Tell me how good you feel, y/n. I want to know how well I’m fucking you.” He was focused on your face, your heaving chest and the way your tits bounced each time he bottomed out. “I-I feel…” you gasped, eyes going blurry for a moment as he brushed the spot that had you seeing stars. “So..good.” Your words were slightly slurred, nails only digging further into his skin as if it would keep you grounded in reality. “Sanemi~” you were starting to lose yourself, not holding back on any noises you made. There was no one else around to hear them after all. “Yeah? Keep going, I want to hear more.” He switched positions, your arms falling from his shoulders as he straightened.
Your legs remained around his waist, but now you were fully exposed as he towered over you. He let go of one leg, so you replaced his arm with your own to keep it up. All the while he bottomed out completely, not moving as he reached for something you couldn’t see. “You look so hot.” He smiled as you waited to hear the clicks from your camera, instead you heard the small ding of a video starting to record. You couldn’t even begin to imagine what you looked like, you hadn’t even bothered to wipe his cum off the rest of your face. Tears and cum were streaking your face just like you imagined, but the video he was taking was more so focused on where he disappeared inside of you.
He began thrusting again, now instead of speed he was focusing on how deep he hit with each thrust. Sanemi smirked as the video caught your hand tightening in Genya’s comforter, scrunching the material harshly as you cried out. Each thrust shook the bed now, tears rushing down your cheeks as you felt as if you were about to burst, “tell me y/n, I’m waiting to hear how good I fuck your tight cunt.” You wailed, walls clenching sporadically as you tried to fulfil his request. You thought of all the things you could say that you knew got men going in the past, but half the time you barely meant any of those words. Sanemi however was a different story, so it only made sense when the words you spoke next tumbled from your lips.
“So good, you’re doing so good…better than any guy I’ve ever fucked. They don’t even come close…” you moaned as his other hand left your leg, letting it fall limply to the side as he pinched your clit. “Is that so? I better fucking be.” He groaned as you sputtered around him, you were so close that you didn’t even realize it. “Gonna cum for me? Come on now, cum on my cock.” His thrusts began picking up in speed, still hitting just a deep with each thrust. “Gonna cum…” your words were slurred, barely eligible, and Sanemi loved ever fucking second of it. You felt like you were going to burst, your orgasm building in a way you had never felt before. With each pinch on your clit perfectly timed with each thrust, you were gasping for breath as it finally hit you.
Much to Sanemi’s delight, he caught you squirting all over him and Genya’s bed on camera. The sight alone was enough to make him feel weak in the knees, there was something so special about you. Something that made it feel like it was his very first time doing any of this to a woman. “Fuck…look at you making a mess.” His hips never slowed, even when you clenched so tightly he couldn’t barely move for a moment. If it wasn’t for the mess you made causing him to slip in and out with ease, he probably would have faltered. At this point you weren’t even sure what you were saying, incoherent noises and words tumbling from your lips. Ironically they only made Sanemi move quicker.
“Look at you, all sorts of cock drunk because of me.” He stopped recording a second later, tossing your phone to the side to focus on chasing his own orgasm. You rode out your orgasm, quickly becoming overstimulated but too lost to even try and vocalize it. “I’m going…I’m going to get you fucking pregnant.” That woke you up a bit, eyes widening considerably. “Fill you up nice and full…ha…yeah I bet Genya would fucking love that.” He kept thrusting, nearly pushing you further up the bed as he moved. “How fucking shameful. You fuck your best friend’s older brother…and he knocks you up.”
You wailed some sort of response, the idea of Sanemi getting you pregnant was getting you in the mood for another round even though the current one wasn’t finished yet. “You fucking freak, you like the idea don’t you.” He could feel his cock twitching between your walls, he was close. “I-I do…” you weren’t even embarrassed, the overstimulation was quickly changing from pain to pleasure, shockwaves of your orgasm still making your walls convulse. “Cum inside of me, please Sanemi…” for a moment he wished he had kept recording, those words were what threw him over the edge. You flinched as he buried himself, pressing against your cervix almost painfully as he spilled inside of you.
His hips rocked slowly now, breathless gasps slipping past his lips. Silence fell over the two of you as Sanemi caught his breath, flushed face looking at your own. “Everything you hoped it would be?” He began to chuckle as you sleepily nodded. “I need a shower.” Sanemi nearly collapsed on top of you at that, “yeah, I think we do.” He pulled out of you slowly, frowning slightly as his release began to leak out of you. “I’ll go…get the shower started.” You flinched slightly, not realizing how sore you were until you stood. “I’ll be right there.” He winked at you, making your cheeks feel hot as you grabbed both soap bottles and scurried off to Genya’s bathroom.
Sanemi waited until the shower turned on, reaching for your phone once more to send himself the video he had taken. Shortly after he saw it was delivered, he deleted all the messages. He smiled to himself, tossing your phone onto Genya’s bed once more before heading towards the bathroom. You were already in the shower at that point, relieved to finally be rinsing the chlorine out of your hair. “Mind if I join.” An attempt to be cheeky, you only rolled your eyes, pushing the curtain aside to allow him in. You shifted forward in an attempt to allow him room under the water, instead he pulled you back to him. “I don’t think I’m done with you just yet.” You shivered despite the hot water cascading down your frame.
“Is that so?” You smiled as you repeated a line from earlier. “I’m not done with you yet either, Sanemi.” You turned in his arms, pressing yourself to his chest and getting on your tiptoes to try and kiss him. Just as he leaned forward to meet you, you returned to your normal height. Waiting for his eyes to reopen before falling to your knees. “I think you deserve this… but I’d also like a redo. Since you so kindly left me hanging earlier.” He wasn’t even hard yet, so you began placing soft kissing along his shaft. Your tongue slowly circled around his tip, you realized after a moment that you were tasting the bitter mix of your cum mixed with his. After a few seconds he began to twitch to life, within a minute he was fully hard. “What did I tell you… you do wonderful things to me, pretty girl.”
You smiled at the praise, hand wrapping around his base to properly start sucking him off. Sanemi realized after a moment he was itching to have your phone again, he wanted to capture every single one of your firsts as if they wouldn’t happen again. He was by no means afraid of Genya’s reaction, he wasn’t even going to keep it a secret. “Oh my fucking…” he gasped as you took him half way, jaw slack and cheeks warm as you swallowed around him. He seemed awestruck that you even managed to fit that much in. The sore jaw would be worth it every time if you could see that shocked look in his eyes. Your tongue struggled to swirl around him, instead you relied on bobbing your head back and forth. Your tongue glides along the underside of his cock with each movement of your head.
“You’re so good at this…there is no way you let another guy experience this…” a pang of jealousy hit Sanemi, the idea of you on your knees for any other man made him furious. What made it worse, was the idea of Genya experiencing this. “Ain’t no fucking way…” Sanemi’s back hit cool tiles, leaving you to move forward as result. You moaned around him as two hands came to bury in your wet hair, massaging your scalp as a way to encourage you to keep going. This time you could actually feel him twitching, still sensitive from his orgasm only a few minutes prior. You used your fist to pump the rest of him, keeping it in rhythm with your mouth. You wanted to properly taste him this time, having already rinsed your face off before he joined you.
“Fuck…” was the only warning you received from him, cum shooting down your throat as he came in record time. He wasn’t even slightly embarrassed, no one had gotten him to come that quickly before and he wasn’t found to try and extend it. You pulled off of him with a pop as he began softening in your mouth, licking your lips as you did. “Was that okay?” Sanemi helped you up, pulling you to his chest and running his hands up your back. “Fucking perfect.” He missed the top of your head, slowly straightening off the tiles to guide you both under the hot water. “I still have to repay you for the shitty job I did the first time.” He mumbled against the top of your head. “That can wait for another time.” You didn’t want to wait, but you were certain he was feeling as tired as you were.
