#dick:�� it’s.. a… temporary set-back!

[iguessthisisanewobsession]

The ring was small and silver with a single emerald embedded in the metal.

It wasn’t something flashy, it probably cost less than the smallest gem from his vault all together.

But it was perfect.

Which made it so heartbreaking to turn it down.

“Dick.. you know me so well.. I wish I could take this ring, i really do.”

Dick was still on one knee in the little apartment, but he put the small box down on the floor as he asked.

“Then what’s stopping you?”

Danny let out a bitter chuckle,

“The US government.”

[roobylavender]

(Really long ask ahead i’m sorry!) I think your thoughts on dick and his similarities vs differences to bruce are so interesting! Personally i’m wondering how much of NTT played an influence on this kind of characterization bc i’ve never fully finished ntt but i read like nearly all the pre-80s batman 1940 issues lol and dick very much was portrayed as more idealistic than bruce in some ways while more no-nonsense (? For lack of better word) in other ways, like when it comes to batman easing up a little on selina for romance reasons LOL. Though ofc dick totally turns into - well, a dick - in team books, as i grow older i find myself far more compelled by a potential story of an 18 yr old who seemed to have the whole weight of the world on his shoulders (by his own perception) and breaking under his own impractically strong sense of duty and sky-high expectations for others, then realizing as he grows older that it doesn’t have to be that way esp after seeing the perspectives of characters like kory, wally, joey, roy, etc. Like personally as someone who never really had a huge interest in NTT anyway, i’m surprised at how desperately people want to hold on to the characterization of dick when he was 18-19 and never letting him grow past that, like it’s so difficult for me to believe that at age 25 he would be the same uptight controlling kid that he was at 19. Maybe i’m biased though bc i was like one of those insufferable INTJ internet stereotypes as a teenager, and while that worldview did bring me achievements i’m proud of like the fact that i’m in med school rn studying what i love, i still know that at age 22 i have changed SO much from when i was 18 and i can’t imagine any reasonably mature or normally-functioning person (let alone someone high-functioning like dick) not doing the same lol. Especially since dick is the kind of person who would literally die if he’s not constantly growing and evolving past his faults bc of his insufferable perfectionism, idk how he’d be willfully blind to the negative effects of his worldview in early NTT and refuse to grow from there. He even has a quote that’s like “i’ve spent years as a student of my own behavior” which i always found highly encouraging bc i know he really does want to improve himself even at his worst. It reminds me of that Marcus Aurelius quote: “if someone can prove me wrong and show me my mistake in any thought or action, i shall gladly change. I seek the truth, which never harmed anyone; the harm is to persist in one’s own self-deception and ignorance.” But what are your thoughts? (Thank you for reading all this 🥹)

oh i absolutely agree! i cannot tell you how many times i think about the person i was a couple years ago and who i am now like i cringe so much omg.. maturity is an ever persistent process even if we don't recognize its effects immediately and it absolutely is crazy to think that anyone would remain in such a static state of mind for several years on end. esp when like you said dick is someone who wants to be better! so despite his several hypocrisies it is nonetheless in his best interests to look internally and analyze and evolve. and i feel like that very much could have happened had there been any actual segue between dick's breakup with kory and his re-entry into the batfam. i don't think there was much of a connection between these two sets of writers at all and so what you got is what felt like two very distinct parts of dick's life that didn't necessarily reveal a bridge point. so it's not entirely unrealistic that dick may grow to be the person (at least to some extent) that bat canon portrayed him to be in the years that followed but i certainly think as it stands it felt unearned and like all of his issues explored in ntt were conveniently swept to the side without any semblance of closure (albeit i do think some of these issues are addressed in outsiders '03 but in that dickheaded way that winick explores things generally. so i'm not sure it's the kind of closure people actually want). it's very sad and ig that's what people cling to more than anything. it's not that they're opposed to him growing to be a better person but that they're opposed to a version of dick who feels like he sprung out of nothing

[cloudwisp]

𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐛 · 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

contents: smut (18+ minors dni). you accidentally walk in on him naked once and he’s all that occupies your mind. childhood friends to lovers. temporary housemates. brief voyeurism. masturbation. fingering. overstimulation. unprotected sex. implied multiple orgasms. he’s actually sweet just a little domineering. pipsqueak + princess pet names. 3.6k wc.

You’re temporary roommates with Caleb while your housing situation gets sorted out. The Hunter’s Academy was experiencing an issue with its database and your move-in date had been postponed so your room could be properly arranged. In the meantime, Caleb was generous enough to lend a spare room in his apartment. Sharing the same space with him brought back nostalgic memories of your upbringing, and having his presence around gave you comfort that he’s still the same Caleb you know and love. Him preparing breakfast and dinner was always appreciated when you didn’t have to lift a finger, he’d even pack your lunch to keep you nourished and prevent you from skipping meals given your hectic schedule. Sometimes there’d be light roughhousing play between you and him, all in good nature like the fond memories of your shared childhood.

The more time you spend with Caleb, you slowly encounter situations with him that have never happened before in a domestic setting. You suppose that being adults now, with the distance and years apart pursuing different careers, there are bound to be changes and new habits. For instance, you notice how comfortable he is around you—or maybe you can even say careless. With the bathroom door cracked open, you think nothing of its vacancy and enter only to have steam obscure your vision and a very naked Caleb before your eyes. Normal people would have the door locked when entering the shower, and now you accidentally caught a glimpse of his flaccid dick moments before he wraps himself with a towel snug around his waist.

“Oh, Erm… Sorry, I didn’t realize you were here already.” You avert your gaze and your cheeks feel warm while Caleb remains nonchalant, staring at you before letting a boyish smirk spread on his face. You feel his hand on the crown of your head as he walks past you, sparing you from his usual teasing since it's the early morning even though he could imagine the adorable flustered mess you’d become.

“Heh, try to pay attention next time, pipsqueak. Shower’s all yours.” Caleb’s muscular back is the last thing you see with water droplets forming on the ends of his damp hair before you close the door shut. After moving the shower handle valve to your preferred temperature, your clothes cascade and bunch around your feet and you clear your mind of the embarrassing encounter as water rushes down your skin. Accidents like this happen at least once in a lifetime and there’s no need to get hung up on it. Or at least, that's what you tell yourself.

There’s a sense of normalcy when you wander into the kitchen once you’re dressed for the day. Caleb had already prepared a simple breakfast, and he gestured that your plate was on the dining table while he sat on the couch overlooking some course material. He’s a dangerous distraction when you situate yourself and take a small bite of a rabbit-sliced apple, glancing at his manspread in those gray sweatpants and you could almost perfectly make out the outline of his natural bulge the longer you stared.

You swallow hard and lewd thoughts infiltrate your mind when he shifts his thigh slightly outwards, almost beckoning you to have a seat in his lap. The snap of his laptop draws you out of your reverie and you flinch at the sound before you can properly react and there’s a delayed smile gracing his lips as he studies your face. You’ve been made and you curse yourself for being so easily swayed over a carnal craving and toward your childhood friend no less.

You pretend to busy yourself and focus on your plate at hand. “Haven’t you learned that it’s rude to stare? You’re just the same as always, pipsqueak.” Caleb chuckles softly, taking his seat across from you and starts to enjoy his breakfast. As though you weren’t feeling bad enough, he fuels your embarrassment. “By the way, your… uh, lace panties got mixed up with my laundry. The color’s light blue, was it? Guess there’s always something new to learn about you.”

You almost choke on your saliva when he’s brazen about your intimate undergarments, and you feel like he’s being insufferable on purpose when he could’ve silently returned your item and avoided this awkward conversation. “Oh? Well, that’s my mistake. I’ll be more careful next time so it doesn’t happen again.” You suppose that he always enjoyed poking fun even at your expense, but the sly innuendos were definitely new. And you hope the pending email about your dorm situation arrives sooner so you can forget about this particular morning altogether.

After finishing up breakfast and collecting your belongings for the academy, you and Caleb respectively go about your day attending lectures and training courses. However, your focus lies somewhere else as a certain aerospace engineering student crosses your mind countless times for it to be considered normal. You never thought about him that way before, and you’re certain it’s because of the dry spell you're experiencing. But when your mind drifts back to him, your thighs clench together at any suggestive scenarios before burying the very idea into a grave with the same swiftness.

Even with the constant internal battle with yourself, walking through Caleb’s apartment door once the skyward hearth welcomes the night made you feel somewhat apprehensive. However, your concern quickly dissipated when he acted as though everything before this morning was an ephemeral dream long forgotten. Dinner was surprisingly pleasant as you both conversed about the events of the day outside of your shared home. Of course, there was a moment of weakness where you’d catch yourself staring at his lips a heartbeat too long, and something akin to yearning springs within your chest.

Whether you realize it or not, Caleb has always been a chronic observer whenever it comes to you. Even your subtle hints weren’t as discreet as you believed them to be, and it only contributes to the pent-up frustration when you both retire back to your bedrooms. Not being able to have you and explore these anchored feelings makes him feel hopeless in his deep sense of longing. Maybe you still perceive him as the same kindhearted boy from your childhood and not the capable man he’s become today. The kind of man that can be everything that you need him to be.

As the night deepens, restless sleep prevents Caleb from catching some shut-eye and he’s quiet in his footsteps down the corridor for a glass of water in the kitchen. When he moves past your enclosure, something causes his ears to perk as though a siren’s calling unto him. His eyes widen a fraction and he feels blood rushing with a twitch of his cock. The pretty noises coming from your mouth as he leans closer against the wall make him question his senses. Were you touching yourself at this late hour? Naughty girl. And yet his pants grow increasingly tighter by the second, his mind racing to connect your moans with your movements.

“Mmh—hah. C-caleb…!” You gasp softly as your fingers continue their motions on your sensitive bud, a low groan escapes his throat from how perfect you sound with his name on your tongue. His jaw tightens as he holds himself back, but his self-restraint wanes when he’s the reason for your breathless sighs and cute whimpers. Without warning, your building orgasm gets rudely interrupted and fades when he peers into your room after twisting the doorknob. Perhaps you should’ve taken your advice from earlier this morning and made sure to lock it before commencing such activities.

“Caleb—!” You shriek out and half-heartedly cover yourself with the comforter pulling yourself into an upright position, and the nickname he has reserved for you is quite befitting even for a moment like this. He can discern your flushed cheeks and hazy eyes from the gentle gleam filtering in through the window, and he stares at you for a few more seconds before fully treading inside and closing the door behind him.

“Don’t stop on my account, princess.” You can feel the heat of his gaze trailing down your disheveled yet maddeningly beautiful form. The pearl opalescence streams kiss your vulnerable parts, making you appear even more heavenly. Caleb moves and dips his weight on the edge of the bed, sharing some of his warmth as his knuckles trace your bare leg before locking eyes with you. “What were you thinking about that got you so worked up?”

You’re rendered speechless as you shy away from his touch. He withdraws his hand planting it beside him on the soft cushion. “Shouldn’t you knock first before entering?” Your voice sounds small but it’s everything you can muster given the situation and you avoid his gaze as you pose your next concern. “…Did you hear something just now?”

“You were making so much noise that I wanted to check in on you.” He chuckles softly, “Couldn’t get me out of your head, huh?” You feel your stomach drop after hearing his words and shame prickles at your skin. Of course, nothing gets past Caleb even when you both were young children and you pull your knees to your chest hiding your mortification and face along with it. “All it took was just that little moment to get you thinking about me so much.”

He wasn’t wrong in his statement, and you hate that you’re not alone in your thoughts when he recalls the encounter of him wrapped in a towel this morning. It had completely seared into your memory, leading you to act on your impulses to solve your sexual frustrations. You’d envision the feel and appearance of his cock hardening as you handle him, how he would tease you gliding his tip along your clit and entrance, the hot and heavy breathing when his mouth’s beside your ear. “Ugh, just please stop talking. Can’t you see I’m already embarrassed enough as it is?”

“Not a chance.” The gentle pats on your head encourage you to come out of hiding, which happens to lessen your discomfort. He always had a way of soothing you, and you allow him to caress your cheek before he continues to speak. “I’ve been holding myself back for a while now since I was never sure if you felt the same way. But now that I know you do… let me take care of you. Will you let me do that?“

Through your parted lips, words get stuck in your throat at his long-awaited confession. All you could think about was how the nature of your relationship would completely shift. But you suppose there had always been telltale signs with Caleb yet you glossed over every indication because he’s your childhood friend and you convinced yourself otherwise. “I didn’t know you’ve been holding onto these feelings.”

“Don’t look so surprised, it’s been years in the making.” He offers you a sincere smile, leaning down and pressing his forehead against yours. Your eyes close at the comforting gesture, Caleb loving you a little more than you realized starts to resonate in your mind and that opens your heart to him. You feel a slight coolness and a realm of muted purple radiance and cerise hue fills your vision. “Can I…?” He whispers quietly and the notion elicits a small nod from you.

Caleb’s gentle and deliberate in his actions as he moves to alight your lips for a soft embrace. He places his hand around the side of your neck, thumb tracing along your face's sharp contour and guiding you to lay on your back. Sweet and tender in the way his tongue teases your bottom lip for more, deepening the kiss that breaks emotional barriers and makes him feel closer to you. Your sighs turn into muffled surprise when he clasps your hand and together he makes a slow descent to where your cunt weeps for him.

A glistening string of saliva connects you and him when he separates for you both to breathe. “Show me how you like it, princess.” It’s a silent command for you to touch yourself, and he loves the cute expression you’re making at his words. You gnaw on the inside of your cheek and sheepishly turn your head away from him, though it’s futile when he returns your focus back on him. “Don’t get all shy on me now. I want to know what makes you feel good, please?” The last syllable comes off as a sweet murmur.

“Don’t look too closely… okay?” He can detect the reserved tone in your voice and kisses your nose before straightening himself and pushing the blanket aside until you’re completely laid bare to him. He appreciates your soft curves and smooth skin, a low hum reverberates from his chest when you spread your legs wider and a primal desire for you rises between his groin. He observes your nimble fingers pleasure your clit in small circles to get yourself off, though your arm covers your face from the vulnerable intimacy in your wave of bashfulness.

“You don’t have to hide yourself around me. You look beautiful.” He captures your hand and brings it to his mouth, brushing his lips against your knuckles and your breath quickens when that same hand lowers to still your movements. His fingers press against yours to rub the sweet spot before you retract yours and he fully assumes control. The pressure makes your hips squirm from the delicious friction and a wanton moan slips when he delves his tongue to explore your mouth again.

Caleb marvels at the feeling of your wetness when two fingers stroke your entrance, he collects some of your slick and continues to rub your bundle of nerves in languid motions. Your arms coil around his neck, tugging him closer and tilting your heads as you lose yourself from tasting him until the burning embers dim and you’re both rendered breathless. He uses this chance to litter kisses along your jawline and warmth spreads down to your neck, a gentle nip at your pulse point before moving further below to your chest and he welcomes your hardened bud into his mouth after a salacious swirl of his tongue.

“Mmh, need to feel your fingers inside me… need more. Please, Caleb?” When you beg so sweetly like that he wouldn’t dream of denying your request, even when his mind spirals with thoughts about your cute mewls and whines in his pursuit to test your limits. Maybe he’s getting ahead of himself because he wants tonight to be nothing short of special for the both of you. He’s waited too long and he’s earnest in his intentions for this moment to be perfect in every sense of the word.

“Of course, princess. Your wish is my command.” You can hear the smirk bleed into his voice when he answers you even in your state, and your breath hitches drastically when he stretches you with two fingers. He considers your bodily reactions while he searches for a rhythm that elicits the pretties sounds from you. “So perfectly tight… You need this, don’t you? Need me. Just like I need you.” He keeps two knuckles deep, massaging something soft and almost spongy that causes your back to arch beautifully.

“Mm, yeah right there—so good.” He feels you tense and convulse underneath him when he palms your clit in tandem with his fingers still driving inside you. With your climax fast approaching, you gasp suddenly and attempt to push his hand away when the sensation starts to overwhelm you. “Caleb, I’m gonna—it’s too much!” He doesn’t relent even when your grip around his wrist tightens and you cry for him to ease down from his movements. Your thighs squirm and squeeze his forearm as your walls clench around his fingers and only then does he subside after he’s satisfied with the mess you’ve made between your trembling legs.

“That’s my good girl.” You’re turned on your side as you regain some semblance of composure while the euphoric high ebbs and you feel him lay the softest kiss on your forehead. Your gaze never leaves him when he undresses himself, pulling his shirt over his head to reveal his gorgeous physique and his muscles flex under the moonlight as his thumb curls beneath the waistband of his sweats and he discards it. Your mouth salivates when his aroused cock commands your attention, and it’s almost as you imagined except you underestimated its sheer length and girth. But it makes sense when he’s standing before your eyes with the rest of him.

“Think you’re ready for me?” He smears the pre-cum over his tip and gives himself a few pumps before he moves above you after readjusting your position. He sweetly pecks your lips and you feel him caress your waist then hoist your thigh and push the underside toward your chest to spread you apart. Your other leg follows suit to make room for him and he aligns himself along your heat after moving back, the length of his member runs through your folds drawing a pleased hum from you.

“Now that I have a closer look, it’s actually kind of cute. Just like you.” Your fingers bump with his, reaching to feel his pulsing shaft and you stroke him delicately while propped on your elbow. The scent of lust shrouds him when he watches you for a moment, the way your fist applies just the right amount of pressure makes him groan from how much smaller your hand is in comparison.

“Heh, cute? That’s an interesting way to put it.” You feel his balls swell against you when he measures how deep he would sink into your pretty cunt by unabashedly resting his heavy cock on your navel. Your clit throbs when he extends just under your belly button and you anticipate the feeling of him fucking you and rearranging your guts. “I wonder if you’ll say the same afterward.”

You tuck your lower lip between your teeth and glance up at him, subconsciously gripping the sheets from the thought of taking him and how tight a fit it will feel in your mental preparation. “Promise me that you’ll go easy?”

He presses forward and seals the promise with a kiss. “Gentle, I can do that. But what do I get in return?” An elongated moan escapes you when he breaches your entrance, the burning sensation causing you to burrow your head into the pillow with furrowed brows and a slacked jaw. His hand intertwines with yours for a small squeeze to help ground you as the head of his cock teases you with shallow thrusts. “You’ll let me make it worth your while? Let me do what I want with you.”

Your adorable whines receive a chuckle from him and he slides deeper. “That’s not really an answer, princess. Use your words for me.” He loves how honest and expressive your writhing body is when swept up from the pleasure and he’s barely getting started with you. You feel him pinning your hips to the bed to keep you still as he pushes further into you with a guttural moan. It’s taking every ounce of his willpower to not lose himself in fucking you senseless with how soft and pliant you are underneath him.

“Yes—! Need more… Want to feel you deep inside me. Please fuck me, Caleb!” You feel so perfect when he buries his face into your neck with a strained groan in the last stretch and meets your cervix for a desperate kiss. The fullness makes your head spin uncontrollably and you tug his hair when you feel him dragging every subtle raised vein and thick head against your walls. His pace is sensual and unhurried until he feels the tension leave your body to ensure you’re enjoying this with him. Heat coils inside your stomach and you inhale sharply when his fingers coax your clit for you to cream around him. “W-wait, when you touch me like that…”

“Didn’t you say I’m in charge now?” A devious smirk rests on his lips when your canines sink into his shoulder, leaving an imprint of your mark that will serve as evidence tomorrow as he continues to pummel into you. You think it’s unfair that he has something on you that you don't and for him to use this harmonizing leverage against you so soon, even though it feels incredibly blissful and pushes you over the edge on a note higher. Your sweet moans of his name coming out in small chants only encourage him to bring you closer to another beautiful release. Your legs wrap tightly around him to subdue your quivering form as your velvet tissues spasm and contract around him and he purposely draws out your second orgasm of the night. “Just let go for me, princess. And don't hold yourself back.”

[goonforgeto]

🁪 ・HOTEL LOBBY

PAIRING — nanami x f!reader x gojo

SYNOPSIS — after traveling hours to see your long distance boyfriend, you end up feeling more like a burden than his girlfriend. so when two strangers you meet in the hotel lobby offer you a distraction, you can't say no. based off of this song.

WC — (13k)

CONTENT — infidelity, smoking, drinking, threesome kinda i guess, oral (f! and m! receiving), restraint, multiple orgasms, fingering, sub!gojo if you squint, consent is clearly given but all parties are (slightly) drunk, praise, slight hair pulling, nanami is yearning, mentions of masturbation, big dick, edging?, dirty talk, gagging, p in v, mentions of porn

a/n: i wrote this before the song got big on tiktok... beta read by @taomyou my goat and my hg helped write the freak m. list | divider | read this on ao3

"Hey, give me a minute," your boyfriend mutters, barely glancing at you as he pushes himself up off of you, reaching for his phone on the nightstand.

The dim glow of the screen lights up his face, and you watch as a slow smile creeps across his lips.

"Shit," he chuckles, swiping at the screen. "I gotta take this. You can clean yourself up, right?"

You barely have time to nod before he's already tugging his boxers back on, running a hand through his hair as he heads toward the bathroom. The door clicks shut behind him, leaving you sprawled across the hotel bed, skin still warm from where his hands had been just moments ago.

Alone.

Tonight was supposed to be special.

You had been waiting for months to see him again, counting down the days, telling yourself the distance was only temporary. The two of you had only been together for two months before his job moved him to the other side of the country. Your years of friendship were supposed to turn into a whirlwind romance, but instead, it had left you with late-night calls that always ended too soon and half-hearted I miss yous over iMessage.

Before he left, you never had the chance to sleep together. It wasn’t that you hadn’t wanted to, life just got in the way. So, when you both finally found a break in your schedules and decided to meet halfway (though, if you were being honest, you had done most of the convincing), he booked a hotel room.

Tonight was supposed to be different.

But here you were, sheets tangled around your legs, body aching for a release that never came. You had already made him cum twice, waiting, hoping, expecting him to return the favor—but it never seemed to happen. You glance at the clock on the nightstand. 12:13 AM.