“No, it can’t. How about this…you wash your hair, I’ll get to work.” This time he was the one falling to his knees, your face feeling warm despite the steam filling the bathroom. “O-okay.” You reached for the bottles you had set on the small ledge, dumping some of the contents into your palm as Sanemi massaged your thighs. After a moment of staring you yelped, a harsh smack to your ass making you jolt forward against his face. “Get to scrubbing.” He licked along your outer lips, sucking on the tender flesh until you listened to what he told you to do. The moment you began working the soap into your scalp, his tongue slipped between slick folds. Just as you had tasted before, Sanemi was now tasting the mix of your cum with his own.
You tried to hold your breath, hoping they would keep the noises from spilling out. You were struggling to keep your focus on your hair, massaging your scalp with less and less effort as pleasure racked your already sensitive clit. “Easy there…” Sanemi’s hands squeezed the plush of your thighs, trying to keep you stable as you began to sway under his touch. “Eh…’m trying…” your adrenaline was wearing off on you at the worst moment. Suds began slipping down your back, forcing you off balance even more as you leaned back to rinse the soap out. Each flick of Sanemi’s tongue had you jolting, you were already feeling the build up of your third orgasm. “S…s…Nemi…” you whined, the hot water paired with his tongue was surprisingly soothing.
“I got you…” he returned as quickly as he left, lips sucking eagerly on your abused clit. It was hitting the point that Sanemi was the one nearly supporting all of your weight, tired muscles starting to whine in protest but he paid them no mind. You clenched around nothing, silently praying he’d add a finger or two. That was the only part of him you had yet to feel, and even though you were certain they’d be nothing compared to his cock…you still wanted it. “…more…” you whined softly, eyes shutting as you hoped he’d keep you stable. “So needy…” he knew what you wanted of course, but if he let go of one of your thighs you may fall. So instead he started sucking, between each motion he’d tell you there was always time for more later.
As you came for a third time, you doubled over, hands burying in Sanemi’s hair as your legs threatened to fully give out. “So tired…” you mumbled as he stood, hands running up your body in order to support you until he was fully standing with you pressed to his chest. “I can see that…let’s clean up and get you to bed.” You nodded feebly, eyes opening slowly to at least try and help Sanemi clean. It made sense to you why he made you wash your hair first, he must have known you were going to crash. Each orgasm took more and more out of you, leaving you a mumbling puddle in Sanemi’s arms. You barely remembered the rest of the shower, the next thing you knew you were being wrapped in a warm towel.
The cool tile of the countertop underneath you was the only thing that jarred you enough to make you open your eyes fully. You watched as Sanemi dried himself off, wrapping a towel around his waist before looking at you. “Let’s dry your hair a bit, I don’t want you getting cold because of wet hair in an air conditioned room.” There was something so soft and intimate about Sanemi towel drying your hair, doing his best to wrap the towel around it and keep it secure. “Good for now.” He kissed your forehead, guiding your arms over his shoulders as he picked you up. “You sure it’s okay…” your voice was muffled as your face squished to his shoulder.
“Of course it is.” You didn’t need to open your eyes to know you were being carried back towards Sanemi’s room. Part of you wanted to laugh at the fact that he chose his little brother’s room to fuck you. How fucked up is that? You were far too tired to be concerned about all of that now, that was an issue for when you woke up. The last things you remember were Sanemi’s hands pulling your towel off, tucking you under his soft sheets and kissing your temple. “I’ll be back in a second.” You mumbled some sort of okay before giving in to your body’s needs.
Sanemi on the other hand was making his way down the hall back to Genya’s room, grabbing your phone before turning to head back. He fully intended on leaving Genya’s room in a slightly dishevelled state, smug satisfaction filling him as he entered his room and locked the door. Before Sanemi gave in to sleep, there was something he absolutely needed to do. He set your phone on his nightstand, reaching for his own after the fact. Tapping the screen revealed all the messages “you” had sent him. His eyes eagerly took in everything he had taken, he decided it would be best to send the video first.
Genya set his tool down as his phone buzzed, Sanemi’s contact lighting up the screen. He’d only been gone for about two hours at this point, his stomach dropped as he slid open the message
Nemi: Here's some jerk off material for ya.
Attached to the text was a video file, one that made Genya’s stomach drop. “I’ll be right back, Zenitsu, Tanjiro.” He was standing up and walking out the door before they could even respond. His hands were shaking, eyes locked on the blurry thumbnail to the video attached. Without even clicking play, he could already tell it was someone’s body. “No fucking way, no… I knew I should have never left you alone with him.”
Genya pushed the men’s room door open, storming down to the furthest stall. He was absolutely livid and he hadn’t even seen the video's context. For all he fucking knew, it could be some random girl he invited over. Then again that was just wishful thinking. He took a deep breath, making sure his volume was low before he clicked play. It was exactly as he feared, you were flat on your back, legs pressed to your chest. He was frozen, watching the video play out, your face was only visible for a moment but it was clearly covered in something. The majority of the video was focused on where his brother kept disappearing and reappearing inside of you.
He was horrified, the low volume only granted him some of the noises you were making, but it was unmistakably your voice. Your voice screaming his brother’s name. The video itself was only about a minute long, “please for fuck sake at least be wearing protection.” He watched Sanemi’s dick pull out nearly half way, sure enough there was no sign of a condom. His older brother had fucked his best friend…raw. He could have thrown up at the thought. Yet he still watched the video in full, dick shamelessly twitching to life.
“Fuck…” he couldn’t get over how cute your whines sounded. The video ended abruptly, leaving Genya to stare at himself through the black screen. Genya stayed still, once Sanemi saw he had read the texts, there were a series of pictures waiting for him when he closed the video. He couldn’t breathe, not when he was staring at such lewd photos of you. He swallowed, not knowing what to do with himself, especially when he was being suffocated in such a small bathroom stall. He had to simply ignore the persistent twitch between his legs.
Genya: didn’t I fucking tell you to stay away?
Nemi: You did, I didn’t listen.
Genya: fucking clearly.
Nemi: notice anything about those pictures? The video maybe?
Genya: the fact that you fucked my best friend raw??
Nemi: look closer.
After a moment of studying, Genya realized.
Genya: you fucked her on my bed?????
Nemi: on your bed…in the guest bathroom…in your shower. Probably in my own bed too once she wakes up.
Genya clicked off his phone, contemplating if it would be worth throwing it against the wall. He decided against it, shoving his phone in his hoodie pocket and storming out of the bathroom stall. He was livid for a few reasons, ironically the picture and video weren’t even the main reason. The main reason was the fact that he was incredibly turned on. How was he supposed to focus on the stupid fucking project when he was painfully hard.
“I’m going to fucking kill both of them.” He swallowed, making his way to the row of sinks. He braced himself on the counter, one image in particular was haunting him, your face covered in his big brother’s cum. He turned on the skin a moment after, cold water pouring from the faucet. Genya would spend another ten minutes in the bathroom, splashing his face with cold water in hopes of calming down. His pride was already hurt, there was no way he was getting off alone in a bathroom stall.
Sanemi on the other hand was comfortable under his blankets, pulling you to his chest. Sure it was a dirty move doing such a thing to his little brother, but he knew Genya well enough that the younger boy would just take it. It was cruel really, but at the moment Sanemi couldn’t care less. Not when he finally had you in his bed, wrapped in his arms.
⍣ ೋ time after time
˚ · . hinata x afab!reader
: ̗̀➛ heartbreak, loosing feelings, one-sided relationship/love, low self esteem/body issues, dubious ending, takes place after the timeskip and towards the end of the manga
࣪𓏲ּ i was listening to curl up & die by matt maltese + time after time by cyndi lauper when writing this
watchin' through windows you're wondering if i'm okay secrets stolen from deep inside the drum beats out of time.
8 years, 11 months, and 7 days.
it's been 8 years, 11 months and 7 days since you accepted the nervous love confession from a short ginger boy back in your second year of highschool.
8 years, 11 months and 7 days, have passed since then. you still can't wrap your head around it, around how much time has passed since then.
8 years, 11 months and 7 days, with this short ginger boy. only, he's not much of a short boy anymore, rather he's grown within the passed time, still not too tall, but he's surely earned his title of a man. spending his years doing hard work and exercise has rewarded him with a well-sculpted body, you can't say the same for you.
8 years, 11 months and 7 days, filled with exploration, experience, and love with this ginger boy. you had practically grown with him into adulthood; the two of you attached to the hip and spending every second together.
8 years, 11 months and 7 days, where the two of you shared many firsts with one another. first date, first boyfriend/girlfriend, first kiss, and first sexual experience. you always look back at those memories with a twinge of redness on your cheeks, cringing cheekily at the way the two of you would be so awkward.
8 years, 11 months and 7 days, of constant questions and slandering on the bond of your relationship with him. you always defended him, and he did so in return. you always brushed of those pesky little, "don't you two get sick of each other?" questions with a smile, watching from afar as you sat alone on a bench while he practiced yet again for volleyball.
8 years, 11 months and 7 days, full of little moments here and there where the two of you would talk about your future, making silly promises and declarations of love to each other. "i wanna be a pro-volleyball player and want you to be there while i am!"
yes, it's been 8 years, 11 months and 7 days. your precious hinata shouyo is on one of the best volleyball teams in brazil, and you are there for him while he practices once more. he dragged you out to the nearest beach at 5am, babbling on about how pretty the sunrise looks, and that he wants you to watch him practice.
8 years, 11 months and 7 days full of watching what seems to be the same scene over and over, where shouyo practices volleyball and looks over at you with a proud smile when he manages to do a good jump. of course, you praise him for his skills, you adore him for it, to be so passionate about his dream.
8 years, 11 months and 7 days of worshipping the ground he walked on. you had nothing but stars and hearts in your eyes for him, wanting nothing more than to attend all of his big events by his side. of course, he worshipped you just as much as you did for him, never failing to kiss the back of your hand for being so supportive of him.
and, it's been, 8 years, 11 months and 7 days. durning those long years, there was a time, when you had nobody but shouyo, there was a time, when you would kill all your friends for him. you're nothing but appreciative of him for being there for you during those times.
but — it's been 8 years, 11 months and 7 days.
your eyes are crinkled up into narrow crescents, but you're not smiling anymore when he makes a good jump. you're sitting alone once more, a little way away from the net, legs pressed up against your chest.
you can't help the fine line your lips make subconsciously, eyebrows slightly furrowed, arms wrapped around your knees defensively despite wearing shouyo's jacket. he said the sunrise would be pretty, but it seems a little too blue and gloom, dark clouds blocking the rising sun.
he looks over at you, yelling out your name after he does what you would usually consider an impressive move, expecting the best reward that is to him — your praise. but you don't.
but.. it's been 8 years, 11 months and 7 days since then, so why are you now feeling nothing, after all these years?
after 8 years, 11 months and 7 days, looking at the way he's looking at you with that warm look in his eyes, is now stinging. after 8 years, 11 months and 7 days, he's the only one for you.
"y/n?" he calls out. his volleyball long forgotten on the soft sand, standing cautiously in place, lips pouting at your silence. but you're not listening, too wrapped up at the fact that is inevitable.
the sand crunches under his bare feet when he's walking towards you, a ginger eyebrow lifting in concern. "are you alright? are you sleepy? cold?" he questions, leaning down and laying a warm hand against the side of your cheek.
8 years, 11 months and 7 days, and his touch is no longer sending goosebumps down your spine.
but he's the only one for you?
he blinks at you a couple of times when you've still yet to respond. "..let's go home, it's cold isn't it?" he mumbles softly, his hand taking yours, feeling a little relieved when you are finally responding to him, albeit you're still not talking and more or less just following him back home.
he talks to you on the way home, his arm wrapped snuggly around your shoulder as he asks you various questions on what you want to do for the upcoming 9th anniversary of your relationship with him.
8 years, and 11 months and 7 days — for the first time, you're not sure if you want to do anything with him for that day. but for the sake of his feelings, you nod along to his ideas after you lack any suggestions of your own. his body jumps up and down at the excitement, his arm never leaving your shoulder.
"wow! 9 years with you~," he happily says, leaning down to practically inhale the side of your cheek and kissing it lovingly.
after 8 years, 11 months and 7 days, you don't know if the two of you will make it to the 9th.
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The Worst Logan
Logan Howlett x Reader!Loganverse| smut | 5.8k words
Summary: You are the deceased-anchor-being-Logan's lover, having found yourself with Laura in the void, you navigate meeting the variant of the love of your life. Sweet dick kicking angst with gratuitous smut, cause we all know Logan eats pussy like a CHAMP. 😤
This is self indulgence at its finest, but it had be to done. 7-years ago, the movie Logan broke something within me that has finally been fixed! 🤠💕
Warning: Explicit - smut. canon death, depression, angst, spoilers for Logan / Wolverine and deadpool, cunnilingus, unprotected p in v, creampie, all the good stuff. 18+
The first time you see him again, the new him, the other him you mean. It’s in the cave accompanied by a man who talks far too much.
You recognise his voice in an instant when the mouth finally allows him to get a word in edgeways. His voice.
You’ve heard it nearly every night for the past seven years. It's a few octaves deeper than you remember and filled to the brim with vitriol but it's definitely his. The realisation that your memory has been warped by time is a blow to the gut but you continue towards the sound all the same.
When finally you round the corner Logan stands before you in all his glory. For a moment you are rendered utterly unable to form a single sentence as he leans against the wall, a bottle of bourbon in his palm and adorned in yellow and blue.
Your mind can't reconcile this figure as the man you buried. He has the same sneer, the same broad shoulders, he even has the same stance - but Logan, your Logan, would rather die than wear that garish yellow suit and admit to being the hero he always was.
His nose flares in what you believe to be recognition as he smells your presence, you allow your powers to retreat and reveal yourself. As your invisibility ebbs away Logan snarls in surprise as the talkative man in red gasps theatrically and begins jumping on the spot.
Your fears are proven well founded when your eyes connect with his across the room, instead of the love and recognition, you find only open hostility and rage.
Your heart had bulldozed all logic, you were in the fucking void, of course it was a variant.
This Logan looks younger; his hair not so grey, his face unscarred and his eyes not so tired.
This not-quite-Logan stares right back at you seemingly ill at ease with the stranger who is currently taking an inventory of his face.
“Logan, that's them. It’s X-23 and Y/N, the one’s I told you about.” You graze your palm along your daughter's back in support as you come to stand beside her.
“Her name is Laura.” It’s a knee jerk reaction; your correction. Your girl wasn’t the sum total of an experiment, she was her own person with her own thoughts and feelings, not a weapon to be utilised.
The Wolverine’s gaze darts between the two of you, it’d be comical if you didn’t feel like you were about to regurgitate your lunch. They land on Laura, and linger there for a few moments, before they return to you, it's as if he’s trying to find you in her features.
You barely hear the man you will later come to know fondly as Wade Wilson, question how you all ended up in the void.
“There was a knock at the door TVA sent me here, saying my world was dying … and I never even got the chance to fight for it.” Blade explains remorsefully.
“They sent us here because they knew we’d put up a fight.” You utter distractedly, finally breaking your staring contest with Logan as he takes a swig from the bottle he’s currently white knuckling.
“People like us don’t go quietly, TVA knows that so they took us out.” Elektra attests.
“The answer is yes, I’m in.” Wade declares.
“In what?” Blade questions bemused by the man in red.
“A team up, you me, me you, all of us together, lets get the fuck outta’ here.”
“Don’t listen to him, he’s a fucking liar!” Logan growls, furious at the other man.
“It was an educated wish!”
“HA!” The loathing behind it makes you pause, he was so angry.
The heat in his voice, the resentment, it burns you. You supposed even your Logan had his fair share of rage.
When he arrived at the mansion all those years ago, fresh faced and wild, you had adored him even then, though Logan was far too preoccupied with Jean to notice the torch you carried for him back then.
It was ironic that It had taken the utter annihilation of the X-Men to bring you together. Charles’ accident had left the two of you as sole survivors. Over the years in hiding your ability to mould force fields managed to keep the worst of the effects of Charles’ seizures at bay, but Charles Xavier was one of the most powerful telepaths to grace the earth and your powers had limits.