Nearly four hours.

Four hours of kissing, touching, waiting, hoping that maybe he’d pay attention to you the way you did to him. That he’d notice the way your body tensed, the way your breaths hitched in anticipation, the way you kept giving and giving and giving without ever getting anything in return.

But, now, he’s gone, locked in the bathroom with his phone, laughing at something that clearly matters more than you. And you’re still here, lying in bed, unsatisfied and alone.

You sigh, lifting your hips just enough to pull out the dry towel from underneath you, wiping his cum off your stomach. The warm fabric feels clinical against your skin, scrubbing away the last remnants of a night that was supposed to mean something.

You slip back into your lacy black set—the one you had picked out just for him—before reaching for the dress you had spent way too much time choosing, hoping it would catch his eye, earn you a damn compliment, or at least some acknowledgment. But it hadn’t.

Not once.

Barefoot, you pad across the carpet toward the bathroom, hesitation lingering in your steps before you knock softly on the door.

There’s a pause, then the muffled sound of his voice. “One sec, man.” A beat of silence, then he adds, “Woman, I’m on the phone, I told you.”

You swallow, fingers tightening slightly at your sides. “I, uh… I’m just going to get some air.”

You don’t wait for a response, not that you expect one.

You grab your room key from the dresser by the door, slip into your shoes, and step out into the hallway. The air feels different out there. Less stifling, less heavy.

By the time you make it to the lobby, you know you don’t want to stop there. You push past the glass doors, stepping outside into the cool night air. The city hums softly around you. Distant traffic, the occasional laugh from a passing couple, the buzz of a neon sign flickering just above you.

You take a deep breath, wrapping your arms around yourself, letting the cool air settle on your skin. It’s quiet out here, peaceful in a way that makes you feel alone, but not lonely.

The sound of a door creaking open breaks the silence.

You glance over as a man steps out of the hotel, flicking a lighter open with one hand and slipping a cigarette between his lips with the other. He looks about your age, maybe a little older, with dark, tired eyes and a suit jacket slung lazily over his arm like he had just come from something important but didn’t care enough to keep up the appearance.

He catches you staring, exhaling a slow stream of smoke before offering a small, knowing nod.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asks.

You let out a soft, humorless laugh, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “Something like that.”

He nods, tapping ash onto the pavement. “Yeah. Me too.”

A comfortable silence settles between you, the kind that doesn’t feel awkward or forced. The distant hum of the city fills the gaps where conversation doesn’t, the occasional flicker of his lighter, and the soft crackle of burning tobacco the only real sounds between you.

A few minutes pass before you speak again.

“What’re you here for?” you ask, shifting your weight slightly as you glance over at him.

“Work,” he says simply, taking another drag of his cigarette. He exhales slowly, watching the smoke dissipate into the night air. “Meetings, schmoozing, pretending I care more than I actually do.”

You huff a quiet laugh, crossing your arms. “Sounds thrilling.”

“Oh, it is.” He smirks, flicking the cigarette between his fingers before glancing at you. “What about you?”

You hesitate, your fingers grazing over the hem of your dress before you sigh. “Vacation.”

He raises an eyebrow, amused. “You don’t sound like you’re having a very good one.”

You let out a small, dry laugh, looking away. “Yeah. Guess not.” "That’s a bummer," he says, his voice light, like he’s making an observation rather than prying.

You don’t respond.

He places the cigarette between his lips again, inhaling deeply before pulling it back and holding it out to you. The glowing ember flickers in the dim light as he tilts his head slightly.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

You hesitate for a moment before reaching out, plucking the cigarette from his fingers. You bring it to your lips, inhaling, and immediately regret it as the smoke burns down your throat. You cough, turning your head away as you try to compose yourself.

He chuckles, amused. “Been a while?”

You clear your throat, exhaling the rest of the smoke in a slow breath. “High school, maybe.”

He hums, watching you for a beat before you finally say it.

“My boyfriend’s a dick.”

There’s no hesitation in your voice, no need to sugarcoat it. The words sit in the air between you, hanging there like smoke.

He doesn’t look surprised. Just nods, shoving his free hand into his pocket. “Yeah?”

You take another drag, this time slower, letting the taste linger before you exhale. “Yeah.” You hand the cigarette back to him, watching as he takes it between his fingers with ease.

“You?” you ask, glancing up at him.

“My colleague’s annoying.”

You huff out a small laugh. “That’s it?”

“That’s it,” he confirms, taking another drag. “Got stuck sharing a room with him. Guy doesn’t shut up. I’m supposed to grab a drink with him right now.”

You shake your head, smirking. “I feel like that’s not quite on the same level as my problem.”

He grins, tilting his head toward you. “Maybe not, but hey, annoying can be exhausting.”

You hum, leaning back slightly against the hotel’s brick wall, the cool surface grounding you.

The silence between you stretches again, but it’s easy, natural. You find yourself watching the cigarette glow between his fingers, the way the smoke curls into the night air, disappearing just as quickly as it came.

“Why’s he a dick?” he asks, not looking at you this time. It’s casual, like he’s just making conversation.

You think about it for a second, then shrug. “Because I flew across the country to see him, and he’s currently locked in a hotel bathroom on the phone with someone he clearly enjoys talking to more than me.”

He lets out a low whistle. “Yeah, that’s a dick move.”

You let out a bitter laugh. “Right?”

He offers you the cigarette again without a word. You shake your head.

"That’s a shame," he says, exhaling smoke as he flicks the cigarette between his fingers. His gaze flickers toward you, unreadable yet intent. "Pretty girl like you doesn’t deserve that."

The compliment catches you off guard. It’s casual, effortless, like he didn’t even have to think about saying it, but something about the way he says it makes your stomach tighten.

You let out a soft scoff, looking away. "Guess not."

He hums, taking another slow drag. "So, what are you gonna do about it?"

You blink, glancing back at him. "What do you mean?"

He shrugs, like it’s the simplest question in the world. "You flew all this way for a guy who won’t even give you the time of day. You planning on spending the rest of the night waiting for him to remember you exist?"

You stay quiet.

Because you don’t know.

You had come here with a picture in your mind, an expectation of what this night was supposed to be. But now, standing outside a hotel with a stranger who smokes like it’s second nature and looks at you like you actually matter, you’re starting to think maybe… you had it all wrong. Your thoughts are interrupted by the sound of the hotel door swinging open.

You whip your head around, eyes landing on the man stepping outside.

He’s handsome, no doubt. Tall, broad-shouldered with sharp features, but something about him is off. He’s wearing a compression shirt tucked into dress pants like he couldn't decide between casual or formal. And then there are the sunglasses. Tinted so dark you wonder how the hell he can even see through them.

It’s night, after all.

“Nanaminnnn,” he calls out, voice loud and exaggerated. “There you are!”

The man beside you, Nanami, apparently, closes his eyes for a brief second, inhaling like he’s summoning patience from the depths of his soul. He takes one last drag from his cigarette before flicking it onto the pavement and crushing it under his heel.

You glance at him, amused. “Colleague?”

“Unfortunately,” Nanami mutters, his voice carrying the distinct tone of a man questioning all of his life choices.

The new guy approaches, a wide grin stretching across his face. “I thought you ditched me, man.” He finally notices you standing there, and his grin only grows. “And who’s this?”

Nanami exhales through his nose. “Gojo, don’t.”

Gojo ignores him entirely, turning his full attention to you. “Are you a friend of Nanami’s, or did he just get lucky tonight?”

You blink, caught between amusement and secondhand embarrassment as Nanami pinches the bridge of his nose, looking like he regrets every decision that led him to this moment.

You raise an eyebrow, biting back a smirk as you glance between the two men.

“Lucky?” you repeat, tilting your head toward Nanami. “Is that what you call sneaking out for a smoke?”

Nanami exhales sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. “Gojo, I swear to—”

“Relax, relax,” Gojo says, waving him off before turning his attention back to you. “I’m just messing with him. But, seriously, what’s a pretty girl like you doing standing out here alone at this hour?”

You scoff, crossing your arms. “Who says I’m alone?”

Gojo grins, looking way too pleased with himself. “Oh? So you are with Nanami.”

“She’s not,” Nanami interrupts flatly.

You let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “No, I’m not.”

Gojo hums, clearly interested. “Then what’s the story?”

Nanami starts to interject, but you beat him to it, shrugging. “Came here to see my boyfriend, but he’s not really paying attention to me.”

Gojo whistles, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Ouch. Hate to see it.” He tilts his head, a teasing lilt in his voice. “And here I thought Nanami was the sad one tonight.”

Nanami exhales through his nose. “I’m leaving.”

Gojo ignores him completely, leaning in slightly toward you. “So, what’s the plan? Gonna wait around for him, or…” He lets the question hang in the air, like he’s daring you to finish it.

You pause, looking down at the pavement. Just an hour ago, the answer would’ve been obvious. But now, after standing out here, talking to Nanami, having Gojo barrel into your night like a wrecking ball of energy.

You’re not so sure anymore.

“I don’t know,” you admit.

Gojo nods, rocking back on his heels. “Well, lucky for you, I do.”

Nanami sighs. “Gojo.”

Gojo waves a hand dismissively. “Come hang out with us.”

You blink. “What?”

“Come out,” he repeats easily, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You flew all the way here just to be ignored. Might as well have a good time instead, right?”

You hesitate, glancing at Nanami, who looks entirely done with this conversation.

Gojo grins. “C’mon, we’ll get drinks. Nanami can complain about work, you can complain about your boyfriend, and I’ll make fun of both of you while looking ridiculously good doing it. Win-win-win.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, considering. You should probably go back to your room. Wait for your boyfriend to finish his call. Try to salvage whatever’s left of the night.

But something about Gojo’s grin and Nanami’s barely-contained exasperation makes you hesitate.

And maybe, just maybe, you don’t want to go back.

"Alright, but," you say, crossing your arms. "I have to be back upstairs in an hour. I don’t want him to worry."

Gojo lets out an exaggerated groan. "Oh, come on, he’s clearly not worried about you."

Nanami exhales sharply, already regretting every decision that led him here. "Let it go, Gojo."

"Fine, fine. One hour. But if I do my job right, you’re not gonna want to go back upstairs."

You roll your eyes. "Uh-huh."

The hotel lobby bar is quieter than you expected, dimly lit with sleek, dark wood furnishings. A few businessmen sit hunched over their drinks at the counter, murmuring among themselves. A jazz tune plays low in the background, barely cutting through the hum of conversation.

Nanami leads the way, choosing a booth toward the back, away from the other guests. Gojo, of course, slides in beside him, sprawled out comfortably while you take the seat across from them.

A waitress comes by almost immediately, taking your orders.

“Sake,” Gojo says without hesitation, flashing a grin. “And keep it coming.”

Nanami sighs. “One bottle is fine.”

Gojo ignores him. “Two bottles.”

The waitress nods, clearly unfazed by their dynamic, before turning to you.

“I’ll have the same,” you say, deciding to lean into it.

Gojo beams. “That’s the spirit.”

When the waitress walks away, Nanami leans back against the booth, leveling you with a look. “So, you actually plan on going back up there?”

You shrug. “I mean… yeah. He’s my boyfriend.”

Gojo scoffs, resting his chin in his hand. “And yet, here you are.”

You glance away, suddenly interested in the menu lying on the table. “It’s complicated.”

Gojo hums, clearly amused. “Isn’t it always?”

Nanami, ever the pragmatist, doesn’t bother commenting, choosing instead to check his watch, probably counting down the minutes until he can leave.

The waitress returns with your drinks, setting the bottles and small cups in front of you. Gojo is the first to pour, filling his and yours before pushing the bottle toward Nanami, who takes his time before finally conceding.

Gojo raises his glass. “To… uh?”

Nanami gives him a flat look. “To making it through the night without regretting this.”

You smirk, lifting your own cup. “To free drinks.”

Gojo grins, and the three of you clink glasses before tossing back the first shot.

The sake is warm and smooth, a slow burn spreading through your chest. You exhale, setting your cup down as Gojo immediately pours another round.

“So,” he says, resting his elbow on the table, “tell me about this boyfriend of yours. What exactly makes him worth all this effort?”

You hesitate, fingers playing with the edge of your sleeve.

You’re not sure if you have an answer. “See what I mean,” Nanami says after downing his glass.

You glance at him, eyebrows raised. “About what?”

Gojo leans in slightly, swirling the sake in his cup. “That you’re putting way too much effort into a guy who wouldn’t do the same for you.”

You scoff, but there’s no real heat behind it. “You don’t even know him.”

Nanami sets his glass down with a quiet clink. “Neither do you, apparently.”

That one stings a little.

Gojo smirks, watching your reaction as he refills your cup. “Ouch. Brutal, Nanamin.”

Nanami ignores him, his gaze steady on you. “If he actually cared, you wouldn’t be sitting here.”

You open your mouth to argue, but no words come out.

Because he’s right.

You shouldn’t have to sit here wondering why your boyfriend hasn’t checked his phone, why he hasn’t even noticed that you left the room.

You toss back the second shot, the warmth spreading faster now, numbing some of the frustration curling in your chest.

“Okay,” you admit, setting the glass down. “Maybe he’s kind of an asshole.”

Gojo grins, topping off your drink again. “And there it is.”

Nanami sighs, rubbing his temple. “Took you long enough.”

“It’s a real shame, you know,” Gojo says, rolling the cup between his fingers before exchanging a glance with Nanami. His smirk is playful, but there’s something sharper lurking beneath it. “If I had a girl as sweet as you, I’d make sure I knew how to treat you right.”

You let out a soft scoff, setting your cup down on the bar. “Big words from a guy wearing sunglasses at midnight.”

Nanami huffs, shaking his head. “Don’t encourage him.”

Gojo grins, unfazed. “Hey, I’m just saying. If I had a girl fly across the country for me, I wouldn’t be locked in a bathroom taking some other call.”

The words shouldn’t sting. Not when they’re coming from Gojo, of all people. But somehow, they do.

You swallow, tilting your head. “And what exactly would you do?”

Gojo leans in just slightly, that ever-present smirk still tugging at his lips. “Wouldn’t let you out of my sight.”

Nanami lets out a quiet sigh, finishing off his drink in one smooth motion. “I’m going to need more alcohol for this.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “You two really know how to make a girl feel better.”

Gojo refills your cup, his grin widening. “That’s what we’re here for.”

And just like that, you take another sip, letting the sake settle warm in your chest, pretending, just for a little while, that you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be. “Can we talk about something else?” you ask, setting your cup down on the table. The warmth of the sake helps, but not enough. You don’t want to think about him anymore—not when you’re sitting here, feeling lighter than you have all night.

Gojo leans back, tapping a finger against his glass. “Alright, fine. New topic.” He pauses, thinking, before his lips curve into a smirk. “How about… the worst date you’ve ever been on?”

Nanami exhales, already looking tired. “This is going to be insufferable.”

You huff out a small laugh, shaking your head. “That’s easy. High school, blind date, the guy showed up twenty minutes late and spent the entire night talking about his fantasy football team.”

Gojo winces. “Brutal.”

Nanami nods in agreement. “That is bad.”

You glance between them. “Alright, your turn. Worst date?”

Gojo grins. “Oh, mine’s legendary. Took a girl to dinner, she spent the entire night texting her ex under the table. Didn’t even try to be subtle about it.”

You snort. “Ouch.”

Nanami, to no one’s surprise, takes his drink and says, “I don’t go on bad dates.”

Gojo scoffs. “You mean you don’t date.”

Nanami ignores him, pouring himself another shot.

You shake your head, smiling. “Alright, so if you’re too perfect to have a bad date, what’s the worst night out you’ve ever had?”

Nanami considers for a moment before sighing. “This one.”

Gojo barks out a laugh, clapping him on the back. “See? Now that is the kind of honesty I respect.”

You smile, taking another sip of your sake. The conversation flows, easy and natural, the weight of the night slowly fading into something lighter.

Maybe you don’t have to go back upstairs just yet. Gojo watches you over the rim of his cup, his smirk lingering, eyes sharp behind those ridiculous sunglasses. He hasn’t stopped looking at you all night. Not in an obvious, predatory way, but in a way that makes it impossible to ignore. Like he’s sizing you up, playing a game you don’t quite know the rules to yet.

You meet his gaze for a beat longer than necessary before turning back to Nanami. “You seriously never had a bad night out?”

Nanami exhales through his nose, giving Gojo a pointed look. “Every night I spend with him qualifies.”

Gojo grins, unbothered. “Oh, come on, Nanamin. You love me.”

“I tolerate you,” Nanami corrects, taking another slow sip of his sake.

You chuckle, leaning forward slightly, fingers tracing absent patterns against the rim of your cup. “You two always like this?”

Gojo hums, tilting his head. “What, charming?”

You roll your eyes. “Sure. Let’s go with that.”

Gojo smirks, but he doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he refills your cup, fingers brushing lightly against yours as he passes it back to you. The touch is fleeting, barely there, but it lingers, warm against your skin.

You swallow, taking a small sip.

Gojo notices.

“So,” he drawls, shifting slightly toward you, his knee knocking against yours under the bar. “What’s your best night out, then? If this—” he gestures vaguely around the bar, “—isn’t the worst, what’s the best?”

You tilt your head, pretending to think. “Mmm. There was this one night, years ago, a guy who actually paid attention to me.”

Gojo smirks. “Sounds like a rare breed.”

You shrug, swirling the sake in your cup. “Maybe.”

His knee stays pressed against yours. Not an accident.

“You know,” Gojo says, voice dropping just slightly, smooth and playful, “I could make sure tonight is one of your better ones.”

Nanami groans. “Jesus Christ.”

You let out a breath of laughter, but your fingers tighten slightly around your cup. Because Gojo is still looking at you like that.

Like he already knows how this night is going to end. You arch a brow, smirking slightly over the rim of your cup. “Oh yeah? And how exactly do you plan on doing that?”

Gojo grins, tilting his head toward you, his knee still pressing against yours. “Well, for starters,” he says, voice smooth as silk, “I’ll actually pay attention to you.”

Your breath catches just slightly. It’s subtle, almost imperceptible, but you see the way his smirk deepens. He caught it.

Nanami groans, rubbing his temple. “I should’ve left when I had the chance.”

You chuckle, but your eyes stay locked with Gojo’s. He’s enjoying this. The push and pull, the way your lips curve just slightly, like you’re considering playing along.

And maybe you are.

Gojo leans over a little more, just enough for you to catch the faint scent of his cologne— something warm, woodsy—intoxicating in a way that makes your head feel a little lighter. His fingers drum against the table before he reaches for the sake bottle again, pouring another drink for you, slow and deliberate.

“Tell me something,” he says, watching the liquid rise in your cup. “Why exactly are you still giving that guy upstairs the benefit of the doubt?”

You exhale, glancing down at the drink in front of you, the answer heavier on your tongue than it should be. “Because I want to believe he’s better than this,” you admit.

Gojo hums, setting the bottle down. “And do you?”

You hesitate.

Nanami exhales sharply. “This is going to be a disaster.”

Gojo ignores him, leaning closer, his knee pressing more firmly against yours, like he’s testing you, waiting to see if you’ll pull away. You don’t.

“That’s the thing about people like him,” Gojo murmurs, voice low enough that it’s just for you now. “They make you wait. They make you think if you’re just patient enough, they’ll change.”

Your fingers tighten around your cup. You know he’s right.

He tilts his head, watching you with an unreadable expression before his gaze drops. To your lips, just for a second, before flicking back up to your eyes.

“But you don’t have to wait,” he adds, the words slow, deliberate. “You could make tonight about you for once.”

Your breath catches again, and this time, there’s no chance he didn’t notice.

You arch a brow, smirking slightly over the rim of your cup. The alcohol takes over “Oh yeah? And how exactly do you plan on doing that?”

Gojo grins, tilting his head toward you, his knee still pressing against yours. “Need me to say it again, pretty?” he says, voice smooth as silk, “I’ll actually pay attention to you.”

Your breath catches just slightly. It’s subtle, almost imperceptible, but you see the way his smirk deepens.

He caught it.

Nanami groans, rubbing his temple. “I should’ve left when I had the chance.”

You chuckle, but your eyes stay locked with Gojo’s. He’s enjoying this. The push and pull, the way your lips curve just slightly, like you’re considering playing along.

And maybe you are.

But then you glance to your left, catching the way Nanami’s fingers tighten around his cup.

He hasn’t spoken, hasn’t even looked at you since Gojo started playing this game. But there’s something about the way his jaw is set, the way he takes a slow sip of his drink—like he’s listening to every word being exchanged, carefully dissecting them in that sharp, calculating way of his.

Gojo notices too.

His smirk widens.

“See?” he murmurs, dragging his knuckles lazily along the rim of his cup. “Even Nanami agrees with me.”

You blink, caught off guard. “What?”

Gojo tilts his head toward the man beside you. “Nanamin’s got that look on his face,” he continues, as if he’s letting you in on a secret. “Like he wants to tell you the same thing I just did but doesn’t wanna say it out loud.”

You turn toward Nanami, raising an eyebrow. “That true?”

Nanami exhales through his nose, setting his drink down with a quiet clink. “I think your boyfriend is an idiot,” he says simply.

Your breath catches for a completely different reason now.

Gojo grins. “See?” He nudges your foot under the table. “Told you.”

Nanami sighs, but he doesn’t deny it.

You’re suddenly hyper aware of everything. The heat of Gojo’s knee pressed against yours, the solid presence of Nanami sitting at his other side, the way the air feels thicker now, like something unspoken is settling in between the three of you.

And neither of them seem in any hurry to break it.

You grip your cup a little tighter, rolling your tongue along the inside of your cheek as you glance between the two of them. The weight of their attention is different now; Gojo’s is teasing but pointed, sharp like a blade wrapped in silk, while Nanami’s is quieter, steadier, like he’s waiting to see where this goes before committing to anything.

The three of you sit in the dim bar, the soft hum of the hotel lobby just beyond, but it might as well be a world away.

Gojo leans in slightly, voice smooth. “So? What do you think, sweetheart?” He tilts his head, watching you. “Are you gonna go back upstairs and wait for a guy who clearly doesn’t give a damn, or…” He trails off, his fingers drumming once against the table once again before he lazily gestures between the three of you.

Your stomach tightens. The implication is there, laced in his tone, in the way his gaze flickers toward Nanami just long enough to mean something.

Nanami sighs across from you, rubbing his temple. “Gojo, you’re being obnoxious.”

“Am I?” Gojo hums, taking another sip of sake before setting his cup down. His eyes flicker back to you. “She doesn’t seem all that opposed to the idea.”

You exhale slowly, feeling the warmth of the alcohol settle in, your inhibitions loosening ever so slightly. There’s a part of you that knows this is probably a bad idea. That this is dangerous in ways you haven’t even fully considered yet.

But there’s another part of you—the part that’s spent the last few hours feeling unappreciated, neglected, unwanted, that finds itself staring at the two men in front of you: one playful, cocky, and completely shameless; the other composed, unreadable, yet not stopping any of this. And wondering if, maybe, just maybe, Gojo is right.

Maybe tonight should be about you for once.

You swirl your sake in your cup, glancing toward Nanami, whose fingers are resting against the bar, his expression unreadable. “And what do you think?” you ask, voice softer, testing.

Nanami doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he lifts his gaze, meeting yours evenly. “I think you’re looking for an excuse to do something reckless.”

Your lips curve slightly. “And if I am?”

He exhales through his nose, reaching for the sake bottle. “Then I’d tell you to be sure it’s what you actually want.”

Gojo chuckles, watching the exchange like it’s the most entertaining thing in the world. “Gosh, Nanamin. You make it sound so serious. I think she deserves to let loose a little, don’t you?”

Nanami doesn’t respond immediately, but you catch the way his fingers tighten just slightly around his glass before he takes another slow sip.

Gojo grins, eyes flicking between the two of you before settling back on you, amusement dancing behind his dark lenses. “So, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice low and smooth. “What do you want?”

The weight of the question settles over you, thick and expectant.

You hold Gojo’s gaze, the weight of his question lingering between the three of you, thick and unspoken. Your heart is beating a little too fast now, not just from the sake, but from the shift in the air, from the way both men are waiting, watching, giving you the space to decide.

You could end this now. Laugh it off, finish your drink, head back upstairs like a good girlfriend should.

Or you could let yourself have this. Just once.

Just tonight.

Your fingers trail lightly along the rim of your cup before you set it down. You turn to Nanami first, watching the way his jaw tenses slightly when your eyes meet. “And if I do say what it is I want?”

Nanami doesn’t look away, but he doesn’t answer right away either. Instead, he exhales slowly, setting his own cup down with precise control. “Then I’d tell you to be sure,” he says, voice steady. “Because once you go down that road, there’s no taking it back.”

Gojo hums, watching him with amusement. “Damn, Nanamin. Didn’t know you had such a dramatic side.” He turns back to you, smirking. “But he’s right, you know. No turning back.”

You already know that.

You know this is dangerous, that this is a choice that will change something, whether you want it to or not. But for the first time tonight, you feel seen. Wanted. Like you’re not just something to be forgotten in a hotel room while someone else makes you an afterthought.

And you don’t want to be an afterthought anymore.

You inhale slowly, fingers tightening slightly against the edge of the bar as you look at both of them.

“I’m sure.”

Nanami watches you carefully, as if giving you one last chance to take it back. Gojo, on the other hand, just grins, like he knew you’d say that all along.

“Good,” Gojo murmurs, voice dropping just slightly. “Then why don’t we get out of here?”

He stands first, tossing a few bills onto the bar without looking. Nanami hesitates for a fraction of a second before sighing, following suit.

And then you’re standing too, heat curling low in your stomach as Gojo leads the way out of the bar, his fingers grazing the small of your back just enough to send a shiver up your spine.

Nanami lingers just behind you, quiet, unreadable.

The elevator ride up is thick with tension, the air between the three of you charged and humming with something you don’t quite have a name for yet.

You stand between them, acutely aware of the space (or lack thereof). Gojo leans against the mirrored wall, one hand in his pocket, the other resting lazily against his thigh. His sunglasses are still perched on his nose, but you can feel his gaze on you.

Nanami stands on your other side—still composed, still unreadable—but his fingers twitch just slightly at his sides. He hasn’t looked at you directly since you left the bar, but his presence is solid, grounding, deliberate.

A soft ding echoes through the elevator as the doors slide open to the highest floor of the hotel.

The suite is exactly what you expected; large, sleek, and expensive, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a breathtaking view of the city below. Dim lighting casts long shadows across the space, the glow from the skyline outside flickering against the glass.

Gojo kicks off his shoes lazily, stretching as he walks toward the minibar. “Well, now that we’ve successfully escaped your trainwreck of a night, I’d say this calls for a proper toast.” He reaches for the stocked bottles, pulling out something dark and expensive-looking. “Whiskey? Wine?”

You hover near the entrance, heart still beating faster than it should be. Nanami steps inside after you, shutting the door behind him with a quiet click.

His eyes meet yours, steady, calculating.

One last chance to walk away.

But you don’t.

Gojo glances back at the two of you, smirking as he unscrews the cap of the bottle. “You’re looking a little tense over there, sweetheart. You sure about this?”

You inhale slowly, fingers brushing against the hem of your dress.

And then, finally, you meet his gaze.

“I’m sure.”

Gojo hums, pouring a drink. “Good,” he murmurs, stepping closer, pressing a glass into your hands. His fingers brush yours, lingering just a second too long.

Nanami exhales quietly from behind you, but he doesn’t step away and neither do you. You take the glass from Gojo’s hand, the warmth of his fingers lingering against your skin for a second too long. The whiskey is smooth when you take a sip, but it does nothing to cool the heat curling low in your stomach.

Gojo watches you over the rim of his own glass, amused, patient, expectant.

Behind you, Nanami is silent, but you feel his presence, the steady weight of his gaze, the way he hasn’t moved from where he’s standing, like he’s anchoring himself, like he’s still waiting for the moment you change your mind.

You won’t.

The room hums with unspoken tension, and it only grows heavier when Gojo finally steps closer, plucking the glass from your hand with an easy smirk. “You’re overthinking, sweetheart.”

His voice is smooth, almost teasing, but there’s something deeper there, something that makes your breath catch when he leans in just slightly, his presence overwhelming in a way that makes it impossible to focus on anything else.

His fingers trail lightly along your arm, slow and deliberate.

Gojo hums, satisfied, and then he’s closing the space between you, his hand finding the curve of your waist as he presses his lips against yours.

It’s slow at first, teasing, coaxing, like he’s savoring the moment, like he knows you won’t pull away. His other hand lifts, fingertips ghosting along the side of your neck before threading into your hair, tilting your head just enough to deepen the kiss.

And then a shift. A presence at your side.

Nanami.

You barely have time to react before you feel the weight of his hand settle against your thigh, warm and steady through the fabric of your dress. It’s not forceful, not urgent. Just there, just waiting.

Gojo smirks against your lips, pulling away just enough to murmur, “Looks like Nanamin finally made up his mind.”

You exhale shakily, caught between the heat of them both.

Gojo’s lips are still hovering near yours, his smirk lazy, smug—like he already knew this was going to happen, like he had seen this moment playing out before you had even realized you wanted it.

But it’s not just Gojo anymore.

Nanami’s hand on your thigh is solid, warm, his touch deliberate. He hasn’t moved beyond that, not yet, but the weight of it alone sends a shiver up your spine.

You turn your head slightly, glancing at Nanami through the dim light. He’s watching you, eyes dark, unreadable, lips pressed into a firm line like he’s still debating the morality of this even while his hand tightens slightly against your leg.

“Relax, Nanamin,” Gojo murmurs, his fingers still tangled in your hair, tilting your head just enough that he can brush his lips over your jaw. “She wants this.”

You do. You don’t even hesitate when you reach for Nanami, your fingers brushing against his wrist, encouraging. His chest rises and falls slowly, measured, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he exhales through his nose, his fingers slipping just a little higher against your thigh.

Gojo chuckles, clearly pleased, his breath warm against your skin. “See?” he muses, trailing soft, teasing kisses along the side of your neck. “You’re already making her impatient.”

Nanami’s fingers flex against you, but he doesn’t respond.

He doesn’t have to.

Because the next thing you know, his other hand is tilting your chin toward him, and then his lips are on yours.

Gojo pulls back just enough to watch, his thumb skimming along your collarbone, his smirk widening. “Now that’s what I like to see.”

Gojo downs the rest of his drink, the sound of the glass being placed back down against the counter barely audible over the way your breath hitches against Nanami’s lips.

Nanami tastes like cigarettes. He kisses you slowly, carefully—he’s trying to commit this moment to memory, like he already knows he shouldn’t be doing this but can’t bring himself to stop. His hand on your thigh tightens just slightly, grounding, steady, possessive.

Gojo watches, his smirk widening, amusement flickering behind those ridiculous sunglasses that still haven’t left his face. “Nanamin,” he drawls, tilting his head. “You’re being greedy.”

Nanami exhales through his nose, slow and measured, but he doesn’t pull away. Not immediately.

Gojo leans in, his fingers ghosting along your arm before trailing up to your chin, tilting your head just enough that you have no choice but to look at him. His voice drops, teasing and smooth.

“You have to share.”

Nanami huffs, finally pulling back, his lips barely inches from yours. He says nothing, just watches as Gojo closes the space between you, his fingers tracing the line of your jaw before his lips press against yours.

Where Nanami was steady and sure, Gojo is teasing, playful, his kiss slow but purposeful, drawing you in, taking his time, making sure you feel every second of it.

Nanami exhales sharply beside you, but his hand doesn’t leave your thigh. If anything, it only moves higher. Your hand moves up, fingers curling around the delicate strap of your dress, pulling it down one slow inch at a time. The fabric slips over your shoulder, baring more of your skin to the cool air, to the weight of their stares.

Gojo makes a low noise in his throat, somewhere between approval and amusement. “Now we’re talking,” he murmurs against your lips, his fingers ghosting along the newly exposed skin before trailing lower, teasing the edge of the dress as if testing how far you’ll go.

Nanami doesn’t speak. He doesn’t have to. His fingers, firm and unwavering, move higher along your thigh, pushing the fabric of your dress up in the process. There’s a tension in him, tightly wound, he’s trying to convince himself that this is a bad idea even as his body betrays him.

Gojo, on the other hand, has no such reservations. He chuckles, pressing another kiss to your lips before leaning back slightly, his smirk downright wicked.

“You look real pretty like this,” he muses, watching the way your breath catches when Nanami’s fingers tighten just slightly against your thigh. He reaches up, slipping the other strap of your dress down, letting the fabric slide lower, leaving you more bare beneath their gaze.

Nanami exhales slowly, his eyes dark, half-lidded, his fingers flexing as if resisting the urge to move even further. Gojo's lips ghost along your ear, his voice a low murmur. “Think he likes what he sees, baby.”

Your breath catches, a shiver running down your spine as Nanami’s fingers flex against your thigh. He still hasn’t spoken, but his silence speaks louder than words.The tension in his body, the way his grip tightens just slightly, the heat in his gaze when your eyes flicker toward him.

Gojo chuckles, pressing a teasing kiss just below your jaw. “You’re getting shy on us now?” He tilts his head, brushing your hair back over your shoulder, exposing more of your skin. “Didn’t seem so shy downstairs.”

You swallow, fingers curling against the fabric of Nanami’s sleeve, anchoring yourself. You feel the way his arm tenses beneath your touch, the restraint he’s barely holding onto.

“I’m not shy,” you murmur, your voice steadier than you expected.

Gojo hums approvingly, slipping a finger under the loose strap of your dress, dragging it down your arm. “Good.”

Nanami exhales through his nose, his hand on your thigh unmoving, still waiting, still watching. His other hand lifts, fingers skimming along your arm, tracing a slow line up to your shoulder. His touch is careful, deliberate, like he’s memorizing the way you feel beneath his fingertips.

Gojo leans back just enough to watch you, his smirk lazy, his amusement laced with something deeper. “You gonna let Nanami touch you, sweetheart?”

Your breath hitches, your pulse thrumming beneath your skin. You don’t need to think. You already know the answer.

You turn your head toward Nanami, eyes locking with his. His expression is unreadable, his lips slightly parted, his grip still firm but hesitant. Like he’s still waiting for something.

So you give it to him.

You reach for his hand, guiding it higher along your thigh.

Nanami exhales, slow and measured, but his restraint cracks just enough for his fingers to move on their own, pressing into your skin, claiming the space you’ve offered him.

Gojo whistles lowly, dragging his thumb along your collarbone. “Now that’s more like it.”

His voice is smooth, teasing, but you barely register it, because Nanami is finally touching you like he wants to.

And you don’t think you’ve ever felt more wanted in your life.

His hand slides higher, fingers splaying possessively over your hip as Gojo’s lips ghost along the curve of your neck. Every touch feels electric, igniting a fire that courses through your body. The world shrinks to just this: Nanami’s steady, grounding heat; Gojo’s playful, teasing desire; and the way they consume you completely, leaving no room for anything else.

Your breath catches as Nanami’s rough hand glides over the soft skin of your thigh. His touch is deliberate, his calloused fingers tracing slow, maddening circles that send shivers racing up your spine. A shaky exhale escapes you before you can stop it, and your eyes dart to Nanami’s face in search of his reaction.

His brow furrows, not with annoyance or anger, but with restraint. The intensity in his gaze is palpable, his pupils blown wide with barely contained want. Your eyes trail downward, from the tension in his jaw to the undone collar of his shirt, to the way his slacks strain against him. The realization hits you like a spark to dry kindling, he wants this. He wants you. Badly.

When he notices your lingering stare, his eyes lock onto yours, dark and unyielding. The air between you thickens as you grip the sheets beneath you and nod silently, giving him permission.

“Come on, Nanami,” Gojo’s voice breaks the silence from behind you, low and edged with impatience. “Don’t keep her waiting.” He tries to sound casual, but the desperation lacing his tone betrays him.

Gojo’s touch and teasing voice keep you distracted. Before you can fully process what’s happening, you feel your panties being slid aside. Nanami’s movements are deliberate, his hands steady as he gently pulls the fabric down your legs, discarding it without ceremony. The absence of the barrier leaves you feeling exposed, vulnerable, and achingly desperate for more.

His hands return to their place on your thighs, grounding you with their rough warmth. The anticipation is unbearable, a tension coiling tighter in your core with every passing second. You’re sure Nanami can feel it, sense it, because just as the thought crosses your mind, his fingers find you.

A loud gasp escapes your lips as he positions his hand, and the first experimental brush of his thumb against your clit sends a jolt through your body. The sound you make is involuntary—a soft whimper that betrays just how much you need this. Nanami’s lips twitch into a faint smirk at your reaction, the first hint of amusement he’s shown all night. His composure cracks just enough to reveal the satisfaction he takes in unraveling you.

He doesn’t stop there. His movements grow more confident, his pace quickening as he watches the way your body responds to him. Each touch feels like a revelation, a reminder of what it’s like to be truly seen and cared for in such an intimate way. The noises you make are uncontrollable now, soft cries spilling from your lips as pleasure builds inside you.

“You’re doing so good, sweetheart,” Gojo murmurs against your neck, his voice low and soothing despite the hunger behind it. His teeth graze your skin lightly as he adds, “You’re so good for him, huh? Is he making you feel good?”

You want to answer him, to tell him how good it feels, but every attempt at forming words dissolves into pathetic whines. Gojo chuckles softly at your struggle and cups your chin in his hand, tilting your face toward him. His lips capture yours in a kiss that steals what little breath remains in your lungs. His tongue brushes against yours, deepening the connection as the tension inside you threatens to snap.

Just when you think you’re about to fall over the edge, Nanami stops. The sudden loss of contact makes you whine in protest, your eyes darting down to meet his with frustration painted across your face.

“Can I do something else?” he asks softly, his gaze searching yours for permission. You nod quickly, desperately, needing him to finish what he started.

But what comes next catches you off guard. Nanami leans closer and closer until you can feel the heat of his breath against your inner thighs.

“Wait, you don’t have to—” Your protest dies in a moan as his tongue runs between your folds. The sensation is overwhelming, and all you can do is surrender to it. A hand finds yours amidst the chaos; Gojo’s fingers interlace with yours as if anchoring you against the storm of pleasure crashing over you.

Nanami’s hands creep up your thighs until they settle firmly on your hips, holding you in place like he’s afraid you might escape him. But escape is the last thing on your mind as wave after wave of sensation pulls you under.

Nanami’s tongue continues its relentless work, his movements precise and deliberate as he adjusts his position. When his tongue flicks over your clit, a sharp gasp escapes your lips before you instinctively cover your mouth, trying (and failing) to muffle the sounds spilling out of you. The sensation is overwhelming, so much better than his fingers alone.

Then, you feel it—one of his hands leaves your hip, and a finger gently prods at your entrance. Slowly, he dips it inside, pushing deeper with care before curling it just right and beginning to thrust. Your back arches off the bed at the sensation, but Nanami’s firm grip on your hips keeps you grounded. He presses you back down against the mattress with a quiet authority that only makes the heat pooling in your abdomen burn hotter.

When he adds a second finger, the stretch is perfect, just enough to make you gasp again. His mouth works in tandem with his hand now, lips and tongue lapping and sucking at your most sensitive spots. His fingers curl inside you with precision, hitting that spot that makes stars explode behind your eyelids. The pleasure builds impossibly fast, and the sounds spilling from your lips grow louder and more desperate.

Before those cries can echo too loudly, Gojo leans in to capture them with a rough kiss. His lips press against yours hungrily, swallowing every moan and whimper as if they belong to him. His tongue pushes into your mouth, dominating the kiss even as Nanami drives you closer and closer to the edge.

Nanami’s pace quickens, his fingers thrusting faster, his tongue working harder, and it’s too much. You try to pull away from Gojo to catch your breath, but he only deepens the kiss, holding you firmly in place. The next thing you know, a loud moan tears from your throat into Gojo’s mouth as the tension inside you snaps. Your release crashes over you like a tidal wave, leaving you trembling as you spill into Nanami’s waiting mouth.

Nanami doesn’t stop, not immediately. He continues to lap up every bit of you with an almost reverent hunger until the overstimulation becomes too much. Your body twitches involuntarily as you pull away from his mouth with a soft whimper.

Completely spent and breathless, you collapse against Gojo’s chest with a sigh. “Fuck…” is all you manage to say between ragged breaths.

Gojo chuckles softly, his voice low and teasing as he plants featherlight kisses along your face and neck. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Nanami slowly sitting up at the edge of the bed. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, his expression unreadable but undeniably satisfied.

It takes a few moments for you to collect yourself enough to sit upright again. Your gaze shifts to Gojo, who is lounging back against the headboard like he owns every inch of this moment, and maybe he does. His lazy smirk only adds to his infuriatingly cocky demeanor. The top buttons of his expensive collared shirt are undone (of course he’d wear something so effortlessly stylish), revealing just enough skin to tempt you further.

You reach out to cup Gojo’s face in both hands before shifting onto his lap to straddle him. His smirk widens slightly as he watches you move, but there’s an unmistakable hunger simmering beneath those impossibly blue eyes—eyes that seem even more piercing without his signature glasses.

Smiling softly, you let your hands trail down his chest toward the remaining buttons on his shirt. One by one, you undo them slowly, deliberately, before sliding the fabric off his shoulders and letting it fall away completely. You study him carefully as you do this: every flicker of emotion in his gaze, every subtle shift in his expression.

Without the barrier of clothing, your hands roam freely over him. You trace each scar and muscle on his chest and abs with reverence, memorizing every inch of him under your touch. Leaning forward slightly, you press soft kisses down his chest as your fingers continue their exploration.

The sharp intake of breath he takes when your hands dip lower sends a thrill through you. His stomach tenses beneath your touch, and when he exhales through gritted teeth, a soft hissing sound, you can tell he’s trying hard not to let any more noise escape him.

But that cocky smirk still lingers on his lips, and, oh no, you can’t have that.

Your hands trail down his chest, teasingly slow, until they reach the waistband of his slacks. You glance up into Gojo’s eyes as your fingers brush over the hard length straining against the fabric. His jaw tightens, and you watch with satisfaction as his hands grip the sheets tightly, knuckles turning white.

“Come on, princess,” he growls through gritted teeth, his brow furrowed in frustration. “No need to be such a tease.”

“You just need to have some patience, hmm?” you reply sweetly, though there’s a playful edge to your tone that makes his lips twitch into a strained smirk.

Your fingers move to his belt, taking your time undoing the loop and sliding it free. The deliberate pace earns you a low groan from him, but he doesn’t stop you. Once the belt is in your hands, an idea sparks in your mind. You wrap it around his wrists, looping it securely before fastening it back with the hook. It’s not the tightest restraint, you know he could snap it easily if he wanted, but when you look at him, all he does is let out a low laugh.

“Really?” he asks, raising an amused brow. “You know this won’t hold me, right?”

“I know,” you say with a sly smile. “But you’re being so good for me right now…I have a feeling it will.”

His smirk widens slightly at your confidence, but before he can respond, you turn back to Nanami. The moment your eyes meet his, your newfound boldness falters under the weight of his gaze. There’s something feral in the way he looks at you, like he’s been holding himself back for far too long.

“You didn’t forget about me, did you?” His voice is deep and smooth, sending a shiver down your spine. The hunger in his tone makes your stomach tighten with anticipation.

“I—” You try to form a coherent response, but the heat pooling in your core makes it impossible to think straight. Your brain feels fuzzy, consumed by thoughts of what lies beneath his pants.

Nanami leans closer, his large hands finding your waist as he pulls you toward him effortlessly. “Let’s give him a show,” he murmurs against your ear.