Those years were some of the darkest and yet the best of your life, you found yourself growing to love the man the world called The Wolverine.
You realise you’ve entirely tuned out Wade’s rousing speech and have spent the time analysing the man wearing your love’s face currently gargling bourbon though your name pulls you out of your reverie.
“Laura, Y/N? What’s it gonna’ be girlies?”
“Lets fucking go.” Laura agrees heartily, you simply nod still dazed.
“YES! LET’S FUCKING GO!” Wade shouts back fist pumping.
“You’re all fucking dead.”
Much later in the evening when the sun has finally set you seek him out. When you come across the father and daughter duo before the campfire you hold back, your skin slowly begins reflecting light, fading from vision as you call upon your powers to hide in the treeline.
They both needed this and it wasn’t something you were about to get in the way of. They talk for a little while, before they part ways, both a little teary. Laura nods your way despite being unable to see you as she heads back to the cave, her nose just as keen as her fathers.
So it shouldn’t surprise you a few moments later when you hear Logan's voice call across the clearing.
“You gonna’ stand there all night, Bub?” The man sounds utterly exhausted.
You say nothing in response, only dismissing your powers and revealing yourself as you advance. You take Laura’s seat at the fire, not quite having the courage to look at him just yet.
“You hear all that? Should mind your own damn business.” You remembered this Logan well, the one aching for a fight, desperate to shed his vulnerability and bloody his fists.
“I didn’t hear a thing, Logan.” Your voice is barely above a whisper, you haven’t had to gentle parent The Wolverine in a while but it’s like riding a bike. “I wanted to let the two of you talk, she needed it and I think maybe you did too.”
“What do you fuckin’ know.” He growls dismissively, swigging from his bottle of what now appears to be scotch. “You can skip the speech and go back up, I’m not looking for company.”
“I’m not here to tell you what to do, Logan.” Finally, you look away from the fire and find his eyes fixed on you, you swallow the lump in your throat before you speak. “I just wanted to see you.”
“See me?” He questions incredulously. “Well, keep the change, bub. Good night.”
Despite your smile at his words, you can’t help the tears that begin to cloud your eyes. Your mind and your heart have been locked in a constant battle since setting eyes on him. This man by all rights is Logan. The man you have mourned relentlessly and yet in every way that matters he isn’t.
“It’s like seeing a ghost.” Is the only explanation you can give him, his response is a stoic cheers with his bottle before he takes a deep gulp.
Finally either his curiosity or the alcohol gets the better of him as he questions. “You her Mother?”
“Yes and no.” His stare doesn’t leave your face as he waits for you to elaborate. “Her biological mother was a woman from Mexico City that the fuckers in the lab exploited, all we know is that she disappeared after giving birth. After … you … after everything that happened in North Dakota…” You trail off.
Your voice is suddenly thick and your words get stuck in your throat as you try to make them form. It's utterly embarrassing as you feel the traitor tears begin to form.
A bottle of Johnny Walker enters your field of vision from where you sit staring at your clasped hands in your lap. Startled, you glance up to find the Wolverine standing before you, casting an impossibly large shadow as he holds out the bottle.
You accept the offering from his gloved hand, your fingers grazing his in the transaction as you take a swig or two (or three) before passing it back. He looks thoughtful when he places his lips on the place where your own had just lingered, as he retakes his seat. With amber courage coursing your veins, you continue.
“She was all I had - if not for her, I-.” You wipe your nose, staring back into the fire. If it was a struggle to meet his eyes before, it was impossible for you now. “I just couldn’t see the point in being alive anymore if everything just slowly gets stripped away; the X-Men, then Charles and then Lo-”
You don’t know it, but you’re preaching to the fucking choir with your words. It was rare to find a soul, going through the exact same torture as yourself. Logan found himself softening to you, it was as involuntary as it was unwelcome, but he couldn’t help it as you described a battle so close to the one he fought daily.
“-she reminded me what I had to live for. Laura she is fierce and so fucking kind; she is everything I loved about him.” You cut your trauma dumping to a swift end as you remember yourself. “So no, to answer your question. I’m not her biological mother, but she’s my daughter in every way that counts.”
Silence reigns for a moment as neither one of you knows what to say to the other.
“You loved him?” Logan’s voice is deeper than before when he speaks the sentence. You raise your eyes from the fire to find his for the first time since you began monologuing. They’re filled with something you can’t quite name.
“I did.”
Logan seems to contemplate this, mulling it over as he continues drinking. Finally, he seems to reach some sort of conclusion. “You should get some sleep, big day for you tomorrow.”
“Can I stay here … with you for tonight?” The words slip out before you really even mean them to. Tomorrow you might be going to your death and the ghost of the love of your life is here alive and real, what do you really have to lose?
Logan does a double take, not quite expecting those to be the words that leave your lips. “I’m not him, Darlin’.”
“No, I suppose you’re not.” You sigh, “but could you please just hold me whilst I sleep, James?”
A huge part of you expects him to tell you to fuck off back to the cave and leave him to his booze fueled pity party. However, against all odds, he doesn’t do that.
Logan simply lifts the half full bottle of scotch to his lips and downs every last drop. He’s a little unsteady on his feet when finally he stands up to his full height and turns towards the blankets he’s laid out on the ground.
“Fuck it.” He growls and drops himself like a sack of potatoes onto the pile with little regard for his own body. You’ve certainly had nicer invitations into his bed but when he waves you over with a lazy gesture, you can’t help but hurry before he changes his mind.
Before you know it you’re tucked into Logan’s side. His gloved hand doesn’t quite seem to know where to go, more accustomed to brutality than tenderness these days as it hesitates for a moment suspended in the air. After some careful consideration he delicately places it on the dip in your waist securing you to him.
Logan’s breath is uneven, though he’s doing his best to seem unaffected by your closeness. It has been years since someone has touched him with such easy affection and the way your body curls around his own as if it was created to do just that is driving him crazy.
You are completely at ease with him, you trust him so entirely it almost breaks his fucking heart. Logan's stomach is heavy with something he can’t name, you fucking terrify him. Yet, he doesn’t move because you feel so fucking good as he holds you.
It's scary, you realise, how easy it would be to pretend this was your Logan as you melt into his embrace. He smells exactly the same as you bury your face in his neck, the roughness of his beard feels the same pressed against your forehead.
This Wolverine’s arms are a little fuller and his chest a little firmer, but he still holds you the same. You make a decision to not focus on such difficult philosophical concepts as variants and the morality of switching out your Wolverine. You decide to live in the moment, to just enjoy the furnace of his body keeping you warm and his arm encircling your waist protecting you from the world, it’s so easy to pretend that this was your Logan, so you do.
And you fall asleep quicker than you have in years.
It is still night when you awaken, it's not quite dawn but the fire has burned out to a low smoulder. You’re not sure what has awoken you from the best sleep you’ve had in a long while, that is until you feel the arms wrapped around you and the sleeping Wolverine holding you in a death grip against his chest, his half hard appendage digging into your hip.
Everything is still hazy; you’re floating in that sweet spot between waking and dreaming, you forget about North Dakota and, god forgive me, Laura.
You’re back in your bed at home and Logan is holding you.
There's no my logan, new logan, old logan.
He’s just Logan.
You bury yourself deeper in his neck.
It’s only for a moment though before it all comes flooding back and the agony overwhelms you like a blade to the gut.
Instantly tears flood your cheeks as you shake from your silent sobs.
“...Y/N?” Logan's voice is thick with confusion and sleep, his grip has loosened somewhat to allow you to breathe but he doesn’t release his hold on you. “What’s wrong darlin’?”
That affectionate name is the last nail in the coffin it fucking ends you.
All teary, and regrettably maybe a teensy bit snotty, you lean forward and kiss him. Kiss isn’t the right word but it’s your intention. Your lips touch one anothers before he’s pulling away and holding you back.
“Y/n… Darlin’ you don’t want this… I’m not-”
“But you are Logan. You’re him just as much as he’s you.” Your hands rise to his jaw, running your finger along its familiar sharp edge. “You’re Logan.”
“Y/N… I’d be taking advantage…” His voice is firm yet gruff as he tries to inject reason into the conversation. As usual being the good guy he’s constantly telling everyone he’s not.
“I am so goddamn sick and tired of being sad, please Logan.” This time when you capture his lips, he doesn’t rear back. You’re not sure what’s going through his mind, but his self control seems to snap within him as he begins returning the kiss in earnest.
Logan’s tongue swipes along your bottom lip begging entry, entry you swiftly allow. You’re breathing heavily through your nose as he plunders the depths of your mouth, exploring your mouth with his quick tongue.
Deciding to make the next move you push yourself up, throwing a leg over him to straddle his lower stomach. He’s lifted the top half of his body to ensure he doesn’t lose your mouth, your teeth clash slightly with the movement and you can’t help a bubble of nervous laughter. He pays it little mind though as he swallows the noise, his hands coming to rest on your hips.
Instantly, you grind your hips downward on the growing bulge that lurks below. Logan lets out a deep groan at the friction and his hands on your hips raise to the bottom of your tee in response, his thick hands tugging at it requesting your permission.
Nodding, you pull back causing him to groan at the loss of your hot mouth on his. Though it's only for a moment as the second the tee is over your head, he’s back on you, only it's your bare neck he’s lashing with affection now.
Logan breathes in deep your scent mixing with the heady aroma of your arousal. He’s nipping and licking along the smooth skin, soothing his bites as quickly he makes them. It's the animal instinct within him, telling him to devour you entirely; make you his.
“Logan…” You gasp, your eyes are clenched shut in pleasure as he bucks his hips upwards into your jean covered centre.
Logan pulls back to take you in, writhing above him in the moonlight, you’re fucking beautiful, though the flash of familiar metal between your breasts catches his eye, unable to stop himself, he catches it in his fist.
Dog tags; his old dog tags.
‘LOGAN’ is etched into the aged metal and they’re warm to the touch from living beneath your shirt over your heart.
The realisation hits him like a freight train, not only was he loved by you, but for his other self to have given you these, he fucking loved you.
He’s not sure why it didn’t occur to him before, that the other him was as devoted to you as you were to him. He’s not entirely sure how to feel about it, but he twists his hands, careful not to snap the metal string, but using it to pull you close.
For the other dead Logan, the hero he’s heard so goddamn much about, he decides he’ll give you the treatment you deserve.
As if you weigh nothing at all he flips you onto your back, his hands dropping the dog tags and falling to the waistband of your jeans. His dexterous hands undo the button so quickly, that your trousers are peeled from your legs before you know it, leaving you in an unimpressive unmatching set of underwear beneath his roaming eyes. Though Logan couldn’t give a fuck as he groans at the sight of your body exposed to him.
Logan begins by kissing down your stomach before his hands linger on your black panties, he can't help but grin at the tiny barely there bow in the middle of them; you’re like a gift all wrapped up for him.
His eyes lift to meet your own as he begins sucking at the fabric that's keeping your pussy from him, it's already damp with your arousal and by the time he finishes, absolutely sodden with his saliva.
“Logan, please…” you whisper desperately as your hands find his ‘tufts’ for a lack of a better word. They were new, but you liked them, plus they now seemed pretty functional.
He takes only a moment to remove his gloves, before they return eagerly to your body. Those thick hands traverse the planes of your thighs, they’re quick in their passing as they make their way up to the waistband of your panties, he hooks them over his thumb and reveals your soaking core to his hungry eyes and he’s right back to wanting to fucking devour you, and boy, fucking does he.
Enthusiastic, would be the word, earth-shattering would be another - the word to describe how Logan eats pussy.
Logan without much preamble dives into your centre, his tongue slips into your hot wet heat, lingering for a moment on your clit, circling it reverently before he dips that talented tongue inside of you. His nose knocks against your clit several times, each more delicious than the last as he utterly devours your pussy. He moans, grinding his hips into the dirt and readjusts pulling you closer, his thick muscled arms locking under your thighs as you buck against his mouth.
You're a complete goner the second he slips a single long thick finger inside of you.
“Fuck, Lo, I’m gonna-”
“Come, baby... I got’ya.” He mumbles into your pussy. And fuck me, he does. He carries on lapping at you all the way through your orgasm, drawing it out of you like the pied fucking piper of pussy. It feels like you’ve been falling for hours by the time you finally come down, only Logan doesn’t allow you any reprieve before he’s back to lashing your clit with his quick tongue. Your hands find those faux ear tufts once more and he groans as you pull on them a little more sharply than you intend in your shock, in answer Two fingers bury themselves deep inside of you.
“One more.” He’s negotiating orgasms, but you have no qualms as he rubs his nose side to side with affection against your sensitive bud. His tongue and nose moving in pace with his fingers, currently fucking in and out of you.
It's when he scissors those thick long fingers inside of you, hitting that spongy spot within you that makes your back arch.
Your top half has left the ground, he grunts in annoyance, suspending your hips back to his mouth at the angle he likes. Those deep hazel eyes meet yours from between your thighs, crazed and animalistic, driven wild with arousal as he eats your pussy with gusto.
It's that image that thrusts you over the edge once more, your back hitting the ground as your body seizes, thrusting your hips against his mouth.
Without any preamble a third finger joins stretching you deliciously. The hand not currently fucking you, leaves your hip to caress your stomach stroking the flesh there, not quite able to reach your breast.
“Lo… fuck… yes… right… right fucking there.” You cry as he draws your second orgasm of the night out, only when you tug at his tuft due to overstimulation does he acquiesce and pull back, only of course, after cleaning up your gaping desperate hole.
He sucks his fingers clean as he sits back on his knees, his cock thick and tenting against the yellow bottoms of his suit. Your arousal has soaked through his beard making his chin slick, he wipes it with a single swipe with the back of hand though, it does very little for his sodden chin.
Tired of not touching him, you sit forward grabbing at his belt. It's a difficult contraption that confounds you, though Logan is far too wound up to find any humour from it.
He replaces your hands unbuckling the thing before finding the hem of his shirt and pulling it over his head.
There, finally in all his glory, he is exposed to you and you’ve never been a religious woman, but Mary mother of fucking christ, he is gorgeous. Logan’s chest is fucking… transcendant to behold, it's like he’s been sculpted by god herself, the light isn’t the best out of here, but you hope to god you don’t die tomorrow simply for wanting to take your time and lick each and every single one of those muscles on his stomach.
Its your turn to leap forward onto your knees and join his mouth with yours, he tastes distinctly of you and his chin is still sodden, but you couldn’t give less of a fuck, you love the fact your desire is still marking his skin.
Your hands trace the firm abs at your disposal, before dipping into his now open trousers and underwear to find him rock hard.
If his physique impressed you, you had a big storm coming, because his cock was a fucking resplendant beauty and it was plain to see from the swelling Logan really liked eating pussy.
Your fingers barely touched as you pumped him, once twice, spreading the copious amounts of precum along his shaft.
“Fuck.” He grunts into your mouth. You lean down, positioning yourself to take him in your mouth, though he stops you in your tracks grabbing your shoulder. “No sweetheart, I want your pussy.” You clench around nothing at his filthy words, this man will be the fucking death of you.
You reach behind you and free your tits from their confines, another moan leaves his throat as he pushes you backwards. On his hands and knees he’s deliberate with every move as kicks the bottoms of his suit off as he prowls towards you.
Finally, he’s in between your legs naked as the day he was born. His hands are on your breasts, exploring the new plains exposed to him, playing with your nipples alternating between sucking and twirling them between his fingers.
So lost in his skilled hands, you barely notice when one disappears to line himself up, it's a shock, the sudden intrusion, but not an unwelcome one as he thrusts himself forward and as deep as he can go.
You moan his name into his ear, doing your best to keep your volume down.
He has prepared you well, you’re so worked up that he slides home through your tight slit. The sheer size of him means it's a stretch that borders on uncomfortable, but the second his hand finds your clit you’re clenching around him and grinding forward, desperate for more. Unable to control himself, his claws extend, he grunts pulling you close and thrusting them down into the ground.