You manage a small smile before glancing back at Gojo over your shoulder. “Watch closely, sweetheart,” you tease with a giggle.

Gojo tsks but doesn’t move an inch; instead, he leans back against the headboard with a lazy grin that doesn’t quite mask the fire in his eyes.

Turning back to Nanami, you reach up to cup his cheek. The moment your hand touches him, his lips crash onto yours with an intensity that steals the air from your lungs. Unlike Gojo’s playful teasing kisses, Nanami’s are raw and consuming, he kisses like he needs you more than air itself. It’s messy and desperate and so intoxicating that you never want it to end.

Your fingers fumble with the buttons of his shirt as his hands slide around to support your back. A soft moan escapes you when he latches onto your neck again, sucking and biting at the already sensitive skin like a man starved. His warm breath fans over your skin as his teeth graze along your pulse point, making it nearly impossible for you to focus on anything else.

Still, despite the distraction of his mouth on your neck and the way his hands grip you so firmly yet tenderly, you manage to pull off his shirt at last. Wasting no time now, you move to unbuckle his belt and undo his pants with an urgency that surprises even you. You don’t think you’ve ever stripped someone this quickly in your life.

Once his slacks are discarded onto the floor alongside Gojo’s belt and shirt, your hands trail down Nanami’s chest again. His breath hitches when your fingers trace over each defined muscle before dipping lower toward his waistband. You take note of every reaction, the way his breathing quickens slightly when you brush over his v-line; the way his lips part ever so slightly as if trying to hold back a sound.

When your hand finally slips beneath the fabric of his boxers and wraps around him fully for the first time, you freeze for just a moment. He’s thick, so much so that your hand doesn’t fully close around him, and somehow that realization only makes the ache between your thighs burn hotter.

You pull him free from the confines of his boxers and guide him away from your neck so you can kiss him again. This time it’s slower but no less intense, your lips moving against his as if savoring every second of contact. As soon as he relaxes into the kiss, trusting you completely in this moment, you give him an experimental stroke.

The sharp inhale he takes against your lips sends a thrill through you. His hips twitch slightly under your touch as if instinctively seeking more friction, but for now, all he does is kiss you harder in response.

Nanami groans into your mouth, the sound deep and guttural, sending a jolt straight to your core. Everything feels so hot, so overwhelming, you almost can’t take it. With steady movements, your hand works him, using the slickness of his precum to glide smoothly up and down. The way his breath hitches and his grip tightens on your waist tells you he’s close, so close.

But, just as he’s about to tip over the edge, you pull your hand away. His head falls back with a frustrated groan before he looks down at you, his blown pupils locking onto yours. The intensity in his gaze sends another wave of heat through you.

You flash him a soft smile before shifting further down the bed until you’re face-to-face with his erection. His chest rises and falls heavily as he watches you, realization dawning in his eyes. Before you can move any further, his hand reaches out to cup your face, turning it so you’re looking back at him.

“Wait,” he murmurs, voice strained. “You don’t have to—”

His words are cut off by a sharp groan as your tongue glides up the length of him, slow and deliberate. His hand moves to grip your hair instinctively as his head tilts back, the muscles in his neck straining with pleasure.

You open your mouth wider, taking him in inch by inch. The stretch is intense, but the sounds he’s making spur you on, low moans and curses spilling from his lips like music to your ears. You go as far as you can until you feel the urge to gag, using your hand to take care of what you can’t fit.

The noises filling the room are obscene, wet sounds from your mouth mixed with Nanami’s ragged breaths and quiet curses. Spit dribbles down your chin, mingling with the precum leaking from him, but none of it matters. All you can focus on is how beautiful he looks above you: flushed cheeks, furrowed brow, and parted lips that let out the most sinful sounds.

“Shit,” Nanami mutters through gritted teeth. “It feels so good, baby. You’re doing so fucking good, taking my dick like that.”

His hips twitch slightly as his restraint starts to falter. He grips your hair tighter, guiding your head down just a little more as his breathing grows more erratic.

“Shit, shit—I’m gonna—you gotta get off…” His voice is desperate now as he tries to pull away before losing control.

But instead of stopping, you move faster, determined to push him over the edge. It doesn’t take long before his groans turn into a deep growl, and with one final thrust of his hips, he spills into your mouth. The warmth floods down your throat as he comes undone beneath you.

You slowly pull off him, swallowing everything before meeting his gaze again with a satisfied smile. Nanami looks at you with a mix of awe and apology as he cups your cheek gently. “I didn’t mean to do that,” he murmurs softly. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

You scoff lightly at his words and lean into his touch. “If I didn’t want it,” you reply with a playful smile, “I wouldn’t have done it.”

Leaning forward, you kiss him again, a slow kiss that reassures him there’s nothing to apologize for.

Nanami pulls back slightly and glances over at Gojo still sitting at the head of the bed with an exaggerated pout on his face. “You should probably do something about that,” Nanami says with a small smirk.

Rolling your eyes fondly, you press one last kiss to Nanami’s lips before crawling over to Gojo. “You didn’t think I forgot about you, did you?” you tease with a soft giggle as you straddle him again.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Gojo replies smugly, though there’s an unmistakable edge of impatience in his tone.

Smiling sweetly at him, you tug down his boxers to free him completely. Reaching over to grab a bottle of lube from the nightstand (because of course Gojo has one conveniently nearby), you quickly lather your hand before wrapping it around him and stroking at a ruthless pace.

“Fuck—” Gojo gasps sharply but doesn’t get far before you shut him up with a kiss. His lips crash against yours hungrily as if trying to distract himself from how good your hand feels on him. You feel him struggle against the belt still binding his wrists together, the tension in his arms mirroring the way his legs tense beneath you.

Breaking away from the kiss momentarily, you trail kisses down his chest and stomach until you reach his abdomen. Without hesitation this time, you take him into your mouth easily, your movements smoother now after earlier practice with Nanami.

“Fuck… beautiful,” Gojo groans softly above you. “Please…”

You move teasingly slow at first just to savor every little sound spilling from his lips, the low moans and sharp intakes of breath that only spur you on further. But when he suddenly thrusts up into your mouth without warning, catching you off guard for just a moment, you react quickly by pressing a firm hand against his hips to hold him down.

Your pace quickens then, your mouth working in tandem with your hand as Gojo’s breathing grows more ragged by the second.

“Fuck… fuck… fuck,” he chants breathlessly between moans. “Please, sweetheart. I’m so fucking close, you’re doing so fucking good, I feel so fucking good right now… please—”

With one final groan that sounds almost like a plea, he spills into your mouth. You stay there for a moment longer before pulling off slowly as he finishes releasing completely.

Quickly swallowing and wiping your mouth, you wrap your hand around Gojo again, stroking him with deliberate precision. His reaction is immediate, a sharp groan muffled as he turns his face into the pillow, his body trembling beneath your touch.

You frown slightly, leaning closer. “Come on, Satoru,” you tease softly. 

His flushed face turns toward you reluctantly, his breath coming in short gasps. His pupils are blown wide as he meets your gaze. “Please,” he whimpers, his voice strained. “I just came, it’s too much. I can’t.”

You giggle at his vulnerability, but before you can respond, strong hands grip your waist from behind and lift you effortlessly off Gojo’s lap. You let out a surprised yelp as Nanami pulls you back against him, settling you onto his lap instead. The sudden shift makes you release Gojo’s length, much to his visible relief.

“You’re having fun, aren’t you?” Nanami’s deep voice rumbles in your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. His tone is calm, but the heat behind it makes your stomach twist with anticipation. “Well,” he murmurs smoothly, “don’t stop on my account. Keep going.”

You glance back at Gojo, who lets out a soft whimper as you take hold of him again. His hips twitch as though trying to escape your touch, but it doesn’t last long.

“Really?” he mutters breathlessly. “In front of Nanamin? This is pretty embarrassing, you know he’s an underclassman, right? Fuck—”

Your giggle fills the air as Gojo squirms under your hand. But before you can respond with another playful remark, a gasp escapes your lips as Nanami’s hand slides down between your thighs. His fingers trace over your heat with an almost maddening slowness.

“Keep going, sweetheart,” Nanami whispers in your ear, his tone laced with amusement. “You have to finish what you started.” You can hear the smile in his voice, cocky and self-assured, and it only makes the fire inside you burn brighter.

‘Cocky bastard…’ you think to yourself before refocusing on Gojo.

Your hand moves faster now, stroking him with an intensity that has him whining and writhing against the belt restraining his wrists. But as Nanami slips a finger inside you, curling it just right, a groan escapes your lips despite yourself. The dual sensations threaten to overwhelm you—Gojo’s soft whimpers blending with the way Nanami’s touch sends sparks shooting through your body.

When Nanami adds a second finger and presses firmly against your stomach to hold you in place, it’s almost too much. Your movements on Gojo falter slightly as your mind goes fuzzy with pleasure.

“Don’t stop now,” Nanami murmurs behind you, his voice low and commanding.

Whining softly at the loss of Nanami’s fingers as he pulls away suddenly, you glance back at him in protest. But all he does is smirk at your frustration.

Turning back to Gojo, whose flushed face is now framed by sweat-dampened hair sticking to his forehead, you grumble under your breath before gripping him again. This time there’s no teasing, your hand moves impossibly fast, drawing out broken cries from him as his body tenses beneath yours.

It doesn’t take long before Gojo lets out a strangled moan and spills over your hand again. His head falls back into the pillow as his eyes squeeze shut tightly in the throes of release. You watch him intently as he rides out his high, the way his chest rises and falls rapidly; the way his lips part slightly as he struggles to catch his breath.

“Good girl,” Nanami whispers from behind you, his warm breath brushing against the shell of your ear. “Your reward now.”

Before you can process his words fully, you feel him enter you in one smooth motion. A gasp tears from your throat at the sudden fullness as he sets a relentless pace almost immediately. His hands grip your hips firmly to keep you steady against him as he moves deeper with each thrust.

Nanami holds you firmly against him as your body trembles in the aftermath, his strong arms keeping you grounded while you catch your breath. His lips brush against your ear, murmuring softly, “You did so well, darling.” The praise sends a lingering shiver down your spine, even as your muscles feel like jelly against him.

Gojo, still sprawled out on the bed with his wrists bound by the belt, lets out a breathless laugh. “Well,” he says through ragged breaths, his voice tinged with amusement despite his exhaustion. “I guess I wasn’t the only one completely wrecked tonight.”

You glance over at him, his flushed cheeks and disheveled hair making him look uncharacteristically vulnerable. The smirk tugging at his lips is still cocky, but there’s a softness in his gaze now, a rare glimpse of sincerity beneath the teasing exterior.

Nanami shifts behind you, his hands sliding down to your thighs as he presses a kiss to your shoulder. “Don’t let him fool you,” he murmurs quietly enough for only you to hear. “He’s already planning his next move.”

Gojo catches the tail end of Nanami’s comment and grins lazily. “What can I say? I’m a man of ambition.”

You roll your eyes at him but can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips. Slowly, you push yourself off Nanami’s lap and crawl back toward Gojo, who watches you intently as you approach. His wrists are still bound, but there’s no mistaking the hunger in his gaze—the way his eyes follow every movement like he’s already imagining what comes next.

“You’re insatiable,” you tease softly as you lean over him.

“And you love it,” Gojo replies without missing a beat. His smirk widens slightly as he tilts his head up to capture your lips in a kiss. It’s slower this time—languid and unhurried—but no less consuming.

Nanami watches from behind you with an unreadable expression. You can feel his presence even without looking, his steady gaze burning into your skin like an anchor that keeps you grounded amidst Gojo’s chaos.

When Gojo pulls back from the kiss, he glances down at his restrained wrists and raises an eyebrow at you. “So… are we keeping these on all night?” he asks playfully.

You giggle softly before reaching over to undo the belt around his wrists. As soon as it falls away, Gojo stretches his arms above his head with a satisfied groan before pulling you down onto the bed beside him. His hands find your waist immediately, fingers tracing lazy circles on your skin.

Nanami moves closer then, settling beside you both with an air of quiet confidence that contrasts sharply with Gojo’s playful energy. His hand brushes against yours briefly, a subtle gesture that feels grounding amidst the lingering heat in the room.

For a moment, everything feels still, quiet except for the sound of heavy breathing and soft murmurs between kisses. The tension has eased now, replaced by something softer.

“I should go,” you say, voice barely above a whisper as you tug your clothes back into place, already feeling the distance growing between you.

Before either of them can protest, you lean in and press a kiss to Gojo’s lips, soft, lingering, just enough to say everything you can’t. Then to Nanami, whose hand is still resting on your thigh, unmoving, as if letting go might make this real.

They don’t argue. They know why you have to go back.

“I said an hour,” you murmur, slipping your shoes on with trembling fingers. “And it’s been more than that. I can’t just abandon my boyfriend.”

The word tastes bitter in your mouth. Not out of guilt, but because for the first time, you’re starting to understand what you want, and it isn’t where you’re going back to.

Still, you gather your things, smoothing your dress, brushing your hair back into place like nothing happened. Like you didn’t just come undone in the hands of two men who made you feel more desired in a single hour than your boyfriend had in months.

Gojo watches you with unreadable eyes, the corner of his mouth twitching like he wants to say something, joke it off, maybe, or ask you to stay.

Nanami just watches you, jaw tight, shoulders tense beneath his button-down.

You open the door.

“I’ll see you around,” you offer softly, not sure if it’s a promise or a lie.

Then you step out, leaving behind the warmth, the tension, the ache. And walk back into the cold of the hallway. Just as you reach the elevator and press the button to go down, your name echoes down the hallway, low, steady, and unmistakably familiar.

You turn, startled, and find Nanami striding toward you. His shirt is now buttoned, his pants back in place, but there’s something different about him. The cool, composed confidence he carried in the hotel room is gone, replaced by something quieter, almost unsure.

“Did I forget something?” you ask, brows slightly raised.

“No,” he says, stopping a few feet in front of you. His hand rubs at the back of his neck, eyes flicking to the side. “God, this is awkward.”

You smile a little, trying to ease the tension. “What’s up?”

He exhales, then meets your gaze. “Can I get your number?” he asks, voice softer now. “Or... you give me yours.”

You blink, surprised.

“I know you have a boyfriend,” he continues, the words tumbling out quicker now. “But if it doesn’t work out, or, hell, even if it does and you just want to talk sometime, I’d like to hear from you.”

There’s no pressure in his voice, no expectation. Just honesty. A flicker of hope.

You hesitate, then reach into your bag and pull out your phone.

“Here,” you say, handing it to him. “Put yours in.”

Nanami’s shoulders ease as he takes it, quietly typing in his number. He hands it back without a word, but there’s something a little lighter in his expression now.

The elevator dings behind you, doors sliding open.

“Thank you,” he says.

You nod once, stepping inside.

“Goodnight, Nanami.”

“Goodnight,” he murmurs.

Two days later, just before you’re supposed to head out for dinner, your boyfriend tells you he’s not feeling well.

“I think I’m gonna stay in,” he mumbles from the hotel bed, one arm slung over his eyes, his phone clutched loosely in the other. “Headache, stomach’s off. You go, though. Enjoy it for the both of us.”

You hesitate in the doorway, one earring in, the other between your fingers. “Are you sure? I can cancel the reservation, grab takeout—”

“No, it’s fine,” he cuts in quickly. “Seriously. You were looking forward to this.”

Were you?

The truth is, you don’t even remember what restaurant he picked. The excitement that had fluttered in your stomach when you first arrived in this city with him is long gone, replaced by a heavy, restless guilt that sits just behind your ribs. A cold, quiet voice that’s been whispering you crossed a line every time you look at him.

So maybe you are a little relieved when he insists you go without him. Maybe you’re glad for the space.

Dinner is uneventful. The server is nice, the wine is fine, the food is probably decent—you can’t really tell. You scroll through your phone between courses. Check messages you’ve already seen. Re-read texts that don’t mean anything. You don’t post a picture of your meal to your story. That used to be your thing.

The ride back to the hotel is quiet. Your driver doesn’t say much. You stare out the window, the city passing in blurred smears of gold and red lights.

It’s only when you slide your key card into the lock and step inside the room that something shifts.

The lights are low. Not off, but dimmed, your boyfriend’s usual preference when he's watching something late at night. The curtains are drawn shut. The TV is playing, but muted.

You hear a sound before you see anything. Something faint. A pattern of breath, uneven and fast.

And then, from the corner of your eye, you spot movement. A silhouette in the bed. His back propped against the headboard, the blanket low on his hips, one hand moving under it.

You stop in your tracks.

“Oh my god,” you mutter under your breath, turning away instinctively. “Seriously?”

He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t even pause.

“Didn’t think you’d be back yet,” he says casually, breathless, not even looking at you.

Your stomach twists. You glance back, just for a second.

His phone is still in his hand. Unlocked. Lit up.

It’s not porn.

It’s photos. Messages. Videos.

Not yours.

You stare for a beat too long, your brain slowly catching up with your eyes. His screen shows a string of open messages, a conversation so explicit you don’t even need to scroll to know exactly what it is.

“What the fuck,” you say, your voice quiet. Too quiet.

He finally meets your eyes then, and you expect guilt. Embarrassment. Something.

But there’s none.

“Does it matter?” he says flatly. Like the answer should be obvious. Like it’s your fault for being shocked.

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. The room feels too small. Too loud, even in its silence.

“How long?” you ask instead.

He shrugs, indifferent. “I don’t know. A while.”

The words don’t fully register, but the meaning does. Your mind flashes back to the months of phone calls, the “I miss you” texts, the effort you put into visiting him here, halfway across the country. Every part of you that twisted with guilt after that night, and now it turns to something else.

Anger. Clarity. Sadness, maybe. But mostly just done.

You grab your purse, your jacket, and your phone.

And you leave.

The door slams behind you, the echo sharp in the quiet hallway.

You don’t cry. Not yet.

Your legs carry you to the elevator before you’ve even made the conscious decision. You press the button, then press it again. Like that’ll make it come faster.

Your phone is still in your hand. It buzzes. A calendar reminder. You swipe it away.

Your fingers hover over your contacts. You scroll past his name. Then past a few others. Then stop.

There it is.

The one you shouldn’t be thinking about. The one who looked at you like you were wanted. Who touched you like he meant it.

Nanami.

You don’t let yourself hesitate.

[You]: Hey. Are you still in town?

You stare at the screen after you hit send, your heart thudding behind your ribs.

For the first time in days, it’s quiet and the guilt no longer eats at you.

pls do not copy, repost, or claim my work as your own :) if you have any issues with what i wrote or noticed any mistakes, let me know privately. thank you for reading <3

[talon-the-hawk]

Yandere Batfam! x Neglected Streamer! Reader

Previous Next

Chapter 3: Gone

TW: Yet again I state yandere themes...it literally says it in the title

Damian wandered the halls of the manor quickly, every stride purposeful as his destination drew nearer.

The west wing.

Once an esteemed part of the manor, the west wing wing had been left to rot for years. After the passing of Bruce's parents, the area where he used to sleep as a child came with all the painful memories of his mother reading him to sleep and helping him get ready for school. His old childhood bedroom had been boarded up, and the whole wing had been abandoned after that.

You had been given a room there shortly after being adopted, the peeling wallpaper making you wrinkle your nose. Bruce had always claimed that the placement was temporary until he could get a new room fixed up for you...but the constant need to help save Gotham flung that promise from his mind within the first 12 hours of making it.

Damian silently observed the degrading state of the halls as he walked, eyeing the thick layer of dust that had settled on everything. What set off his internal alarms was the amount of dust that had was on the various paintings and vases on display. It looked like it hadn't been attended to for at least six months, but there wasn't enough to indicated years worth of neglect.

His steps paused as he reached your old door. Damian's hands twitched, faltering before reaching for the knob.

Why? Why did something feel wrong?

It was absurd. He was raised by the Al Ghuls, he was trained to be a lethal weapon...and yet he found himself hesitating at a mere door.

"Y/n. We need to talk." He spoke, waiting patiently for a response. When he didn't get one, he opened the door and stepped inside.

What he saw made him freeze, or rather the lack of what he saw did so.

Empty. Your room was empty. Nothing but peeling paint and the bare bones of a bookshelf & bedframe remained. His gaze roamed the room, searching for anything to help him determine where you were.

"Y/n..?" He spoke again, voice quieter as he took another step inside. Every footstep echoed as he walked, each sound a constant reminder of how bare your room was. One conclusion came to mind as he investigated, and he felt his jaw tick.

You were gone. You've been gone for a while judging by the stale air and dust collection. There was no signs of struggle, and none of the manor's alarms had gone off that he could remember, meaning you had likely left of your own accord.

Did father know? Were any of his siblings aware of your departure from the manor? If they were, why didn't they say anything to him? You weren't like the rest of them. You were weak, and weak things couldn't survive on their own in the Gotham streets.

Damian felt something burning in his chest, just below his diaphragm. Guilt? Worry? He wasn't sure. What was there to even worry about? It wasn't his fault you had been so susceptible to his mocking. He was trying to make you understand what the world was really like; it wasn't his fault you were so emotional about everything.

So then why? Why did he feel bad about every time he sent you running out crying? Why did he feel so bad about all the times he had threatened you or mocked your lineage?

You were always the competition for the estate, for the Wayne legacy. If anything, he should be elated that you've suddenly vanished. Instead all he felt was the ache in his lower stomach, and the dull throb of his jaw as it clenched relentlessly. He wasn't even aware that he had pulled his phone out, already dialing up the number he knew could help locate and retrieve his older sibling.

He was doing this for you. He'd make sure to educate you on why you can't survive without the family once he got you back.

Dick had made himself a promise to invite you out to dinner to properly congratulate you on your fame. He had spent the past few hours running around and getting a cake, making sure the bakery had the words 'Congratulations, Baby Bird!' written elegantly in frosting and everything. He hummed to himself as he looked it over, chest puffing up with pride when it looked spectacular.

It was perfect, just like his favourite little sibling deserved.

He was practically skipping as he went to find your room, trying not to think about the sorry state your area of the manor was in compared to his.

Ah, it doesn't matter. He'd quickly have you moved into his old room so that he could make sure you were living comfortably where he could find you easily next time he visited from Blüdhaven.

"Baby bird? I heard about you reaching 2 mil the other day! I brought a cake to celebrate and everything, I'm so proud of-" He began, freezing when he stepped into the open door and saw nothing but Damian.

"They're gone." The youngest spoke, covering his tone in fake indifference.

"Gone? What do you mean gone?" Dick echoed, the smile melting off his face.

"I don't know." Damian replied, arm motioning towards the room. "They're gone. Appeared as if they haven't resided here for at least 6 months."

Dick felt himself set the cake down, a mild panic rising in his chest.

"How? What? They- they couldn't have just left-"

"Evidently, they did." Damian spoke.

"No...no. They're too young. Gotham will eat them alive, Damian. W-what if they get robbed? What if they get mugged? Or murderered? What if they get hurt and we can't help them-" Dick rambled, pacing around the room as he bit his cheek in worry.

"Then we need to get them back before they can get hurt." Damian replied. "You'll talk to Jason. I'll talk to Father and Tim. We'll find them and bring them home."

When Jason first learned that Bruce had adopted two new kids shortly after his passing, he was pissed.

Had he really meant so little to the old man that he would go and pick up two more strays without a second thought?

For months he watched from the shadows as Bruce trained up a new robin, teaching him all the gimmicks and trades of the job. Watching how Tim received the same praise Bruce used to give him, the occasional physical affection the two shared almost making him sick. For the longest time, Jason hated Tim with every drop of his being. Everything the kid did seemed to be a slap in the face. Improving the manor's security, rapidly solving cases with Bruce, the rate in which he seemed to pick up fighting...all of it made him hate the Bat even more.

And then there was you.

If Tim was a replacement, you were some cheap knockoff trinket left to collect dust on a shelf. At least with Tim, Jason could understand that Bruce adopted him because he would be a good robin. But you? Why on earth would Bruce waste time taking in such an insignificant thing? You weren't a fighter, weren't an inventor...all you had was half of Bruce's DNA, and even then he heard that you only had that because Bruce got a little too drunk one night and decided to get it on with some low life drug dealer. Somehow that made you worthy to take the place in the manor that he once held? What a joke.

Oh if he hated Tim, then he despised you.

Of course, he never really saw you do anything. He never witnessed any interaction between you and Bruce. He never stuck around long enough to see if you got along with the family, he just assumed you did: because of course you did, didn't you? If you didn't...then all his hatred held no meaning. If you weren't a child that got fawned over by all of the family, if you weren't coddled by them, then all the anger he had bottled up towards you over the years was unjustified...and he couldn't have that.

So colour him surprised when he got a phone call from a frantic Dick, hurriedly rushing out words over the phone as he tried to convey the urgency of the situation to Jason.

You. Gone. No one knows where. This for some reason matters?

"Okay? What does this have to do with me?" Jason spoke, picking at one of his nails.

.

.

"We need you to find them, Jason."

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[mosskissed]

600 words, sae x fem!reader, mdni. cockwarming, finger sucking, choking mention

plagued by visions of cockwarming sae... you're sat in his lap, one of his arms wrapped tightly around your waist to keep you from squirming. he's resting his chin on your shoulder, wholly focused on the match playing on the tv and seemingly unbothered by the fact that he's currently buried balls deep inside you.

it's unbearable to be stuffed full of him but completely ignored.

when you cave and reach down to play with your clit he tuts, grabbing your hand and squeezing it in his own before pointedly setting it down for you on your thigh. you know better than to try it again — it's enough to drive you to tears of frustration though, and now you're left whining and begging him to just fuck you already.

he strokes your hair like you're a fussy pet, shushing you. "i know it's hard, but i want you to sit still for just a bit longer until the game's done. want my help? need me to take your mind off that needy cunt?"

you nod desperately, balling your hands into fists while you try to do as he says and just sit still and keep him warm.

he's quick to act then, trailing a hand up your front and pinching a nipple meanly between his fingers, laughing quietly at the way you whimper and arch your back away from the sting. he doesn't linger for long, thankfully, moving higher until he's tracing your lower lip with his index and middle fingers.

you take the hint and open your mouth for him, sticking your tongue out for him the way you know he likes. he rubs the pads of his fingers over your tongue, pushing down on it to pin it against your chin and let your drool pool at the tip; he gathers the mess on his fingertips before finally slipping them between your lips for you to suck on. his length twitches inside you with interest at the way you instantly hollow your cheeks around the digits and you can't help the quiet whimper that escapes you at the feeling.

he leaves you be like that for a few minutes, sucking mindlessly until you start trying to roll your hips again, making aborted movements as you try to fuck yourself even with him pinning you. he starts to move his fingers then as a distraction, pulling out until just the tips are trapped between your greedy lips before pushing them back in deep enough to make you gag.

the first time you write it off as an accident, but when he makes you gag for the second time you can tell it’s on purpose even without feeling the low, almost sadistic laugh that rumbles through his chest. you turn your head to try and shoot him a reproachful glare but he just raises an eyebrow, still smirking.

it's hard for him to take you seriously when you're blinking back tears, the sight only making him want to see you cry harder; how far can he push you tonight?

but then he's thinking... you clamped down on him like a vice both times he made you gag — practically strangled his dick, really. was it from the temporary lack of air?

would it feel better if he choked you? could he make himself come just from the way you’ll massage his cock while he does it?

only one way for him to find out, he supposes. good thing his match is finishing up.

[enimsiyobeht]

lazy morning s3x with hookup beomgyu

the best way to wake up! beomgyu x male reader.

1056 unprotected/creampie, implied dubcon, emotional ambiguity, praise kink, minor size kink, minor breeding kink, sensory intimacy, emotional vulnerability, cockwarming, spooning mdni !!

a/n : i promise you i wasnt setting this back, i tend to focus on one thing and forget about everything else until that one thing is done (basically im terrible at multitasking). this is also inspired my a diff txt ot5 work of mine, for the beomgyu imagine! (if i was truly lazy i wouldve c&p but im not!! i need to get back into writing filth anyways).

The sun barely filters through the blinds. The room smells like sweat and cologne, faintly laced with whatever incense someone in the dorm had lit the night before. It’s quiet. Not sterile, just... tentative. Like the walls know they’re witnessing something temporary.

You’re awake before he is.

Beomgyu’s sprawled out beside you, long legs tangled in the sheets, one arm flung over the edge of the bed like he belongs here—like you both do. His face is smushed into the pillow, hair mussed and neck covered in fading pink marks you don’t quite remember giving him. You exhale slow, eyes trailing down the lazy curve of his bare back. His skin still glows in that morning way, like he hasn’t fully returned from whatever place he disappeared to when you were inside him last night.

You shouldn’t be here.

You told yourself this was a one-time thing. Maybe a curiosity. Maybe just the way his gaze lingered too long at the party. Maybe just loneliness.

But now the sheets are warm, and so is his body. And your hand’s already drifting under the blanket, finding his waist, fingers skating gently across the soft dip of his stomach like they belong there.

He shifts when you touch him, stirs with a quiet sound that’s not quite a moan.

"...You’re still here,” he murmurs, voice rough with sleep. There’s no accusation in it. Just surprise.

“Didn’t feel like leaving,” you say, thumb brushing his skin. “Didn’t want to wake you.”

“You didn’t.” He stretches, slow and fluid, ass pressing back into your hips like a reflex. “Just felt warm.”

Warm. Not “nice.” Not “right.” But it settles under your ribs anyway.

“You always this cuddly after a hookup?” you ask, mouth near his ear now.

He huffs something like a laugh. “Only when the dick was good.”

You grin—sharp but quiet—and press yourself against him from behind, letting your half-hard cock nudge between his cheeks. Beomgyu doesn’t move away.

“You were insatiable last night,” you murmur, hand curling around his hip.

“I warned you,” he says, a little smug even as his voice trembles. “I said once wouldn’t be enough.”

“Guess I’m a fast learner.”

You rock your hips slowly, dragging yourself along the soft cleft of his ass, not quite fucking, not quite teasing. Just there. Lingering. His skin is warm, supple, inviting. His body sinks back against yours like he needs it—maybe even more than he’s letting on.

“Fuck,” Beomgyu breathes when you grind in deeper, “You’re hard again? You’re such a menace.”

“So leave,” you whisper against his nape, teeth grazing lightly. “Push me off. Tell me to stop.”

He doesn’t. Instead, his legs shift, opening just enough to make room. He bites back a sound when your cock slides between his thighs, slick from how close you’d already gotten.

“I remember you saying you wanted it in the morning,” you say, voice low. “Slurred it into my mouth when you were riding me.”

He groans, head tilting back. “Don’t say that—”

“Why not?” You suck lightly at the skin beneath his ear, cock sliding against his entrance now, dragging slow. “You were so needy. Begged me not to pull out. Told me I could use you again before anyone else woke up.”

His breath hitches, and his back arches just a little more.

You push in slowly—warmth enveloping you inch by inch. He’s still loose from the night before, but snug enough to grip you just right, clenching like his body remembers everything. You bite down a groan as your hips meet his, fully seated inside.

Beomgyu shivers. “Shit. Fuck. You feel—”

“I know,” you murmur. “You always do.”

There’s something reverent about the way you move—unhurried, deep. Like you’re not in a rush to finish. Like maybe you want to memorize the way he feels again before the moment ends. Each thrust is gentle but heavy, dragging gasps out of him that sound more like confessions.

You wrap an arm around his waist, palm flat over his stomach, pulling him close as your hips rock in steady circles. He’s trembling now, lips parted, panting softly into the pillow with every roll of your hips.

“Feels like you never left,” he whispers.

“I didn’t.”

It’s too much and not enough. A mess of slick heat, flushed skin, and whispered nothings that won’t mean anything in an hour. But right now? He’s everything. Tight around you. Melting into you. Back pressed to your chest as if you’ve always belonged behind him, buried inside him.

“I could stay like this,” you murmur, barely aware of the words. “Just keep you full.”

Beomgyu moans, breath hitching as his walls flutter around you. “Please… do it. Don’t pull out. I want it—want you.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, rhythm faltering only for a second before you slam back in with more force, hips snapping now.

He cries out, face buried in the sheets.

“You like that? Being used first thing in the morning?” you growl against his shoulder. “Still full of me from last night, and you’re already begging for more?”

He nods desperately, knuckles white in the sheets. “It’s so good. Fuck—yes, yes, keep going—”

You reach around, stroking him lazily while you fuck into him harder. Your pace doesn’t falter even as he tenses, moaning brokenly as he cums with your hand wrapped tight around him. His body clamps down on your cock, fluttering with every pulse, and it drives you over the edge just moments later.

You spill into him with a deep groan, hips rutting until you’re empty. And even then, you don’t move. You just stay there, still locked inside, both of you shaking.

You rest your forehead between his shoulders, heart racing.

He’s the one who speaks first, voice small.

“…So is this a thing now?”

You open your eyes. The room’s still dim. The sheets are still tangled. You’re still inside him.

You want to say yes. That you’ll stay. That you’ll do this again tomorrow, maybe even every morning.

But instead, you kiss the back of his neck.

“Just a good morning,” you say.

He doesn’t reply. But when he shifts again, pulling your arm tighter around his waist and humming faintly as he drifts back to sleep with you still buried in him—you think he already knows the truth.

[rambling-at-midnight]

Second Chances

Summary: It’s not common knowledge that you have a superpower: regeneration. You didn’t think that would be a problem... Jason and Damian think otherwise.

Relationships: Jason Todd x Vigilante!Reader, Damian Wayne & Jason Todd & Reader (platonic because they’re brothers duh)

DAMIAN WAYNE IS MY SON I LOVE HIM SO MUCH (I just watched the Supersons movie he makes me smile so hard)

Word Count: 4.8k

Content warning for temporary character death. Reader’s vigilante name is Ghoul, BTW.

Jason is in the shower when he hears someone break into his apartment.

He groans, makes sure all the shampoo is rinsed out of his hair, then grabs the knife mounted to his curtain rod. It’s not the first time someone has attacked him in the shower, and it probably won’t be the last. Still, Jason wishes they would at least give him time to grab a towel. It’s just as uncomfortable for him as it is for them.

This time, they actually do. Maybe they’re going to be polite enough to wait for him to finish cleaning all of Gotham’s sludge off his body. Jason would appreciate the sentiment more if the upcoming fight wouldn’t immediately dirty his body again with their blood.

He doesn’t turn off the shower when he steps out, dries his feet on the bath mat. He’s reaching for his towel when he hears one of the intruders say something.

He recognizes that voice.

Jason sticks his head out of the bathroom and glowers. “What are you doing here, brat?”

Damian Wayne, one of Bruce Wayne’s many children and the current Robin, scowls right back. “Why is your shower still running, Todd? Do you not care for conservation efforts? There are people in Michigan who would—”

“Okay, Dami,” interrupts another voice.

Jason’s whole body flushes. He makes sure every part of him except his face is hidden behind the door when a second person comes into view.

Your vigilante costume is zipped halfway, the top pulled down and sleeves tied around your waist, exposing the compression shirt with kevlar-like weave you wore beneath it. A large bandage is wrapped around your upper arm, growing redder by the second.

“Hi, Y/N,” Jason says. Does he sound too excited? Does he not sound excited enough?

You just smile. “Hey, Jace. Sorry, we came by for first aid supplies. We’ll be out of your hair in just a sec.”

“No, don’t rush on my account,” Jason says. Does he sound too desperate? “Just give me a—”

He ducks back into the bathroom to turn off the shower after making sure he’s clean and one hundred percent soap-free. Not expecting company, he’d only brought a pair of boxers and military-style shorts in with him. Rushing, hoping you don’t leave before he gets out (Damian can leave, though) he pulls both on and slams the door open.

It hits the wall so hard it rebounds back into Jason’s hand. You jump at the sound, nearly poking Damian with the needle in your hand.

“Watch it, idiot!” Damian snaps. To Jason, he says, “You just dented your wall. Moron.”

“Don’t talk to them like that,” Jason says sternly. God, he knows why the brat is so prickly, but he still got on Jason’s last nerves. He checks the wall, hoping the brat exaggerated, but nope. Another dent to match the nicks, scrapes, and bullet holes that already littered his apartment.

He is never getting back his security deposit.

You’re about to stitch up a cut on Damian’s arm when Jason clucks his tongue. “That doesn’t look good.” The bandage around your arm is sodden with blood.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” you say dismissively. “Ready, Dami?”

Interestingly enough, the brat doesn’t tell you off for giving him a nickname. It seems to be a privilege reserved exclusively for you and Dick; every time Jason tries, he’s vehemently told off.

Then again, his nicknames are usually derogatory. That might contribute to it a little bit.

Damian sets his jaw and you stitch him up quickly, murmuring, “I’m sorry,” every time his fingers twitch—the only indication of pain he’ll show. Jason eyes the bandage around your arm with worry, but the blood stain doesn’t grow any more in the interim.

As soon as you tie off the thread, Damian hops to his feet and scurries for the bathroom. You start to get up, brow pinched with worry, but Jason says, “Let me look at your arm.”

Your eyes take a while to slide from the shut bathroom door to Jason’s face, but then you say, “Yeah, okay,” and sink back into your chair.

To distract you as he unpeels the sticky bandage from your arm, Jason asks, “So you’re on babysitting duty now, huh?”

“Oh, no, Damian and I patrol together every Friday night.” You use finger quotes with the other hand and say, “B think it ‘promotes more accountability’ when someone gets injured during patrol if they have a partner.”

Jason frowns at the sight of the cut. It’s obviously from a knife, and not pretty, exactly, but also not big enough to let out as much blood as soaked through the bandage. “Who did this to you?”

“Just a typical goon. It’s really not a big deal.” Your eyes follow Jason’s gaze. “I guess it bled a lot, huh? Like a head wound. You know, disproportionate.” You tug your sleeve over the wound.

“Y/N is not as weak as the rest of you,” Damian sneers, having vacated the bathroom on silent feet. You jump, and so does Jason, even though he has Batman-honed instincts.

There’s just something intoxicating about your presence. You’re… distracting.

It was manageable back before Jason was Robin and you were one of his classmates. You were obsessed with Batman and crimefighting, and Jason was a bookworm, so your friendship shouldn’t have worked, but it did.

Then, ironically, Bruce Wayne adopted him and Jason became the crimefighter. He never told you about his identity to protect Bruce’s, but you figured it out when he died.

Then he came back to Gotham, hellbent on revenge, and burned every bridge he’d ever built. Including the one with you.

Jason still could barely believe you give him the time of day after all the awful things he’d said and done. But you’re just as obsessed with redemption and forgiveness as Bruce, and he will never take that for granted.

His fascination with you was manageable before Jason died, but it’s downright consuming now.

Jason can’t believe how you’d grown up to be so… so flat-out amazing. Graceful, and maybe not as skilled at hand-to-hand as the rest of Gotham’s vigilantes, but you adapt with a long-range fighting style. You’re strong, and self-assured, and really, seriously gorgeous.

Jason realizes his hand is still on your arm, touching the soft skin, and he yanks it away as if burnt. He doesn’t understand how you remain so scar-free despite years of crimefighting, and he’s abruptly self-conscious about the marks that litter his torso, arms, and legs. Your eyes roam over them, lingering on his chest and stomach

He’s most self-conscious about the jagged ‘J’ carved into his cheek, and Jason tries to cover it with his hand without drawing attention. That doesn’t work—he looks like a weirdo waving his hands around—so he tilts his cheek away so you don’t have to see it anymore.

You clear your throat and look away, as if embarrassed for some reason.

Damian’s gaze pingpongs between the two of you before he rolls his eyes, sighing dramatically. “Are you two finished?”

You push away from the table and make a grabby hand. Damian rolls his eyes again, but he sidles closer, and you check his stitched cut. Your thumb rubs over the raised line of stitches like you’re trying to wipe his pain away.

Jason realizes he’s staring at the bottom lip you’re jutting out in sympathy. He flushes again.

After everything he did, he can’t expect anything more than friendship from you. If that’s what you’re willing to give, he’ll never push for more.

“I am fine, Y/N,” Damian said, pushing your hand away, albeit gently. A hint of whine entered his voice and Jason blinked. It wasn’t often that he heard Damian sound like an actual kid. “Can we resume patrol now?”

“Wait,” Jason hears someone say, and it’s—him, he’s the one saying it. “Are you hungry? I have a casserole in the oven.”

Damian snorts. “My apologies. I did not know you had adopted the personality of a middle-aged white wom—”

You cover Damian’s mouth with your hand and say, “That sounds great, Jay. Thanks.”

Jason’s greedy. He’ll take whatever scraps he can get from you.

The three of you eat, the conversation pleasant whenever Damian isn’t threatening Jason because Jason taunted him. You laugh as they bicker, used to the antics of Gotham’s vigilantes by now.

Once everyone is done, it’s just about time for the Red Hood to start his patrol, so with a little cajoling from you, Damian agrees to let Jason tag along until your patrol ends. Jason suits up, and you lead the charge out of his apartment window, followed by Damian. Jason is last out, stopping briefly to make sure the window latches before stepping off the fire escape.

The sensation of his stomach rising is familiar from so many years of grappling through the city, but no less exhilarating. He follows your and Robin’s flipping shapes as the two of you tear through the city. The bright primary color accents on Robin’s suit and the pale gray color of your own shouldn’t blend in so well with Gotham’s shadows, but you and Damian manage pretty well. It turns into kind of a game of tag, and whenever he gets close enough, you grin and twist away, muffling laughter behind one hand.

He could definitely catch you, but he thinks you’re enjoying the game of cat-and-mouse just as much as he, if not more.

Jason’s just thinking to himself that there’s not much crime tonight when the Batsignal lights up the sky.

“Way to ruin the mood,” he grumbles. The game is over. The three of you grapple toward the giant light without any more flipping or laughter.

Jim Gordon obviously isn’t expecting them when they land. After all, it’s common knowledge that Ghoul is a Bat-affiliate, but Red Hood’s alliance with the Batclan is still relatively new. Shaky.

And a lot of people still think the Red Hood hates Ghoul. Admittedly, the way Jason tried to kill you when he returned hadn’t helped the rumors.

It made sense at the time. He’d also tried to kill Batman, Nightwing, and Robin, so it’s not like it was entirely personal. You don’t hold a grudge.

“Where’s Batman?” is his first question.

You shrug. “Running late.”

Jason’s not sure if that’s true. With you and Robin patrolling Newtown and Otisburg, Spoiler and Red Robin handling everything from the Coventry to the Upper East Side, and Black Bat and Batwing watching over everything else but the Tricorner, the city is in pretty good hands for the night.

And yes, Jason’s knowledge about patrol schedules is from his days as a crime lord, but it still comes in handy as a reformed vigilante.

“Why did you summon us here, Commissioner?” Robin asks.

“Bane escaped Arkham earlier tonight,” says the Commissioner. “We have reason to believe he’s hiding out in Amusement Mile. The Joker’s not out, for one, and we have a… witness… that claims to have seen Bane in the park.”

“Where is this witness?” Robin demands.

“In our holding cell, sobering up,” Gordon says with a long-suffering sigh.

“Oh, great,” Jason says. “So it might have been Bane, or it might have been one of those giant stuffed bears at every amusement park.”

You elbow him in the side and promise Gordon, “We’ll check it out, Commish. Let you know when he’s handled again!”

You and Robin balance on the edge of the roof. Jason asks in a low tone, “Batman’s not coming tonight, is he?” He would have already been here.

You and Robin share a guilty look.

Jason sighs. Bane is a tough opponent, possibly their strongest rogue. It’ll take a lot of force to bring him down… force he’s not sure you and Robin can muster. You’re good vigilantes, don’t get him wrong, but Robin is a prepubescent boy and has the height and muscle mass to show for it. You’re strong and graceful and should be fine as long as you keep your distance, but Jason’s the only one that comes close to Bane in terms of muscle mass.