“Fuck, you’re tight.” He grunts into your neck, where he's busy lavishing the flesh once again with bites. Your neck is going to be black and blue tomorrow, but you can’t find it in you to give a single fuck.
The two of you are so fucking close his bare skin so deliciously hot against your own, but you want more, you need more.
Logan pulls his hips backwards, pulling out of you until only the tip remains before slamming home and spearing you wide open his cock. Your moans blend together as you lose yourself in each other's bodies.
Logan is worked up from eating your cunt, so it doesn’t take long for the sensation to hit him.
“Fuck, where do you want it?” He grunts into your neck, as his hand descends to rub quick circles on your clit. He pulls your ass up, making sure to hit the spot inside of you that makes your toes curl.
You know he’s teetering on the edge, desperate to make you cum before he does.
“Inside - come inside me, baby.” You whimper into his neck as he pounds into you reaching your deepest recesses with his thick cock, his hammering, it’s unforgiving with his enhanced strength but it pushes him deeper into spots you couldn’t have imagined. He groans at your words, sounding every bit the wounded animal he is. Your shared groans and the sound of his balls slapping against your ass as he takes you again, and again is all that can be heard in the clearing.
Finally as he joins your lips in a kiss, you come hard on his cock. Clenching around him as your body writhes uncontrollably.
Logan adjusts his hold on your thighs, now he uses your body, drawing out your pleasure but ultimately chasing his own. The pace is fast as he grunts and groans erotically into your neck, he fucking growls as his hips stutter against your own, and you know you should be more careful, but the thought of him cumming inside you has you gripping his cock like a vice once more. You give him a tight sheath to come in, and he pumps you fucking full of his cum and its a big fucking load. Logan thrusts a few more times, pushing his seed deep inside of you as he claims your mouth once more.
You run your hands through his hair as he lets his body fall against yours, he’s supporting his own weight, thank god, you don’t think you could handle his muscle, let alone the adamantium skeleton. He’s still sheathed inside you as the two of you revel in the closeness.
The silence stretches on for an amount of time you can’t quite quantify. The two of you take in your surroundings, listening to the quiet of the forest, until your breathing has finally calmed down.
Logan lifts himself up on one arm, and pushes your hair back from your face. You stare at him in the moonlight for a long moment, unable to help yourself as you trace his familiar features. His strong nose and the curve of his brow, your finger dances along his flesh.
Logan’s eyes close, so touch starved he basks in your affection.
“I-” Logan goes to speak, before you drop your finger on his lips.
“It’s okay. Whatever happens tomorrow, happens. I’m okay with it.” You smile at him, there's a chill to the air but you’ve got your Wolverine warming you up. “I just wanted one night to be about something other than death.”
He takes your hand from his lips and kisses along the back of it and up your wrist, though It's a slippery slope as he hardens inside of you again.
Logan manages to pull two more orgasms out of you before dawn.
When your time has run out, the two of you finally dress, not wanting to be found in a compromising position. Logan curls his body around yours and buries his face in your hair as he spoons you from behind.
Just when you’re just on the cusp of sleep, he finally speaks into the night. Logan opens up about his world tearfully, instantly you reach your hand down, finding his own thicker one resting on your belly and you intertwine your fingers with his. He tells you of the mutant hunting as you draw comforting circles on the back of his hand, it's not much, but it's more than he’s ever had whilst reliving his worst day. When he has finally bared his soul, the two of you fall back into silence.
After what has been an emotionally, not to mention physically taxing night the two of you finally fall asleep if only for a few more hours, two incredibly damaged souls offering one another comfort.
It’s later in the morning when you finally awake. The sun has risen that much is clear but you're slow to awaken from your comfortable position in Logan's arms, his warm strong body coiled against your back fighting off the worst of the early morning chill, his face still buried in your hair as he snores peacefully.
There’s a sensation niggling at you, you think it's what woke you up in the first place; you can’t shake the sensation of being watched.
Lazily you open your eyes, only for your heart to drop to your asshole when you find Wade Wilson about 10-inches from your face lying on his side, his head supported by his hand.
“Mornin’ sleepy head, have a good night?” You can hear the smile in his voice.
“AGH!” Unable to stop both your cry of fear and your fight or flight response in progress, you throw yourself backwards, your powers activating of their own accord, and slamming your body into Logan’s chest. He startles awake, with the telltale ‘snikt’ of his claws extending as he orientates himself, his arm coming out to block you from the threat, despite not being able to see you.
After your brain catches up, you call your power back, but Logan doesn’t do the same, keeping his claws out seemingly ready to slice up his not-so-best friend.
“Get the fuck outta’ here, Wade.” Logan growls harshly at the other man, his voice is filled to the brim with hatred.
“Hmph - this is what I get for acting altruistically. I thought a good stress relieving bone in the woods with your cherie amour would really sort out that bee in your bonnet, but you sir are just a very unpleasant man and I’m worried that-”
“WADE.” This time Logan’s voice is a threat as he shouts at the man. You place a hand on his muscled arm to steady him. Though he may have stopped your heart with his antics, Wade isn’t doing anything particularly outrageous. Logan shakes your hand from his arm and allows his claws to retract as he stands.
“Thanks for jumping to my defence there, Y/N. Great to meetcha bt-dubs, huge fan.” You’re disoriented from the wakeup call but you shake the hand he offers you. Honestly, you’re still trying to process the head-fuckery of the past day, so you don’t have a quick response for him, though the mouth doesn’t seem to mind as he continues. “That mean lil’ lady is asking for ya’. Thought I’d come and check you and big yellow weren’t still bumpin’ uglies. Didn’t want her to see you and Papa going to town on each other's fun parts.”
“Uh - Thanks… Wade?”
“That’s me.” He theatrically begins bestowing multiple kisses on the back of your hand he still had in his grasp, which you retract gently. “Oh, and we’re done.”
Pushing yourself up, you go to stand though Logan offers you his newly gloved palm. You lock your fingers around his and the two of you stand together, inches apart and your fingers still intertwined, neither quite sure what to say to the other. Wade’s ‘awh’ over your shoulder shatters the moment and he drops your hand instantaneously.
After a beat or two Logan leans forward, placing a single solitary kiss on your forehead. “See ya’ around, bub.”
“Where’s my smooch, Logie-bear?”
“Go fuck yourself, Wade.” He calls as he walks around, Logan doesn’t look back as he heads off into the forest.
You still had faith he’d turn up for the fight, Logan always turned up when it counted and you knew this time would be no different.
“Hate to see him leave, but love to watch him go.” Wade sighs linking his arm with yours.
“Mmh, You can say that again.” You agree with the clown watching Logan’s ass as he walks away, you swear you see his step falter thanks to his impeccable hearing, but he doesn’t turn back.
The two of you turn and you begin walking back to the cave arm in arm with the strange man to prepare for the assault on Cassandra’s lair when Wade finally asks the question you know he’s been dying to ask since meeting you “So, Y/N just between us girls… how big is it?”
LOGAN TENDER HAIR TUCK SUPREMACY RISE. I'll use it in every fic, don't think I won't.
Thanks for reading xxx
Graphics by my pal - @saradika-graphics 💕
HAPPY BIRTHDAY SUGURU!!
⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖࣪ match my freak !!
ᝰ.ᐟ the two of you are private not secret, but when the media starts to speculate that the two of you are no longer together, neither of you are too happy. the best way to get everyone to stop with the breakup rumors? posting something a little bit nasty to the feed to satiate everyone's curiosity. (fem!reader)
featuring tobio kageyama, atsumu miya, tetsurou kuroo, wakatoshi ushijima, tooru oikawa, rintarou suna content contains breeding kink (atsumu, wakatoshi), pregnant reader (wakatoshi), famous!reader (changes depending on scenario), creampie (tetsurou), hatefucking (not really, you + kuroo just like to antagonize each other but the attraction is there), scratches on his back (tobio), hickeys (tooru), wet n messy (rintarou), possessive!character x possessive!reader (the two of you are obsessed with each other ok), social media references lol author's notes i'm definitely doing a blue lock version, i'm just seeing if this is a popular premise lol <3 based off this original concept !! these are just silly little drabbles for me to warm up to the idea of writing again haha
౨ৎ TOBIO KAGEYAMA
your fans are speculating: that you and kageyama have broken up. fans are recording footage from you on your latest tour and claim that you're "clearly disassociating" and "somewhere else mentally" when it comes to singing your iconic love songs. you and kageyama have always kept your relationship private because he's not a very open person to begin with, and you don't want to give the media more material to misconstrue. you know that kageyama hates when some random person will annotate your verses on genius lyrics and try to make the claim that your innocent metaphor is you wanting to jump ship and leave kageyama. and you hate how it's your own fans who are making wild accusations of you no longer being with the man all your love songs are about.
you posted: kageyama, with his back turned to the camera so all that fills your camera is the surprisingly broad expanse of his muscular back and shoulders. he's not even flexing, and it's obvious that he's a world-class athlete. he's facing the closet, trying to find a shirt to put on, and it would be a semi-innocent photo, the pinterest-perfect photo inspo for every private not secret relationship out there, except for the fact that there are clearly faint, red lines — scratches — running down his back. you caption the photo with a "monday morning 🤍" (your insane fans spam the comment section to exclaim how they knew you two were still a thing... and to speculate that this photo is somehow an easter egg for an upcoming song/album. well, they're right: you two will always be a thing, and tobio dicked you down so good last night that you could write him a whole album.)
ᯓ ᡣ𐭩
"fuck," the word slips through his gritted teeth, and you can tell that your tobio is still upset about how your fans seem divided. half of them claim no one could ever make them hate tobio (you find those fans to be absolutely adorable), and the other half...
well, the other half are making slideshow posts to audios that go "some boys take a beautiful girl and hide her away from the rest of the world" and the ones that seem to go viral are always the ones that feature you and tobio.
"not hidin' you away." he mutters, never slowing down his thrusts. he admires the expression on your face as he fucks into you, his ego pleased with how receptive you are to his every movement. he has you speared on his cock, your tight little cunt full of him, your eyes getting so adorably teared-up because he's just a little bit too much for you to handle. tobio isn't good with words; he thinks you're the most beautiful girl to exist, but he can't verbalize it. so he just takes in your sweet, fucked-out face, the reaction only he's capable of drawing from you, and it all gets so overwhelming for him.
he has to bury his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling the sweet scent of your body wash as he continues to bully his cock into your soaked pussy. "why's it bad if i want to keep you all to myself?" he's practically whining, and you think this would be so cute if only you weren't currently chasing after your release. or rather, tobio's forcing you to cum, whether you want to or not. it's not like you can stop him; tobio devotes himself to always ensuring that you finish before him. he likes the satisfaction of knowing only he can take care of you, and he especially likes the way his cock looks with you creaming all over it.
when he gets like this, all you can do is cling to him, your arms wrapped around his muscular build. when he gets rough with his thrusts, when his body gets just the slightest bit sweaty from the exertion (evidence of just how much work he puts into fucking you), you have to dig your manicured nails (the set he paid for) into the skin of his toned back. otherwise, you'd lose your grip, and your hands would slip off.
tobio relishes the slight stinging pain of your nails scratching down his skin. but the scratches aren't enough. he needs to make you cum. when you get so caught up in your climax, you start clawing at him as you lose control. he loves the scratches you leave on him; it's proof that he's yours just as much as you are his.
౨ৎ ATSUMU MIYA
haters are saying: that you're just using atsumu for content. you're a gold digger. you're not genuine. you're not "wifey material." spectators are claiming that atsumu is playing worse than before because he's too "pussywhipped" for you. well, he likes to cheekily admit to you that he is addicted to your pussy, but they're wrong about everything else. obviously. however, the haters are feeling very vindicated whenever they see atsumu hasn't been posting you as much. (you're traveling for a new vlog series on your page, but no one knows.)
he posted: a mirror selfie. which isn't breaking news. atsumu miya always breaks the internet when he posts a mirror selfie because the only thing worse than a hot guy is a hot guy who knows he's hot. no one is a stranger to the sight of a post-workout, sweaty, shirtless atsumu, who flaunts his tight abs and muscular thighs with a steamy mirror selfie. but this photo? this one is going triple platinum. it's going down in history. this selfie is taken in dim lighting; the curtains in the background are drawn shut, he's got one hand gripping his phone (making the phone look tiny in his big hand), and he's got one arm wrapped around you. it's not an innocent hug, though. he's cupping your ass, and the phone in front of his face does nothing to shield his satisfied smirk. you're clad in nothing but lacy lingerie from a designer who loves to sponsor you, and you're clinging to his side, almost like you can't even stand without his support. it's clear that the two of you definitely were... appreciating the work your favorite designer put in when they created that lacy set.
ᯓ ᡣ𐭩
"what do you think?" you're smiling at him, knowing damn well what he's thinking.
atsumu looks up at you, reflexively licking his lips as he takes in the sight of you wearing a new set of lingerie that you just got delivered. it leaves little room for imagination, and the material looks so delicate, atsumu is already thinking about how he'll have to apologize to the designer for ripping it off of you.
"i think I'm the luckiest man alive right now." atsumu is shameless in the way he's admiring you, the way the setting sun still peeks through the curtains, enveloping your body in a delicious golden glow as you inch closer and closer to him.
in a matter of seconds, he's pulling you on top of him, placing wet, sloppy kisses over any centimeter of your skin he can reach. when you make a move to slip off the panties, he protests.
"leave 'em on f'me, baby. please?"
he fucks you with you still wearing the lingerie set. your breasts are spilling out of the bra, and all he did was move your panties to the side so he could stretch you out with his cock.
"fuckin' idiots, tellin' me you're not good enough to marry. i'll show 'em what a good girl you are, right? gonna put a ring on your finger, and make you my wife." he's fucking his cock into you, making sure that your cute cunt knows who it belongs to. "gonna fuck a baby into you, sweetheart. no one's gonna say shit about our family, huh? 'cause i won't let 'em."
your cunt clenches up so nicely with every comment he makes that atsumu knows he has to make all those pussydrunk promises come true.
౨ৎ TETSUROU KUROO
the tabloids are posting: paparazzi photos of you — the socialite daughter of the man who owns the msby black jackals, and jva's promotion division's golden boy, tetsurou kuroo. it's late at night, and the two of you are clearly leaving a party celebrating the success of another eventful volleyball season. you're wearing the iconic ysl heels with a black mini-dress that honestly should be called a micro-dress. your hair is a mess, you're walking like your knees are struggling not to wobble, and walking three steps behind you despite his longer stride is kuroo; his tie is crooked, his cheeks are flushed, and he has a grin that says something like i just fucked one of the richest bratty heiresses in japan, and i left her wanting more. the amount of blind items that are allegedly alluding to you and kuroo are being spread all over tiktok. one reads, "this sports club heiress was seen exiting a party with this semi-known marketing mastermind who works in the sports industry. apparently, they couldn't keep their hands off each other, and no one can recall seeing them together during the party; everyone only caught glimpses of them running away from the festivities together."
you posted: a photo slideshow on instagram of your absolutely iconic outfit from the party, only these photos were clearly taken before the party. your hair is done, your makeup is perfect, and your caption states don't believe everything you read. the last slide is a screenshot of an online headline speculating about your "new man" with a photo of a grinning kuroo from that night. the reason why this makes everyone go insane is because you're no stranger to a scandal — this is, however, the first time you've ever addressed a headline.
ᯓ ᡣ𐭩
"hurry up," you hiss, your eyes darting from left to right as you make sure no one is nowhere near the secluded corridor kuroo somehow managed to find.