It’ll be up to him to keep the two of you safe.

“I think I parked my bike somewhere around here,” you say. “It’ll get us there faster than grappling.”

Jason thinks something is stuck in his throat. He croaks, “You have a motorcycle?”

You nod. He can’t see your face beneath the mask, but he’s pretty sure you’re smiling. “Got it just a couple weeks ago, but I needed Earl to paint it over.”

“It is parked in that alley.” Robin points.

“Okay,” Jason says. “You two drive to my apartment. I’ll follow above, then we’ll head to Amusement Mile.”

“Aye-aye,” you joke. “Come on, bud.”

You and Robin swing away, the younger boy loudly complaining about the myriad nicknames you think up for him. Jason swings away to get a headstart. A minute later, the sound of a bike engine revving hits Jason’s ears, and it isn’t long after that he looks down to see you and Robin on a pale bike painted in the same colors as your suit.

You look up and wave.

Jason almost misses his next swing. He swallows and has to look away. Seeing you on a motorcycle…

As soon as he puts the key in his bike’s ignition, you speed away, tires squealing against the asphalt. Jason grins and twists the throttle. He shoots onto the street and hunches low to decrease wind resistance, pushing the bike hard to catch up to you.

You wear no helmet, but you’d forced Robin to wear one. He sits behind you on the bike, arms locked around your waist. At the sight of Jason, he makes a rude gesture, but Jason just huffs out a laugh. The brat likes to aggravate him on purpose, but it’s hard to feel annoyed when he drives next to you, racing side-by-side.

It doesn’t take long to reach Amusement Mile. You and Jason shift gears, rolling to a stop.

“You and Robin go high,” Jason instructs. “I’ll go low.”

“Roger.” You kick the stand for your bike, then you and Robin shoot your grapples for the nearest roof.

In seconds, the two of you are out of sight.

Jason swallows. He hates this strip of clown-themed land. The Joker isn’t in it currently, but it still reminds him of that madman.

Come on. He shakes himself. Jason can’t afford to get distracted. Bane is dangerous.

Jason makes no effort to muffle the sounds of his footsteps as he strolls through the park. A plastic bag drifts along the path with a gust of wind, and a couple bowling pins on the ground roll. But apart from that, the park is empty and quiet.

Too quiet.

Jason turns just in time to avoid a crushing blow to his head.

He hits the ground rolling and comes up with guns blazing. Bullets deflect off Bane’s armor, and he doesn’t seem to feel the ones that burrow into his skin.

“You will not stop me, Red Hood,” says the mechanized voice. “No one will stop me in my pursuit to break Batman, even though he sent you in his place.”

“He didn’t send me,” says Jason.

Help comes from above. A steel bola—one of your weapons of choice—whips through the air and wraps around Bane’s throat. He chokes and reaches up to untangle it. At the same time, a Batarang slices through the air and cuts straight through one of the hoses pumping super-steroid into his body.

He groans. Drops to one knee.

Jason spares a glance to the rooftops, but he only sees Robin.

That moment of distraction costs him. Bane surges back to his feet and tackles him. Jason hits the ground, the back of his head colliding against the pavement so hard his vision blacks out for a moment.

He blinks away the darkness in time to see a punishing fist aimed right for his head. There’s not enough time to dodge. Jason can only brace for an impact… that never comes.

The hook of a grapple is embedded into Bane’s wrist. Its line is taught. On the roof of a decrepit popcorn stand, Robin yanks back with all his might.

Jason knees Bane in the crotch, then elbows him in the face.

Bane grunts and yanks his arm forward, pulling Robin right to the ground in a flutter of cape, but Jason slips out from beneath him and rolls to his feet. Bane may be strong, and his hits may hurt, but that’s only if they connect. And Bane isn’t very fast.

The engine of a bike roars, and your voice shouts, “Hood, out of the way!”

Jason obeys without thinking. It’s a good thing he doesn’t hesitate, because he barely dodges your motorcycle before you ram it full-speed into Bane.

Not even the giant can resist a motorcycle going full-throttle. He topples back, and you keep driving, treating his body like a ramp.

Jason laughs despite himself. “I can see tire tracks on your face, ugly!” He and Robin throw knives at the same time. Robin’s slices off another steroid line. Jason’s lodges in Bane’s shoulder. It should have severed his deltoid, leaving his arms useless, but the man doesn’t react to the pain at all.

Getting run over pisses Bane off. You turn in a sharp circle on the bike and rev your engine, obviously ready to try the same trick twice.

But Jason sees the tension in Bane’s legs, and he’s shouting for you to stop after you start.

You don’t listen. You just drive.

Bane sidesteps your bike at the last possible second, and his arm shoots out. His hand is large enough to wrap around your entire throat, and it yanks you off your bike, which skids away with a screech of tire and metal. You choke, scrabbling at the iron fingers around your throat.

Jason has his gun out in a second, but Bane holds your body in front of his. So Jason shoots his foot. It doesn't have an effect.

“Ghoul!” Robin shouts. He unsheathes his katana.

“I tire of this,” Bane says through his modulator.

He snaps your neck.

“NO!”

It’s like the world slows down. Jason can only watch as Bane carelessly drops your lifeless body.

He sees Robin lunge with his sword. He sees Bane casually backhand him so hard he drops his katana. Robin flies backward, hits the popcorn stand, and slumps to the ground, motionless.

Bane steps on you—your body—and something in your spine cracks. Something in Jason’s chest cracks, too, and he sees green.

The Pit surges.

After it recedes, Robin’s katana is lodged firmly in a moaning Bane’s side. Every one of his steroid pumps is severed, and his mask is cracked. He’s weak enough without his Venom that three Bat-restraints and a set of handcuffs can hold him.

Huh. Jason’s surprised he didn’t kill him.

His knuckles are bleeding; they’re slick inside his gloves. When he flexes his fingers, pain screams up his nerves, through his arm all the way to his heart. At least two are broken, and another knuckle might be dislocated. His jaw hurts, his brain is pounding—concussion, probably—and his knee feels swollen. But he can put pressure on it, at least, and he limps to a stirring Robin.

“Hey,” Jason says. His voice is rough. He doesn’t remember yelling. He tries to crouch, but can’t with the stiff knee, so he just kind of collapses in front of the kid. “Robin. Status report.”

The kid looks at him, wobbling even though he’s sitting down. One hand goes up to touch the back of his head, and the tips of his gloves gleam with dark blood when he pulls it back. “Possible concussion,” he says with a wavering voice. “Ribs—”

Robin gasps and stumbles to his feet.

“Don’t—”

Jason tries to grab him, but Robin wobbles out of his reach. He walks hunched over in a zigzag, limping to your—

Jason grunts and stands back up. “Hey, hey, Robin.” He gets between the kid and you. “Don’t. Don’t—don’t look.”

“Do not stop me, Todd,” hisses the kid, and wow, he must be seriously out of it to use Jason’s civilian name. “Let me see them.”

“You don’t want to,” Jason says grimly. He’s seen snapped necks before, and they’re… Well, they’re as unnatural-looking as they sound.

He hears a rushing in his ears. A wave of grief is cresting, ready to sweep him away, but Jason has to keep it together for Robin. He barely hears his own voice when he says, “Ghoul’s gone.” He can’t say the ‘D’ word. Not when he feels like puking.

“Unhand me, you blackguard,” Robin hissed. “You do not understand. They might be—”

“They’re not.”

“Todd!” the kid says, voice rising into a shrill.

Something clicks behind them.

Jason whirls around to make sure Bane hasn’t broken out of his restraints.

He hasn’t.

So what made the noise?

He and Robin are looking right at the body when some invisible force takes your head and—and wrenches it.

Robin lets out a low cry.

Jason feels frozen. He doesn’t stop the kid when he stumbles forward and collapses next to the body. His shoulders shake, head bowed with grief.

Jason is still watching when he sees your chest rise and fall with a breath.

“Oh, what the fuck,” he whispers, stumbling back. “What the fuck, what the fuck, what the—”

Your head raises, and you reach to your neck with a wince.

Robin freezes.

“Ow,” you grumble, pushing up to your elbows. “That sucked.”

“What the fuck?” Jason exclaims.

“What is going on?” Robin demands.

You look between the two vigilantes. “Sorry to freak you out, guys.” Which is a completely underwhelming thing to say when you just died and then unsnapped your own neck.

Robin makes a low, wounded sound, then throws himself at you, wrapping his arms around your neck and squeezing hard. You hug him back just as tight, murmuring low things that Jason tries not to hear. It’s a personal moment, and he feels like an intruder, but he can’t move. His feet are planted to the ground.

Seconds ago, you’d been dead. No doubt about it. Bane had snapped your neck and you had crumbled like paper.

Now you’re breathing and alive.

It doesn’t compute. It doesn’t make any sense.

Robin comes to the same conclusion, because he pulls away and pinches your arm. “How is this possible?”

“Bud, do you remember when… you remember when Pyg got me, right?”

“Of course.”

“Well, I don’t,” says Jason. Professor Pyg kidnapped you? What the fuck? When did that happen?

You look up at him, still holding Robin close. “We weren’t exactly on speaking terms when it happened, Hood.”

Oh.

“But Father ran his tests and said his experimentation just gave you advanced healing,” says Robin.

“Which is technically true—”

“Resurrection is quite different from healing!” the kid says.

“Wait, you knew they had powers?” Jason asks Robin.

The kid sneers at him. “Of course. I was the one that found Ghoul, and I patrol with them at least once a week. It would take an unobservant fool to miss their obvious healing abilities."

Jason bristles with indignation.

Robin's head turns on a swivel to glare at you. "It was less obvious that you have nothing to fear from physical injuries. Informing me of this fact would have greatly reduced the chances of experiencing emotional distress at the sight of your dead, mangled body."

"I know," you say, cupping his chin in your hand. "I'm really, really sorry, Dami."

"Do not address me as such," he says, "we are in costume." Robin huffs and scrambles out of your lap, brushing debris off his suit. Then he wobbles and nearly falls over, and you lunge to catch him.

"Woah, bud, you okay?"

"He's concussed," Jason says.

"Too concussed to ride on the back of my bike?"

"Of course not," says Robin. Then he leans over and pukes.

"Oh, Batman's gonna kill me," you mutter.

It's a much tamer drive to the Batcave, in case Robin rolls off the bike accidentally. He doesn't, but you do have to stop a couple of times so he can lean over the side and retch.

When all is said and done and you're back at the Cave and Alfred and Bruce are fussing over Damian, you and Jason hang back a bit. He can't stop sneaking glances at you. Your Ghoul mask is off, and there's a little dried blood around your nostrils, and your hair is a little sweaty, but you're the most beautiful thing Jason's ever seen.

You're alive. He can hardly believe it.

You suddenly sigh and mutter, "I guess you're mad at me, too?"

"What?" Jason startles.

"For not telling you about my abilities."

"Y/N—"

"I just didn't want you guys to think of me differently. Duke has his powers, yeah, but he was born with them. I got mine from Pyg. I didn't want everyone to start treating me like a victim."

All things considered, you're remarkably well-adjusted for someone that survived Professor Pyg's experimentation. "You're the strongest person I've ever met, Y/N," says Jason. "Your powers don't change that. They make me feel a little better about you patrolling at night, anyway. They're basically like... a second chance."

You snort. "I think I'm on my fifth chance by this point."

Jason shakes his head. "How did you keep your powers a secret, again?"

"Well, the first time, Pyg shut off my heart, but that didn't shut down my body. When I actually noticed that I couldn't die, though, was that time one of Cobblepot's goons stabbed me in the neck and I woke up in the middle of a shootout. Now that wasn't fun." You grimace. "A bullet caught me in the head and I died as soon as I sat up. The Bats were too preoccupied to notice me, luckily. Then there was that time with the poison dart that I kept a secret, and now this time." You smirk, cross your arms, and bump Jason's hip with your own. "I'm beating you in the resurrection department, aren't I?"

Jason huffs, pretending to be offended, and your eyes widen. "Oh, my God. That was in such poor taste. I'm so sorry."

"No," he says, trying to hide the twist of his lips. If it was anyone else saying it, Jason would probably kill them. "No, it's okay. I'm just glad you're all right. It would have been awful if you'd died and I never took the chance to..."

"Chance to what?" You look up at him through your eyelashes.

Jason's breath catches in his throat. He's never done this before, dammit, but seeing you die today made him remember just how limited their time is as vigilantes.

Well, maybe not yours, but he walks a thin line.

"Doyouwanttogetcoffeewithme?"

You blink. "What?"

"Do you," Jason says slowly, feeling sweat prickle on his hairline, "want to... Um. Get coffee? With me. As in, like—"

"A date?"

"Only if you want to."

You nod, eyes sparkling. "Hell yeah I want to!"

Damian, Bruce, and Alfred look over at your raised voice. Their disapproving smiles are all eerily similar.

"Sorry," you whisper. You look back at Jason and say, "Yeah, I'd like that. I've been waiting ages for you to ask."

Yes. You said yes. Adrenaline rushes through Jason's veins, and he only barely resists the urge to pump his fist in the air like a moron. He's brave enough to tease, "Well, why didn't you ask me?"

Your face flushes and you look away.

It's at that moment that Damian calls, "Y/N. Stop twittering with Todd and come here. Your presence is required."

"Seriously," Jason said under his breath, "the way he talks like a Victorian child doesn't bother you at all?"

You're smiling. "I think he's adorable." You walk backwards to the brat, making a phone gesture with your hand and mouthing to Jason, Call me.

He definitely will.

"Master Jason," comes Alfred's disapproving voice when he turns back to his bike. "Don't think I didn't notice that you have your own injuries to tend to."

Of course, that sets off Bruce's worry alert even more.

Jason groans. He won't be able to sneak out for coffee with you for an entire week after this whole debacle.

DC Taglist

@evalynanne @mismatchsposts

Forever tag list

@lemirabitur @annymcervantes @queenmissfit  @iksey @thehyperactiveteen @luxmoonlight @andreasworlsboring101

Let me know if there's anything you guys want to see with Jason in the future. My requests are open!

[whowantshota]

DADDY'S HOME —— kim mingyu

in which your husband comes home late on valentines. but it's okay, he has his ways of making it up to you.

warnings ☆ MATURE CONTENT AHEAD. smut, husband!mingyu, somno, gyu is pussy whipped, kim mingyu x afab!reader

i get off work late today :/ 

c u ltr, ok?

You frown at the texts, irritability rubbing your thumb against your temples. 

This is not the first time your husband has texted you that he’d be late from work, oh of course not. You understand—-sometimes, his schedule is tight and that makes work the temporary number one priority. You obviously mean more to Mingyu than his paycheck.

Or so you thought. You groan, flopping back onto the couch miserably. Mingyu has come late at night at least twice a week for the past month now, so it should be a normal occurrence. At least, if tonight wasn’t Valentine's.

Yes, today was the commercial holiday that pisses about off half the world. And funnily enough, Mingyu had only sworn to you three major things in his life. One, good dick. Two loving you. And three, that he’d never miss Valentine's day. 

While the last one was mostly a long inside joke from before you got married, you’re still glancing worriedly at the clock. 9:30 and you’re still holed up alone in your apartment, a box of chocolates with his name on it set on top of the kitchen table. 

Mingyu hadn’t promised you a dinner date at a restaurant tonight —you both knew that wouldn't fit with his schedule. But he had promised to cook you something romantic, pour you a glass of wine, and then fuck you till you see stars. 

And being very honest, you think you would’ve loved that much more than a night out. Loved it so much, by the way you’re sneaking your hand into your panties. Pushing one, two fingers in; but it's never good enough—it'll never be Mingyu. 

So you quit early, stand up because you're tired of waiting around. He’ll be home tomorrow. You can wash up now, clean up and see him later. It’ll be fine. You can celebrate then, right?

★ . *- .

Mingyu didn’t think he’d be making up Valentines like this. When he thought about it on the way home, he had pictured at dinner out at your favorite restaurant, or flowers and an even bigger gift basket than the ones he had already bought for you. 

But, you didn’t hear the crack of the door, or the creek of the apartment floors when he walked in. You didn’t even hear when the loud thunk! when his work bag hit the floor. Or when he sets down the heart shaped pendant Joshua had picked out on top of a pink gift basket he had planned to give you much earlier.

He realized then, that you would not be waking up for a while. You were tired, basically passed out. He does feel bad for making you wait so long, but shit, he swears his cock never throbbed as hard as it did when he caught the sight of your sleeping figure curled up in bed. Only in a small tee and new pair of panties he got you a couple of weeks ago. Fuck, you look perfect.

So he went, took a shower and got dressed before laying next to you in bed. You murmur something when his arm wraps around you, snuggling into him. But you don’t wake up.

“Pretty,” he mumbles, slowly running his thumb over the skin of your cheek. He pokes you a couple of times with a finger. You look so cute—eyes shut with your mouth partially open. You might’ve been drooling even. 

His hand dips down to your torso, rests on your hip. He was nearly starting to fall asleep too, blinking in a poor attempt to keep himself up too. And right then, you just had to shuffle, pushing back against him. A small noise slips past his lips when the curve of your ass pressed against his clothed, semi-hard cock.

Poor Gyu, stuck in bed while you’re sound asleep. How’s he supposed to take care of that? He feels his cock twitch again, grip on your hip tightening just barely.

It wouldn’t be a problem if he just helped himself, right? Inhaling, his hand moves a bit further, hooking around the bottom of your panties. He prods against the warmth of your entrance pushing a finger in.

Fuck, you’re so wet. He can hear the sound of your slick when he presses another finger inside. It’s almost as if your cunt is begging for him to fuck you. And it’s only right that what his lovely wife and her pretty cunt wants, they get. 

Mingyu pulls his fingers out, sucks on it. Moving slowly, he climbs until he’s hovering over your still figure. There’s a tight feeling in his core, dick hard as pulls the crotch of your panties to the side. He pulls the waistband of his sweats down, groaning when cold air hits his cock. He spreads your legs a little wider, teases himself against your pussy.

Mingyu sees Heaven when the tip slips past your entrance. Swears he could cum on the spot. You’re so warm, so soft. It’s not his fault, you’re the one who lured him into this trap.

He can do a little more than the tip. You haven’t moved yet, still partially twisted one way with your legs spread wide for him. You were just made to take his cock, weren’t you?

He should have been making up Valentines with a picnic date in the park. Should have been thinking about what he’ll cook you for breakfast tomorrow morning, if he’ll deliver it to you with a card and a rose.

Instead, he’s got you trapped under him on the mattress, seemingly so passive and docile as you sleep, not conscious of the fact that he’s got you stuffed with his fat cock. He wonders if you’re dreaming about it now. You’re not necessarily a deep sleeper, so he’s surprised you don’t wake up when he bottoms out.

He doesn’t know what to say, can’t even speak. You feel so good, too good. Cunt wrapped around him, clenching. He’d kiss you if you were awake right now, but you’re not so he’ll settle with what he has. He fucks a soft thrust into you, watching for your reaction. Your breath catches, but you don’t do more than that.

“Perfect. You’re just perfect, baby.” He groans, pulling out until the tip before he forces himself back in. You let out a moan, arching so slightly. Mingyu thumbs your nipple through your shirt, speeding up the pace of his strokes.

He dips his head to press a kiss to your sternum, lips skimming and peppering kisses along your collarbone next. 

You twist just barely under his hold, eyes fluttering open. You’re still coming to, blurry eyes barely making out the sight of Mingyu’s body caging over you. Whining, you bite your down on your lip when you feel the stupidly fat cock slowly fucking into your cunt.

“Hey baby,” Mingyu murmurs, now kissing the side of your neck. Your whimpers get louder, and you move one arm and snake your it over his shoulder. He groans when you clench on him, sucking harder on your skin. “Don’t worry baby, daddy’s home.”

Tiredly, you rub your eyes with your free hand. There’s pleasure building in your stomach rapidly, and you start to force yourself to sink deeper onto his cock. “Gyu– daddy, please.” You cry, fucking back on him. 

You hear him hum in response, but you can’t answer. Not when he’s picking up the pace of his strokes, pushing hard, deep thrusts into your tight cunt. “Yeah baby? Come on, tell daddy what you need.” He teases, pushing your legs back before moving to grope your ass cheeks with his big hands.

Now that you’re awake, Mingyu tightens his grip, fucking into you harder. “Need Daddy to help you cum, hm?” He says, voice playful. As if he wasn’t the one whimpering and fucking himself into your pussy moments ago. 

“Couldn’t help it, you looked so good.” He murmurs. His hips are starting to buck into your sloppily, You mewl, nodding. Pretty sure you might even be drooling but you couldn’t give a fuck. Everything feels too good, and you’ve got no idea what’s going on. Mingyu says something you can’t hear, kisses along your jawline before he presses his lips to yours.

You can barely make out the “Happy Valentines.” he whispers, cumming too hard. Your cunt clenching around his dick, mouth falling open. He wants to spit in it, call you a slut, but he can’t when he feels you pulse around his cock. 

Gyu’s eyes roll back, and he lets out a low hiss, warm cum filling up your cunt. His body flops over yours, sweaty chest pressing to the front of your shirt. You run a hand through his hair, kiss his nape softly. “Someones late,” you joke, voice breathy.

“I know. ‘M sorry.” he says, moving down so that his head lies on your chest. He loves the feeling of you tugging on his hair slightly, ruffling his hair.

He looks up suddenly, disheveled but handsome as ever. “I’ll make it up. Wine and spa?” 

You laugh, seeing the way he pouts. He looks like a giant puppy, cuddled up into you. You love it, love it so much you’re not even remotely bothered by the mess on cum or the fact that he still hasn’t pulled out. Pushing his hair back with a hand, you kiss him on the forehead once more. “Sure. Happy Valentines.”

didn't realize that even tho it's still valentines in my country, it's late in other places :( happy valentines! not beta read

[fuckyesbrucewayne]

I was debating on whether to make this post or not, but then I realized that if I cannot be annoying about Bruce Wayne in my Bruce Wayne Sideblog™ then what's the point. So here are basically my thoughts on why Bruce's characterization on Batman and Robin: Year One doesn't work for me, especially on this last issue.