"y'know, i thought girls were supposed to like guys who don't blow their loads prematurely." even when he's bullying his cock into your slicked up cunt, savoring the way your sensitive walls are clenching around his dick, tetsurou has a very annoying habit of still sounding entirely in control. for someone who can't keep his hands to himself when it comes to you, he's irritatingly great at playing nonchalant.
but he's just a man, after all. he might tower over you, his large body shielding you from any prying eyes, and he might know your body so well that he can bring you to completion twice (once with his fingers curling against that special spot of yours, and another one so rudely wrung out from you when he slid his cock in your orgasm-recovering, overly sensitive pussy) in just the fifteen minutes he's been toying with you tonight, but you know that he must be feeling something. you saw him shift his pants the moment his eyes met yours from across the room, when his eyes travelled down your body and followed the way your dress emphasized the curvatures of your body.
"if you don't finish right now, i'm not going to let you cum inside." you threaten him, trying to steady your voice as you bite back a moan. it'd be a major issue if the two of you got caught, with the volleyball association's golden boy being buried balls-deep inside a sports team owner's bratty daughter.
with every sharp snap of his hips, kuroo is only forcing more slick to come gushing out of your pussy. he can't even take the time to admire the white ring you left around his cock; he's too focused on chasing after his release because he didn't get to where he's at by not being opportunistic.
"if i cum inside, you have to keep it in your panties the whole night. you wouldn't want that, would you?" he sounds a little breathless now, his pace quickening as his thrusts get sloppier. he's smiling at you, that damn annoying smile that makes you want to roll your eyes or insult him. but your body betrays you. his grin only widens when your pussy tightens up at the idea of having his cum soaking in your panties while you interact with people at this party. a dirty little secret shared only between you two.
he lets out a breathy chuckle at your body's betrayal. "okay, princess. since you want it so badly, i guess i better give it to you."
you could practically cum again the minute you feel the warmth of him finishing inside of you. you're a spoiled brat who gets what she wants, and while you refuse to admit it, you want him. all of him.
and he's going to give it to you.
౨ৎ WAKATOSHI USHIJIMA
the media is going crazy over: the fact that ushijima is the type of person who doesn't clarify anything because he just assumes that everyone can read his mind. he's blunt, sure, but he's not really the type who does much explaining. after the first game of the season, an interviewer asks him if he enjoyed spending the off-season with you, his girlfriend and one of the most beloved, fan-favorite WAGs of all time. ushijima stares straight into the camera as he states in his usual deep, flat rumble of a voice, "the off-season was successful, but she isn't my girlfriend anymore. thank you." and then he just walks off, like he didn't just drop the most insane piece of information ever?
he posted: a photo of an ultrasound that was clearly taken out of his wallet since it's thrown on the table in the background. he's holding it in his left hand, and the overhead lighting is reflected from the silver wedding band he's wearing. now that he's off the court, he's able to wear it. in typical ushijima fashion, there is no caption, but a picture is worth a thousand words. you're not his girlfriend. you're his wife, and soon to be mother of his child.
ᯓ ᡣ𐭩
"mmph — 'toshi!" you squeal out, your calves burning from the stretch as your beloved wakatoshi has your legs bent and spread for him. he's just so big that you'd never be able to handle all of him, and yet, here you are, bent into a mating press every night since the two of you have gotten married. you try to beg him to slow down, but words escape you as he buries himself into your pussy, letting out a deep, guttural groan as the warmth of your cunt coats his cock. there's no better feeling than this.
even if you could request for him to slow down, it wouldn't have mattered or made much of a difference. your husband has a one-track mind. when wakatoshi is set on a goal, it's hard to break his focus until he sees it to the end. and right now, wakatoshi's goal is to fuck a baby into you, to see you round with life because of the seeds he planted.
he's hunched over you, abs tightening and flexing with every sharp inhale of breath he takes. he's gonna fuck himself empty, going to keep filling your cunt with his seed 'til he's shooting blanks. his eyes glance at the ring he put on your finger before returning to admire your blissful expression and the way your body seems to have gone boneless from all the fucking he's had you endure.
"just a little bit longer." he manages to say, before forcing his cock in even deeper. "just have to make sure it takes."
౨ৎ TOORU OIKAWA
everyone is claiming: long distance relationships never last. when oikawa makes the shocking announcement that he is no longer a japanese citizen, everyone immediately wondered what that meant for the future of your relationship. does that mean it's over? officially? if oikawa is leaving behind his hometown, then by default, is he leaving you behind too?
he posted: a photo slideshow, only most of the images were clearly taken by you. the first one is of him driving; the two of you are in his convertible, and he's wearing a white button down with most of the buttons undone. on the stark white of the shirt are kiss marks; the imprint of your lips lined with cherry-red lipstick are all over the material of his shirt and on his freshly-tanned skin. the other photos are of what you two ate for dinner, the sunset from the beach, and a selfie of you two looking more in love than ever. fans are quick to point out the massive hickey on your neck, and tooru tags you in a reply to the top comment that points it out, and he's saying "you missed a spot babe." you reply back, "i ran out of concealer because you gave me too many to cover"
ᯓ ᡣ𐭩
"i missed you," your boyfriend mumbles into your soft skin. tooru can get so clingy when he goes long periods without seeing you, and you indulge him because he's tooru. he's got his face buried in the space between your shoulder and neck, and his breath is warm against your skin as he speaks.
"everyone is saying i'm abandoning you, but that's not true." he whines.
"i know, baby. i don't care." you laugh softly, absentmindedly playing with the soft strands of his hair. he settles into you, and it's almost sweet, until he starts nipping at your skin.
"tooru, what are you doing?" you can't find it in yourself to chastise him too harshly, but you do have to restrain yourself from pulling back.
"jus' want to show everyone that you're still my girl." he peers up at you, licking his lips. "you'll let me do that, won't you?"
tooru bites and sucks at your skin, sharp canines grazing your soft flesh. he sucks at your most sensitive areas while he works his fingers in and out of your gushing cunt. when he pulls his fingers out and holds them up, so the sunlight can shine and really highlight how much of your juices is coating his digits, he smiles. his girl gets this wet just from him marking you up?
as he sucks on his fingers, relishing in the way you taste, he can't help but be happy to know that no matter how far away the two of you are from each other (for now), you're still his girl.
౨ৎ RINTAROU SUNA
your fans are telling you: suna doesn't care about you. suna doesn't put forth any effort into your relationship. suna literally streams on twitch during the off-season yet he can't seem to ever post you?? suna doesn't deserve you. suna—
suna is a lot of things, but nothing like the deadbeat, ashamed boyfriend allegations. in fact, all your well-meaning fans are so far off on how he treats you that you and him get a good laugh from the outrageous conclusions they've jumped to.
you posted: a photo of rintarou with his head on your lap, and you've got your fingers playing with his hair. it's a sweet photo, really. except for the fact that you decided to pair it with an audio that's a snippet of a song that goes "he's so pretty when he goes down on me" and a caption that reads this song is so relatable 🤍
ᯓ ᡣ𐭩
anyone who thinks rintarou is a selfish lover, a lazy lover, someone who merely tolerates you or is ashamed to be with you... they clearly don't know either of you very well.
because even when he's exhausted from practice, rintarou comes home craving you. craving your sweetness, your warmth, your love — and your pussy. he's obsessed. rintarou suna loves to eat you out, and he does it with such passion, such enthusiasm, that it's hard to refuse him, even if he's been going at it for the past hour.
your juices are leaving a stain on the bedsheets, and your slick is coating your inner thighs. it doesn't help that rintarou is messy with his technique. he needs your legs spread for him, granting him easy access for him to just dig in. he's still in his practice jersey, and when he feels your grip loosening from the strands of hair you're tugging at, he'll slow down his pace, calming down to just tiny kitten licks while he peers up at you.
your head is thrown back in pleasure, and your hips have a mind of their own as they still jut forward, as if trying to bring your cunt impossibly closer to him. no need for that, really, seeing as how he craves to bury himself in your warmth, to suck on your cute little clit and have you humming all over his tongue.
"rinnie." you whine out, still subconsciously bucking up your hips. he smiles before resuming his original ministrations, gluttonous and greedy with how sloppy and hungry he is with you. if you're still capable of talking, then you're not too fucked out to not allow him to get his fill.
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