So without further ado, let's begin!

First things first, I'm going to show the panels that are the whole reason I am making this post first, and then analyze what is happening and why I think it doesn't work for a young Bruce that is just beginning. And yes, I will be using as a basis Golden and Silver age Bruce, because he's the blueprint whether Mark likes it ot not.

(To give some context Robin got himself kidnapped, but he saved himself. Alone, I might add.)

This scene begins... with not much promise. This whole comic makes it a point that Bruce is not only clueless about raising Dick (an idea I'm not entirely against) but also makes it seem like he's kind of forced to take care of the kid? For some reason?? The comic treats it like it's a chore he has to do, and that it falls more on Alfred's shoulders than anything... and Alfred is also not very good at it, but that's another story (I'm not completely against that as a characterization choice on Alfred's side).

My whole problem with this basis is that if Bruce is not only clueless but also kind of not interested in raising Dick... Then why did he even take him in in the first place? Like, what was he thinking, and more importantly, what am I supposed to get from this? Because I'm going to assume that the reason he took him in was because he saw himself in him, right? So... it was just a selfish act?? On a whim?? That's it??? You'll understand why I feel that idea is kind of shallow, at the very least.

But going back to the page at hand, we can see that Alfred is making a point of not interfering and letting Bruce figure himself out, but also letting it be known that he... Kind of doesn't like Dick either (which is surprisingly in character with Dixon's Robin origin story, so I guess there's some basis there).

Robin's first question when they're left alone is that if he's going to get fired, which I find "fascinating" that so many modern retellings focus on, because the idea of firing was not that important in the original stories. Like, the fear of being fired was less important than the fear of being abandoned by Bruce or being replaced, that last one was very common... But firing in and of itself wasn't necessarily that big of a deal, and it never was until that infamous story of Nightwing's second origin (which I think you can guess it's not my favorite, not when the first one was so good already... But also because Max wrote himself into a corner with that one. So you're telling me Bruce fires Dick because he doesn't want a young partner and then immediately accepts 12-year-old Jason. As his partner. What.). Anyways, Bruce's answer to that loaded question is "not yet", which is. A choice. Because what are we doing here, why is Bruce taking in an orphan who has lost every semblance of family he had but is also making his position in his household so... flimsy. There was a time when it was literally only the two of them against the world, and I understand we cannot do that anymore because of Alfred, but even then writers have made it a point to write about how these two were a set, a "do not separate" team. They're the dynamic duo for fuck's sake, why is Mark making a point to write Bruce reaffirming Dick's fears about his position being temporary, what am I supposed to understand here about Bruce's character as a caregiver. And also why is he making Bruce separate himself from Dick by saying that he is rich, that the money is his, not theirs. Why are we giving the 12-year-old or however old he is supposed to be here financial insecurity.

I know you will be surprised to know this, but Bruce has always been kind of a workaholic... but not surprisingly, and contrary to what everyone wants you to believe, in his earlier years it was not so exaggerated. He used to do a lot of fun activities with Dick! If Dick wanted something he would cave like a house of cards because that was his little boy.

They went fishing a lot, they had pillow fights, they went to the lake, to the beach, camping, they had fun a lot of the time, HE USED TO TELL DICK TO TAKE IT EASY!!!! Hell, they didn't even go looking for cases most of the time, they would go to a museum or try to relax and a bomb would fucking explode.

So... why are we making a point to show Bruce IN HIS FIRST YEAR WITH DICK telling him that "yeah actually every day matters and if you are not doing something productive you deserve to suffer or whatever". What is going on here. I'm not saying that Dick's workaholic tendencies don't come partly from Bruce, but we all forget that Dick has been a child star athlete since he was five at the very least.

Hell, this comic literally goes into a tangent in the next page about this.

And here we arrive to my last straw with this comic. I'm going to kill someone I fear. In what universe, in what fucking universe, is Bruce Thomas Wayne telling Richard John "Dick" Grayson that he made a mistake in taking him in. Why are we accepting and even praising this characterization. I'm not even going to say anything I'm just going to leave comic panels here.

But yeah this was the page, the panel, that ended it for me. We're not coming back from this. And if you think next page fixes it because Bruce is known to be very autistic blunt and say the first thing his brain is thinking without realizing it can be misinterpreted... Just look at this.

What is this, what is this supposed to be. What the fuck. In other circumstances the idea of "we're here to help each other" is something I wouldn't be against, but it's just the whole conversation before it that ruins it. So basically, after Bruce threatens to throw him out, reaffirms Dick's fears that his position is temporary and that Bruce has all the power in this dynamic, THEN he's like "we're here to help each other yippieeeee help me child" are we stupid. Are we stupid.

Basically I think I've made my point clear. But if not, my biggest problem is this: if Bruce has been a cold-hearted paranoid jackass since the beginning... then what's the point.

What's the point of Jason's death, of the accidentally good storytelling of Bruce going through traumatic event after traumatic event (Jason's death, Knightfall, No Man's Land, Fugitive, Identity Crisis, etc., ETC.) and coming out of them more cynical, more changed, more broken. If he's always been cold and callous, if there was never any fun, any whimsy, any love... then how did Dick become so devoted to him.

Why do they both miss the good old days if there is nothing to miss.

What am I supposed to be understanding here, about the dynamic duo's relationship. And most important of all... What's the point. If this relationship is based on abuse, if this relationship has nothing good going for it, if Bruce has been always an abusive monster and Dick a poor victim that didn't know any better, then what's the point. What is the point of Batman and Robin, if this is all there has always been. Is this all Bruce is allowed to be using this toxic view of masculinity as his basis. Is he not allowed to be fun, to be loving, to feel anything outside of anger or annoyance.

Why does he barely smile at Dick in this comic, even when they're out of the suit, if he is supposed to be in his first few years? Where's the tragedy then, in knowing he used to make him laugh.

Why does he suddenly not seem to like Dick for who he is? Because that's the thing, it just seems like he doesn't like him, like there's no reason he took him in other than a sudden whim, like they are not the fucking dynamic duo, like they are not the blueprint. They just feel like two people that don't even like each other and are forced to live together. And how is this dynamic more interesting, how is this supposed to be better than what we had. What's the point, man.

What's the point.

[sualocin]

“I wasn’t lying when I said that I loved you.” Ch. 1 - Harsh Beginnings

Emp!Commodus x Reader

summary: you are to be married to the emperor of rome, but he hates you. or at least he acts like it.

content warning: angst, hurt / comfort, commodus being a dick

word count: 1.8k

a/n: It is my mental illness and I get to pick the delusions. AU where Marcus died of natural causes (because I don't want my boy to go through the pain of killing his father), Maximus and co are fine with no threat to overthrow Commodus (yet?). Also I whole-heartily ignore the sister mess in this fic because god dammit let me live in my delulu thoughts where his ending is happy (because he deserves love and kindness). This is literally such a self-indulgent fic but I try to not describe the reader besides clothing and the use of female pronouns. If you catch something that does not fit let me know!

no beta reader we die like gladiators

blog dividers by @cafekitsune!

masterlist . . . read it on ao3 . . .

Commodus looked regal, sitting there in his throne above the bloodstained arena. Cerulean eyes focused on the fighting gladiators below, face propped up with his right hand, adorned with the jeweled rings of an emperor. Something like boredom was plastered across his face, at least it seemed that way from your position slightly behind him and to his left. A fitting placement for someone supposed to be the Emperor’s wife. Even seated there, fully dressed in the matching deep purples and blacks of your husband’s outfit, you felt as if you didn’t belong. At least he made it feel as if you didn’t. 

From the moment you were told that you were to be betrothed to the future Emperor of Rome, you knew it would be difficult to learn to love each other as much as your parent’s love each other. Yet, it was so easy for you to fall in love with him, almost at the first sighting of the aforementioned man. His charming smile, that you now know he put on as a mask to hide his anger from having a woman he did not know thrust into his life as his soon to be wife, as well as his enchanting words that hid his true feelings of disdain towards you, made you feel comfortable at the time. As you got settled into the palace, and interacted with his sister Lucilla  and her son Lucius more than him, the feelings of being unwanted began to sow inside of you.

It truly wasn’t bad at first, you would see him at meal times, and there he would be ‘pleasant’ to you. As pleasant as ignoring your existence could be. He instead only interacted with his sister and nephew, purposely excluding you from whatever conversation he was holding with them. There were however, a few times he did try to get to know you, most likely at the behest of Lucilla.

It was an early evening the first time he decided to enter your temporary chambers, the blazing sun just beginning to set in the expansive sky. The final meal for the day not yet served, but already you wish for the sweet comfort of your bed.

“What was your life like? Back with your family?” He questioned softly, hands fiddling with his various rings as he sat on one of the chairs provided to you when you arrived. He seemed almost nervous to be completely alone with you since your initial meeting.

“It was nice, a beautiful city if I’m honest… I was surrounded by loving parents and the greatest teachers they could find. Rolling green hills that would sprout with flowers every spring,” You replied, thinking of your beloved homeland and the wonderful people and animals that still resided there even with you gone.

Taking a moment to relish in the fact that he was sitting in your chambers, conversing with you rather than ignoring your presence entirely, you observed his more casual outfit. It consisted of a red chiton over a black tunic with a patterned cape over his right shoulder. It looked absolutely marvelous on him, but you were definitely not going to say anything like that to his face at this point in your limited interactions. Because no matter how glorious he looked, he still seemed to be upset with your presence in his and his family’s home.

“It sounds like an alluring place to call home. Do you miss it?” He asked as he finally brought his gaze up to your eyes. The genuine curiosity in his eyes confused you, wasn’t he disgusted by your mere presence? What made him have a sudden interest in your previous home? Unable to respond with his cerulean eyes boring straight into yours, you got up and moved to lean against the doorway to the balcony of your chambers in order to look out onto the great city of Rome. The slight breeze coming in makes your light blue, nearly the same color as his eyes thanks to Lucilla, stola and palla flutter behind you. 

“Of course I do,” You blurt out immediately, almost taking on a snappy tone. Tensing yourself up at the suddenness, and more importantly the rudeness of your own response to him, you feel your face heat up in embarrassment. Your hands raise to grasp at your biceps to comfort your rising anxiety, your grip tightening when you hear the chair Commodus was sitting on scrape against the floor as he shoots up at your response. Even from across the room you can hear the way he inhaled sharply. You were too afraid to witness his most likely anger fueled reaction, so you stayed facing the city and the setting sun.

“I did not ask for this betrothal!” He exclaims, hands slamming down on the table. His breath coming out in short huffs. Tension just radiating off him in waves.

“I didn’t either,” You manage to croak out as your eyes begin to mist over, fingers tightening their almost impossible tight grip already. At the sound of your voice, Commodus lets some of the tension release as he realizes just what his little outburst did to you.

“...I am sorry,” He whispers, gaze focused on the table below him, sincerely regretting his anger towards you. A second passes after his apology, and then he rushes out the door leaving you to wallow in your feelings of anxiety and uncertainty. 

The last meal of that day was tense, no conversations were held that night between anyone as they ate and drank. Not even between Lucius and his mother. It was as if anyone who entered the room could sense that something had happened between the two of you. You could feel Commodus glance at you every so often as the meal went on, but you kept your eyes on your own plate and cup. As soon as you finished, or rather as soon as you felt you couldn’t stand to be in that room for any longer, you excused yourself back to your chambers. It was after you left that Lucilla finally spoke to her brother.

“Commodus, what did you say to the poor girl?” She asked, resting her chin on folded hands and looking straight at him. She knew he could not lie to her, at least she would know if he did.

“I told her what I felt I needed to,” was the only response she would get from him before he abruptly got up from his seat and left the table. 

‘Perhaps they are more alike than they realize,’ Lucilla thought.

It was about two days later when Lucilla caught you watching Commodus train, tunic-less mind you, with his praetorian guardsmen in the expansive courtyard. She could see your eyes following his movements, so intensely zoned in on watching that you didn’t even hear her approach.

“He is quite proud of his swordsmanship,” She told you as she stood behind you. You rapidly inhaled and jumped slightly, hand moving up to fall over your racing heart from the scare.

“Gods above! Don’t sneak up on me like that!” You harshly whispered over your shoulder at Lucilla, heartbeat steadily calming down from the unexpected interruption. You turn your gaze back to the ongoing spar. Hearing the grunts and exclamations coming from Commodus and his guardsmen was very alluring, along with being able to see the sweat that drips down his exposed body. Even with the feelings of hatred towards you, he was a handsome man. Who could fault you for thinking so? 

“How are things going between you two?” Lucilla asked, coming forward to stand by your right side and face you.

“He hates me, doesn’t he?” You retorted. Head shifting to have Lucilla in your frame of vision. The sounds of the spar fading to the background.

“Commodus… he needs time to trust people. I think Lucius and myself are the only people he truly trusts with every fiber of his being. I wouldn’t take it to heart if he has done anything to upset you,” She explains, left hand coming up to rest gently on your shoulder.

“Do you feel anything for him? In any capacity? Knowing where your feelings stand could help me with giving you proper advice,” Lucilla continues, eyes full of sympathy for your ongoing problem.

“The worst thing about this situation is that I think I do feel some sort of way towards him that isn’t absolute contempt or hatred,” You said, taking a deep breath before you continued.

“I see the way he treats you and Lucius. I see how gentle, kind, and compassionate he can be towards the people he loves. It hurts me to know that I will not receive that same treatment he gives you, because I am simply not someone he loves or will ever love. Even if I desire to be,” You admit your thoughts to Lucilla with a slight tremble in your voice, your true emotions about Commodus rising to the surface of your mind and heart. 

“The wedding is in a month's time, how could I get him to feel some type of way towards me that isn’t pure hate?” You could feel your eyes misting up from the anxiety deep inside you about everything that has and will happen to you because of this arrangement.

The spar in the background was beginning to wind down, both Commodus and his guardsmen started racking their weapons and wiping away their sweat from their hard workout. Turning your head towards the courtyard at the change in noises, you were greeted by a very glorious sight. Commodus, still tunic-less, basking in the rain of cool water being poured over his head. You felt your cheeks burn at the very enticing sight before you. Being able to witness the vision of a dripping wet Commodus with his head tilted towards the sky and his eyes closed was like looking at a god among humans. Lucilla, dropping her hand from your shoulder and turning her head towards whatever had caught your gaze again, was not shocked to see you eyeing her brother. She hid a quiet chuckle behind her hand at the sight.

“You look at him with such wonder in your eyes. I think you enjoy the sight of him more than you let on,” She said, words shocking you out of your trance forcing you to look towards her again.

“Come by my chambers when you’re done here, we will discuss your situation at length,” Lucilla winked at you as she turned and walked away towards the inside of the palace. You faced back towards the courtyard, cheeks still hot from the words said to you and the beautiful visual you had gotten, startled to find that Commodus had been watching you and his sister interact just out of earshot. His piercing cerulean eyes caught yours, but you could not identify what emotion was held in them. Could he tell what you and his sister were talking about? Gods, did he hear? You broke the miniature staring contest between the two of you and rushed towards the location of your temporary chambers, wanting to get away from the awkward situation brewing between you two.

There's the first chapter! I wanted to get back into fanfiction writing for a while now and having little fics about this subby lil man got me kicked into gear! Idk how many chapters it will have, but I am excited for this story to unfold!

tags: @darknessisafriend

[trying-harder-then-u]

Russian roulette

The gun hit the table with a loud "clank," catching Damien by surprise. He had been enjoying the sound of the wind rustling through the well-maintained trees, but now that a weapon was being chucked around, he reckoned he should probably pay attention. Turning around, he saw Jacob smugly looking down at him, his blonde hair dropping over his deep brown eyes, a spotless white shirt and a pair of tan pants loosely fitting his thin, lightly muscled frame, a gold chain the only jewelry he had. Damien sighed to himself; he should have known that his rich, bratty friend was up to something, but when you get invited to a rural manor for a weekend by the son of the richest oil tycoon this side of the Atlantic, you don't tend to make a habit of saying no. The gun was black with gold and white lines swirling around the barrel and handle; like everything in the house, it looked expensive, and like everything, if Damien broke it, his family would most likely be paying it off for generations.

"What are you doing, Jacob?" he asked, his tone dripping with the exhaustion that comes from dealing with a spoiled brat's shenanigans. "Setting up for the game," Jacobs's shit-eating grin told Damien everything he needed to know: something dangerous was about to go down, and if he didn't stop it, then there was going to be a news story about this in the next 24 hours. In his mind's eye he could see the text flash across the screen: "Heir to oil empire murdered in cold blood by a jealous, impoverished schoolmate." Carefully getting up, Damien weighed his options before deciding to go on with Jacob till he could convince him that whatever he had planned was a bad idea. "What are we going to play then?" "Oh, nothing too complicated, my dear friend." Damien watched unnerved as Jacob opened the chamber of the pistol and put a small pellet in it. "Just some good old Russian roulette."

…

"Are you fucking insane? You do know how Russian roulette ends, right? I thought you were just a dick, but this is fully psychotic." "Oh, calm down, Damien, you worry too much; of course no one's going to die." Jacob pointed the gun at Damien and pulled the trigger, causing Damien to duck for cover as a click sound revealed that it was one of the five empty slots, much to Damien's relief. "How unfortunate; anyways, it's not a real bullet; it's a powerful drug that one of my dad's friends made." "And that's better how?" "It's this whole atomic structural thing. I'm not sure how it works exactly, but anyone hit with it can have their genetic makeup altered simply by the thoughts of the closest person, that isn't themselves, of course." Jacob proceeded to point the gun to his skull before shooting again, another harmless click. "See, I'm playing fair." "Jacob, that is not the point; I don't want to play at all." Damien was confused how Jacob was so nonchalant about this whole thing. Even if this whole atomic restructuring nonsense was real, what did he have to gain from that? "You're so unfun sometimes, but fine, I'll sweeten the deal for you: we play one game, and if I lose, then I'll make sure your parents get a nice cushy job where they will never have to go hungry again." The offer made Damien double back; it was one thing to give into Jacob's flights of fancy, a whole other when he could get his parents out of the rut they were currently in. "Fine, one game." "Great, let's sit down and continue."

Damien held the gun in shaking hands; he knew now that the bullet wasn't able to harm him, but his whole body being at the whims of Jacob was still terryfying even if it was temporary. Click, safe. Jacob, turn now and click. There are only two bullets left, and so a 50/50 chance; no turning back now. Damien's finger moved the trigger and-. Damien felt strange; he couldn't hear anything; the wind in the trees was gone; he didn't hear the gun go off, but this weird state he was in seemed to say he had been drugged; color swirled around him until finally something formed in front of him. Jacob.

"Hey there, dear friend," Jacob's smile seemed more malicious than usual. "Seems like you lose, so I'm going to enjoy the show now." Jacob leaned back; Damien's skin felt like it was crawling; he felt like spiders were crawling all over him, but as he looked to see what was causing it, he almost jumped back in surprise. His skin was changing; it was growing darker. He watched as the melanin in his skin increased until he went from the olive skin tone he inherited from his mother's Italian genes to something much darker; he looked almost African. Not only that, but the calouses from working after school to help his family vanished along with all his blemishes and pimples till his skin was as clear as day, but how was that possible? Damien remembered now the drug; the closest person controlled his atomic structure, but what was Jacob doing to him? He looked up to try and address Jacob, but a punching sensation in his gut drew him to look down, seeing his clothes dissolve away and abs form; the rest of his frame was not neglected either; he continued to bulk up and even felt a couple inches added to his height till he was a goliath of a man; his feet and hands grew much larger, his face grew more chiseled, and his hair shrank back into his head.

He tried to yell at Jacob, but before he could, their faces collided as Jacob passionately kissed Damien. Only moans, slowly deepening in pitch, escaped his mouth. "God, I've been waiting so long for this. You think I'd ever be friends with your poor ass? God, no, you're my plaything now, and don't worry, it's permanent." Damien whimpered as Jacob's hand reached down, grabbing onto Damien's cock, and began to stroke slowly and methodically. Each time Damien felt more confused: where was he, why was he worried about his parents, who was he? His mind slowed as he gave into Jacob, the pleasure overwhelming his mind. His dick grew larger than it had ever been before, 4 inches, now 5, 6, till a 7-inch-long monster was left in its place. Damien's moans grew louder as he neared the end; he just wanted to cum; he didn't know who this strange man beating him off was, but he just wanted him to continue. Jacob continued to go faster and faster, until long streams of hot cum splashed across both of them. up his hand to for Damien to lick clean, which he gladly did, enjoying every taste.

2 months later

He was sitting at home, waiting for his rich boyfriend to get back. He had spent the last 2 months spending every hour he could with Jacob, but with Jacob's school, he had large amounts of time to reflect and learn how to be a good boyfriend, how to cook, clean, and do everything for Jacob. Awhile ago, two older people came around looking for their sun that shared his name, but he told them he had no clue where he had gone. His life was good, but the best part was no doubt every night when Jacob would take control; he would sometimes be pleased and sometimes give pleasure, but regardless, he knew that life would be good when he just went with what his boyfriend said, and man was life good.

[reschatzi]

SIMON RILEY ── YOU GET ME SO HIGH

🕸️·˚ ༘ warnings. top male reader. bottom simon. high typa shit. flashbacks. smoking. mentioned drinking. public sex. cockwarming. breathplay.

ִ ࣪𖤐 ࣪ by the end of it all, the smoke you exhale transforms into a kiss. ◞

the exact date when it began is something you’re unsure of.

he, lieutenant simon riley, simply walked into your room without a knock. no words were exchanged, not that they were really needed. your mouth opened, agape. a “what?” is what you want to utter, but his lips catches your own.

simon riley groans when he feels you return the kiss. the faint taste of malt liquor on your tongue has him pushing you back, onto your bed, as he straddles your lap. you remember that he asks,

“do you want this?”

his voice was breathless. heavy pants meeting your neck.

and you do. you agree, the next moments a blur. he lowers himself on your cock when he’s ready. he already was before he barged in.

strangely, something blooms. a progression you won’t know where it’ll lead. nothing worrying, nothing out-of-place. at least on the outside, it won’t attract that much attention. yours was focused on the feeling of simon’s hole stretching to accommodate to your size. it was stupid.

no, really. it was late at night, but that didn’t mean no one would wander around these hours. you were in the hallway, supposedly on the way to your room when simon couldn’t take the wait anymore. there’s not much plot to this story. fuck then leave. that was it. you hated that, and you were projecting your one-sided feelings onto his prostate.

“ah, ah, ah. fu—fuuck. shit- ggah! mhng... wait—”

your hand clasped his neck and he gasps. alarms blared in your head, you shouldn’t do this. this was territory you haven’t spoken or even thought of.

guilty, you wanted to whisper an apology. thrusts shifting into slow grinds, handing him a way out. but he only leaned into your palm, the coldness, near emptiness, emanating from your glove contrasting to the warmth of his shrouded flesh. “don’t... don’t stop.” he breathes, like there’s no more oxygen in his lungs.

exhale.

that’s what you did.

you puff out the smoke you inhaled from the cigarette that was in between your index and middle fingers. the dirty air landed on his half-masked face. his cheek went to rest on your shoulder, hips lazily lifting themselves up and back down. you lead the cigar to his mouth. sharing something like this, in this situation, with this person, was beyond unbelievable.

fuck, what even happened?

the events that were replaying in your head moments ago were quickly fading. you’re too tired. too unfocused. you hear him call your name. then another time. then another. he gently pats your face. “look at me,” your eyes dart downwards to him. “what’s going on in that head of yours?” he says as he brings himself back down on your cock.

“nothin’... s’ just—” he clenches around you when he feels the tip of your dick graze his sweet spot.

simon hums like he’s done an achievement. maybe he did, earning a whine from you. in some way, the weight of both of your chests were lighter. passing on the cigarette to one another, it was a repeating process. taking turns and the pace he set doesn’t change.

you think you’re losing the logical part of your brain. your thoughts are jumbled and gibberish. the temporary pleasure couldn’t outweigh the actual one you were experiencing now. your fingers find themselves attached to his neck, flexing as they try not to tighten their hold too much.

the last puff was yours. without thinking, you press the butt of the cigarette on his thigh to put it out.

he hisses, but the dizziness in you can’t find the moment to care. matter of fact, he enjoys it.

you don’t miss the way his thighs trembled, not missing the way he rocked against you hard. his cock throbbed and you show mercy. your free hand finds his length, causing him to see stars. he curses, lowly. “oh, shit, ‘m c-close.”

the lieutenant finds himself stuttering, losing his voice. how couldn’t he? you were hitting all of the right spots inside of him. both of your hands were on him, one working him up further to his release while the other bruised his neck. it was like you were claiming him but no one would know. they can’t find out unless you tell them or they’d catch a glimpse of his skin.

the combination of pain and pleasure was too good. his head was clouded, and so was yours. maybe he was at peace for once, all warm and tight around you. maybe, by the end of it all, the smoke you exhale transforms into a kiss from him.

and maybe, just maybe, you’re right.

𓍢‧₊🕷️ ࣪˖ knight’s phoning. wanna be apart of my taglist? fill out this form so you can be immediately notified for future fics. masterlist

[fluffylino]

boypussy!hyunjin pt 2

eating your pretty boyfriend out while he's asleep~

-contains mature themes.

the boy looked so surreal. his chest rising and falling so naturally. hyunjin was so deep in sleep, he had not even woken up at the sound of the bathroom door creaking open as you came out.

it was still dark. you looked outside. it was raining heavily. lightning and thunder lighting up the sky every few minutes. rain in november? well that was new. maybe winter was finally setting in.

you squinted, trying to read the time on the clock.

6.45 am

no wonder it was still dark. the temperature had dropped. you were feeling colder than usual.

you leaned against the windowsill, enjoying the fresh smell of mud and the sound of rain.

hyunjin was so out. he had a tough day before. dancing and reviewing his steps till he finally couldn't. you pitied him. he was all bundled up in the sheets, his white tshirt crinkled up.

just as you were about to lie back down beside him, you froze. was he whimpering?

"oh my poor hyunjinnie" you whispered to yourself. you brushed his messy hair out of his face, a smile blossoming on your face.

"should i give you a nice reward?" you said, pressing a soft kiss on his cheek.

he didn't move, clearly still asleep.

you pulled his pants down slowly, noticing the wet patch on his underwear.

"oh so you're wearing the new panties i bought you" your heart swelled. the pretty little yellow bow, matched him so well. you remembered how he kept saying he wouldn't wear it and would prefer wearing his boxers.

you couldn't help it as you pressed your nose against his heat, inhaling deeply, at his scent.

you slid the piece of clothing off, just enough. his cunt exposed. puffy. leaking. begging to be played with.

"you have such a pretty pussy, hyunjinnie" you mumbled. deep down wishing yours looked as beautiful. everything about him was perfect. from his personality to here. your sleepiness temporary leaving you.

poking and prodding at his swollen lips. you could make out the way his muscles clenched and spasmed.

waiting. waiting to be touched.

you ran your tongue against him, all the way up to his clit. his wetness coating your tastebuds.

fuck he was delicious. you sucked on his clit, getting surprised when he began to stir in his sleep.

a whine leaving him. had he woken up? for a second you looked up, realising he was still fast asleep. mouth slightly parted.

you blew on his pussy, loving the way the boy let out another sound. you slipped your tongue into him, moaning at how hot he was. essence leaking out of him in copious amounts. shit you had never seen him so wet. he was dripping down onto the sheets. you slurped it up. not caring at how loud you were being.

"m-mommy ahh-" his morning voice startled you. his voice starting out deep until it turned whiny and breathy as you moved your tongue inside of him. fucking him good. you lifted your head.

"mommy?" you repeated after him in surprise.

"what happened to you wanting to be dominant?" hyunjin hid his face in the blanket covering him. eyes barely open.

"that was when you had a dick hm? when you have a pussy then its mommy who has to take care of you" you teased.

however he was too precious. you couldn't tease him anymore. he was your precious baby. all he wanted was you filling him up. letting you use his cunt for whatever you wanted.

"uhhgh mm-mh" strangled pleas leaving him. it made your stomach do summersalts.

hyunjin was so sensitive in this state. even more so, since he was asleep not even a few minutes ago. a high pitched moan echoed throughout the room when you shoved his legs apart, a cold breeze happening to blow in at the right moment.

he shivered. voice getting stuck in his throat.

"mommy's gonna eat you out. go back to sleep honey"

you waited for him to respond. yet he didn't. you slapped his cunt. hyunjin wailed, trying to move away from you and your dangerous touch.

"hng-nngh a-aah" he moaned out, trying to close his legs around your head when you began to rub his clit in circular motions, all while you shoved your tongue up his pussy.

he was panting, mouth parted and eyes shut.

for some reason your mind went back to when he had made you get on your knees for him. fucking your mouth like you were his toy. it was a stark contrast to what was happening now. you whined. you wanted him in you. you wanted him to fuck you and fill you to the brim. it had been 4 days.

4 whole days since he had magically got a pussy.

you'd never forget this. you could feel him everywhere. you could smell him over the rain. you could taste him.

"i promise ill g-give it all back to you, my love" he let out, quietly

[gay-dorito-dust]

Hii!

(If you’re not up for it simply ignore. I love your work and hope you’re happy and healthy and taking care of your own mental health ❤️)

The bat boys with a reader who has really low days and really just wants to be held?

I just wanted an excuse to add Kyle Rayner as a bonus cuz I’ve been wanting to write something for him but dunno what. Plus I’ve been needing something like this after the week I’ve just had lol.

Dick would smile softly as he held you in his arms, tightening his grip on you as he peppers you in kisses however he could.

He knew that days like these were the hardest for you and he wasn’t going to hold it against you, not in the slightest as he would softly hum a song to you as he carried you to your shared bed, Hayley hot on his heels as she was worried about your change of attitude.

Speaking of Hayley, she never leaves your side, in fact when she sees Dick hold you against him , she immeditly joins in and tries to wriggle her way in between you both in hopes of covering your face in comforting licks. She wants to see you happy and she’ll gladly cuddle up with you if that’s the only way to do it.

Dick would spoil you rotten with cuddles, kisses and words of encouragement when you felt as though all hope was lost, for the last thing he wanted was for you to feel as though no one had you back when he did this entire time of being together.

‘You’re amazing baby and I’m so fucking proud of you, so don’t let anyone tell you otherwise you otherwise because you outshine them without having to try.’ He says while pressing a kiss to your forehead.

Dick would gladly make a fool of himself if it was to make you feel better but holding you, kissing you, and praising you will have to do for the meantime as he could hope that he has given you the strength needed to get out of this dark place that you’ve found yourself in.

He believes you can do it but until then he’ll gladly hold you until you could stand on your own two feet again.

Jason doesn’t need to be told twice as he was well aware of what you want the moment you came through the door of your shared bedroom.

‘Come here sweetheart.’ He would say as he sets aside his book and held out his arms for you to burrow into as you rested your head on his chest, arms latching onto his waist with an iron like grip.

He didn’t need to ask about the day you’ve had for he could feel the fatigue and weariness within your body and the deep sigh that left your lips that told him you have been holding in for a long while. Your body practically radiated with tiredness in all its forms that made it impossible for him to ignore even if he tried.

‘Rest your heavy head and your weary eyes chipmunk,’ he tells you as he begins to rub up and down your back soothingly, ‘I’ll be right here when you wake up, so just relax for me okay?’

You hummed out a small and a tad muffled ‘okay’ and Jason presses a kiss to the side of your head as he tightens his hold on you. He’d even read passages of his book to you in hopes the tit would take your mind off of things quicker as he knew how much you liked the sound of his voice.

Jason knows there’s want much he could do when you experienced days like these but all he could hope was that he was making enough of an effort to make you feel just that little bit better.

Tim makes sure he has everything you could ever need during days like these such as your favourite plushie, blanket, comfort foods, and some water just to name a few as he wants you to be comfortable and taken care of if he was to not be moving away from the bed anytime soon as he held you in his arms.

He just wants you to be okay and doesn’t want you run in on an empty stomach.

‘We’re human, we have limitations and breaking points that tell us to stop and take a break for ourselves, but yet we have been made to think that we shouldn’t and that we should neglect our health and well-being for temporary achievements and successes; almost as if that’s the only thing that should mean something to us.’ Tim tells you as he cuddles you against his chest as a movie played on his laptop as background noise.

‘You’ve done so well for yourself and now your more then deserving of a rest, we’ll return to reality in our own time, we’ve got enough of it that it shouldn’t matter whether we’re still here an hour or two later.’ Tim continues as he presses a kiss to your forehead.

And he meant it, Tim didn’t care how kind he’d have to wait for you to get better because he understood that it wasn’t going to be as easy, having had shit days where he couldn’t be bothered to bring himself to do anything other then lay in his bed, wondering to himself about what he could’ve done to feel such deep pain and isolation.

He knew that it would take time for you to feel even remotely better and even when you did you’ll still need all the help you can possibly get, and he’ll be there for as long as you’ll need him there too.

Damian isn’t well versed in the art of comforting someone but with you, suddenly he’s an expert as he lets you flop against his side as he holds you protectively.

He doesn’t trust his words enough to bring you any comfort as he wasn’t given much himself when he was growing up, so Damian instead just lets you cling onto him and watch in silence as he draws whatever in his sketchbooks: in this instance it was quick sketch of you, him and all of his pets on a field somewhere.

Damian knew his drawings were somewhat therapeutic to you as you got to watch him go through every step he took to make the perfect drawing, no matter if it was heavily detailed or less so, that and he was proud of his artwork that he doesn’t mind showing you some of his precious works and telling you the stories behind them.

Titus joins you, obviously, as he could tell something was wrong with you and will lay in your lap to provide you with some comfort until he’s fallen fast asleep, rendering it impossible for you to move but you didn’t care and neither did Damian as you were surly to follow the Great Dane into dream land where you would be laying in that field that Damian drew.

You were a lot more stronger then you let yourself believe in Damian’s eyes but that didn’t mean he wasn’t more then content in holding you in comfortable silence until you felt better, even if it was just a little bit but even then Damian was determined to outdo himself and find other ways of helping you no matter what.

He just wants to see that smile he loved so much again that told him that everything was going to be okay.

Random Bonus character: Kyle Rayner

Kyle hates seeing you so down and will do absolutely anything and everything he could even if it meant only getting a little smile out of you he’d take it wholeheartedly!

Anything was better then that distant, solemn look on your face as you stared out the window as though life didn’t look as bright or pleasant anymore as it did before.

He’d conjure up anything your heart desired if that helped even by the smallest amount, any amount of progress was better then none. Kyle just wants to see your eyes light up again with childlike wonder again, even if it was momentarily.

However he doesn’t mind if him holding you in his arms was the only way to achieve such a thing as he could keep you close and squeeze you tightly as he tries to pour everything encouraging into your ears in low hushed whispers.

‘You’ll be okay,’ Kyle begins, ‘whether that’s within days, weeks or even months, you’ll be okay. You’re not missing out on anything nor are you going about life at a slower pace compared to others, you’re going at your own pace and that’s okay, you’ll get where you need to be in due time so there’s no point in rushing yourself to get there quicker.’

Kyle would even do some silly little doodles for you just to hear you chuckle or even let out an amused huff. He’d gladly make himself look silly if it meant brining a little light to your heart and life back into your eyes.

[hey-august]

Yours, Mine, Ours

All the appreciation to this anon for their wonderful proclamation about pegging the clown with his own equipment.

WC: ~1500 Warnings: NSFW, buggy x afab!reader, male masturbation, hand job, buggy gets his own pearl necklace, multiple orgasms, slight overstimulation, anal sex, misuse of chop chop powers ofc, profanity, spit as lube, creampie

“Can I try?”

“Wha-yeah,” Buggy replied. The movement rippling through the mattress ended when he stopped stroking himself. His freed erection bobbed in anticipation, alternating between tapping and hovering over a trail of sticky blue body hair.

“No, no, I want to do it. Myself.” You wrapped your hand around the invisible request and pantomimed jacking off.

Another twitch from his dick.

“It looks fun when you do it. I dunno, sometimes I wish I could try,” you explained, suddenly second guessing what you wanted.

This was stupid. You’ve given Buggy a hand job before (plenty of times, really), so what’s the difference? It’s not like you’d know what it would actually feel like to have a penis just because you’re borrowing someone else’s. Any sensations would transfer back to the real owner and all you’d feel is a dick in your hand.

Your thoughts were interrupted by Buggy’s voice. “Here,” he said while handing over the object of your curiosity. “Not like you’re the only one who pretends this belongs to someone else. He probably has an identity crisis at this point.”

Buggy laughed at his comment - a confession that you had heard before. It didn’t surprise you, honestly. What did surprise you was how turned on Buggy became while telling you about how he’d fuck himself. How his voice grew husky and he spoke faster and faster, eager to replay the fantasy with an audience. Maybe that’s what he understood now - the desire for a faraway reality that could be tasted for a brief moment.

Although his erection wouldn’t pop onto your body like it would with his, Buggy was thoughtful about where it would sit on your pelvis. He placed it down, the flat surface warm against your skin, then moved it a little here and there before he was satisfied.

“Not bad,” he mumbled.

Whether it was about the placement or how it looked on a new (temporary) owner was unclear, but you knew which you wanted to believe.

“Can you make it do the thing?” You wiggled a finger and Buggy barked out a laugh.

It flexed and throbbed, bowing towards you then standing at hard attention. You were breathless.

Dragging a light touch from base to tip, you felt an ache so deep that it fell outside of your body. A familiar feel of longing, but this time it wasn’t threatening to drag you down with it. This time, it was tethered and you were holding the anchor. Sure, the nerves in the borrowed body part didn’t connect to your system, but that didn’t stop the electricity rippling out from your touch.

“Stay there,” you grunted while rolling over on the bed with only one hand keeping you steady. The other one did not want to stop holding the hot weight.

You ignored Buggy’s bemused expression as you straddled the pirate’s torso and wedged your legs beneath his ribs. His hands found a place to rest on top of your thighs, where his thumbs rubbed little spells of affection and encouragement.

“Not a bad view,” he quipped through an off-set grin.

“Yeah,” you agreed. It was. Now you understood that bizarre impulse to slap a thick cock against someone’s cheek.

Your eyes went hazy, switching between the two delicious focal points before you - Buggy’s myriad of expressions, and the blur of your hand stroking yourself. Twisting your wrist at the tip felt natural. The precum that dribbled from the tip and onto the crook of your pointer finger seemed to belong there. Fuck, you felt so goddamn hard and swollen.

Buggy’s heavy breathing rocked you ever so slightly. His legs kicked and twitched beneath you. His broad hands rubbed your legs, as though he was trying to push back what was rapidly approaching.

“M’gonna- you’re gonna-” Buggy keened as his body stiffened.

You kept pumping, sending ropes of hot cum across his chest and neck. Gasps accompanied each spurt, full of your own surprise and relief. At the end of the final stroke, you wrapped your thumb and pointer around the sensitive head and eased the last few drops away from the slit.

You shivered slightly.

So did Buggy.

His eyes closed, but he wasn’t relaxed. His brow was pulled into a frown and you could see his jaw clenching and releasing as he rode out the aftershock of his orgasm. Your orgasm.

Buggy tilted his head and rolled it against a shoulder. “Tickles,” he muttered. “I didn’t think there was going to be so much.”

A chuckle fluttered inside of you, along with the wing beats of butterflies. Horny little butterflies. Taking advantage of the fake connection between you and the simulated arousal, you cradled the softening dick in your hand.

Buggy’s frown deepened and he cracked an eye open as a warning.

“Please, I need to fuck you. Baby, please. You look so hot covered in my cum,” you begged. The words rushed out and your body chased them with rolling hips.

Bucking the half-hard erection into your hand earned a hiss from below. “Sss-stop~! Oh fuck, slow the fuck down.” Buggy’s fingers dug into the meat of your thigh, squeezing bruises into the flexing muscles until you stopped.

“Give me a break, fuck,” he groaned before bringing his arms up and crossing them to rest his head on. “Listen, you need a second to recover after cumming like that, alright? What am I to you, a piece of meat?”

Yes. Maybe.

“Sorry, Buggs. I forgot how sensitive you are.”

The glare he shot you was worth it. And, unfortunately for Buggy, you were able to replace the expression with one that was much more pathetic and delicious. Your gentle hold changed slowly, although not as slow as Buggy himself would have gone. Rather than stroking, you squeezed so daintily that it was more of a hug. Then a little pull. A pulse in pressure, which was returned with a bit of growth.

Soon enough, Buggy was whimpering and whining and begging to be fucked. Begging you to get on with it. 

So you did. Settled between his legs, you ran your hand along his leg, grazing the hair on his shin before reaching his knee and pushing it aside. Meanwhile, your other hand remained busy with other activities. 

Buggy’s groans were cracking at the ends, too full of impatience, need, and overstimulation. And when you pressed the dripping tip against his entrance, his noises fell apart completely. In the quiet, you rubbed the blunt head up and down, smearing precum as lube.

Leaning against his body, you bent forwards and spit. And missed. The bubbly saliva fell too close to your body and caught on your thumb. Not wanting the intention to go to waste, you rubbed your wet thumb against Buggy’s hole. Then, because you might as well, you slipped it in his ass.

The moan that came from Buggy’s mouth was obscene, but not as much as how his body pulsed and puckered around your thumb.

“Oh you like this, huh? It’s like your body is begging to have me inside, Buggy.”

Another whorish moan.

Your mind was reset - emptied of all prior times you pegged Buggy with his dick and replaced with this moment. This new experience of you fucking him. You screwing the captain with your cock.

Even watching yourself slide in and stretch him open seemed like something you hadn’t seen before. It was you doing this. You were the reason he was stuttering and whimpering. You were the reason he was telling you to hurry up and slow down. You were the reason he was complaining and boasting about being so full.

“That’s it, babe,” Buggy cried to the ceiling. “C’mon, you’re doing a good job. Keep going.”

Oh fuck, if that’s what he wanted, you were going to give it to him. You pushed his legs up and towards his chest, squeezing excess air from his chest.

“Oh fuck, oh yes,” he said, with enough volume and pride to make you blush.

Buggy’s hands hooked beneath his knees to aid you and your feral activities.

“That’s right, fuck me like you don’t know me,” he encouraged.

Those words broke something in you. Whatever cry came from your lips was raw and instinctual. Pleading and hungry, in need of something that it couldn’t have, and wanting to feast on this facsimile.

You rutted into Buggy hard. Slamming your hips into him, hoping that you could bury yourself deep enough to actually feel it. And if you couldn’t, then you would damn well feel every other sensation. You could hardly catch your breath as every thrust took everything from you, leaving you desperate for oxygen and an orgasm.

The orgasm arrived first and it came with a coarse shout from Buggy.

“Unnnngh, d-don’t stop.” The words were choked out between intelligible sounds.

The request barely registered, since your mind was still lost to the eternal need to hump something. More than the second climax causing you to stop, it was the lack of oxygen making you woozy. With your head and the room starting to spin, you eventually came to a stop. Carefully pinching the base, you pulled away and left the temporary piece of you buried deep. 

“That was fun,” you sighed, exhausted and enlightened.

“Uh-huh, yeah,” Buggy responded weakly through his own tired smile.

Your laugh shifted into a grimace at the sensation of your slick between your thighs cooling, a stark contrast to the heat still burning in your core.

Maybe your kind and extremely generous partner would be willing to lend you a hand next.