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palmersluvr · 22 hours ago

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dead of night

SUMMARY: your boyfriend is possessive, so you roofie him in order to go out clubbing. when he wakes up he tracks you down, picks you up and teaches you a lesson in the backseat

WARNINGS: lu is possessive and lowkey mean in this, someone vomits, female masturbation, head (m!receiving) fingering (f!receiving) car sex, semi public sex, choking, hair pulling, breeding ofc

NOTES: obviously we know lu wouldn’t be this mean irl but yeahhh enjoy!!!

WORD COUNT: 12.2k (oops?)

“why the fuck not?!” you ask, holding the blue dress up against your body, irritation flaring as luigi’s expression hardens.

he doesn’t even try to hide his disapproval. “what the fuck did i just say? you know you can’t wear clothing like that, and you’re not going out tonight. you’re staying here.”

you blink, taken aback. “are you serious right now?”

he nods, jaw tight. “dead serious. that dress barely covers anything, what the fuck makes you think i’m just gonna sit at home while you walk into a nightclub looking like that?”

“it’s just a dress,” you say, your tone sharp. “i like how i look in it.”

he scoffs. “yeah, so will every other guy in that place. you didn’t even mention you were going out until now, and now you’re showing me that? ain’t no way baby.”

“it’s a night out with my friends,” you argue. “it’s not like i’m doing anything wrong.”

“are you kidding me? look at you! you wanna go out dressed like a prostitute, without me, to a place full of drunk assholes who won’t give a shit that you already have a boyfriend.” luigi snaps. “i won’t put up with it. you’re staying home tonight.”

you freeze for a second.

he’s never called you that before. never even hinted at something that harsh. and it stings, burns low in your chest like something sour, but the anger rising in you is louder, stronger, sharper. you don’t have time to be hurt when you’re this furious.

“wow.” you say, voice trembling with rage. “prostitute, huh? that’s what you see when you look at me?”

he doesn’t answer right away, just runs a hand through his hair, breathing hard.

you shake your head, that blue dress suddenly feeling heavier in your hands. “you don’t trust me. you just want to control me. and now you’re calling me names because i won’t play along? you can’t tell me what i can and can’t do!”

“i’m not telling you. i’m saying it.” he bites back. “you’re not leaving this house tonight. not in that dress. not to that fucking club. end of discussion.”

“you don’t trust me, is that it?” you say quietly.

he looks at you, unflinching. “i don’t trust the situation. i’m not gonna let it happen. we clear?”

you swallow hard, forcing your expression to stay calm. “yeah,” you say quietly. “we’re clear.”

but you know what? you don’t mean a single word. fuck him. you’re still going out tonight, you’ve already made up your mind. you’re just saying what he wants to hear, letting him think he’s won, because arguing with him right now is pointless. you’ll handle it your own way.

luigi studies your face for a moment, like he’s trying to make sure you’re being honest. then he nods, jaw still tight. “good,” he mutters. “i don’t wanna fight with you. i just need to know you get where i’m coming from.”

you nod, keeping your voice steady. “yeah i know.”

he reaches out and brushes your arm, his touch gentler now. “i just don’t wanna lose you over something stupid.”

you offer a small smile, fake but convincing. “you won’t.”

luigi closes the distance between you, his body pressing tightly against yours, the heat of him overwhelming. his eyes bore into yours, fierce and possessive, before he leans in, claiming your lips with a rough, hungry kiss, his tongue dominating the space between you.

his hands roam down your body, deliberate and firm, until they reach your ass. he grabs you hard, fingers digging deep into your flesh through your clothes, squeezing with a force that pulls a sharp gasp from your lips. his grip tightens, kneading you as he presses your hips against his.

he pulls back just enough to moan against your mouth, breath hot and heavy. “i don’t want you wearing shit like this when I’m not there.” his hands squeeze your ass again, harder, possessive. “this is mine,” he says, voice low and territorial, “i don’t want other guys putting their filthy hands on what belongs to me.”

two hours later, you’re still sitting on the edge of the bed, phone buzzing with texts from your friends, plans being finalized, outfits picked, everyone asking when you’re showing up.

you haven’t even touched your makeup bag yet. but you’re going. that hasn’t changed.

luigi’s been quiet ever since the argument. he’s out in the living room like it’s all settled, like you backed down and the night’s over before it even started.

you love him to pieces. he’s sweet, he’s loyal, and most of the time he treats you like gold. but he has his moments, possessive, jealous, trying to call the shots like you’re supposed to just sit there and nod along.

but tonight? he can go to hell.

you’re still gonna get up, throw on your dress, do your hair and makeup, and enjoy your damn night. you’re not doing anything wrong. you deserve to have fun and he doesn’t get to decide otherwise.

you glance over at the nightstand, where a small baggie rests behind the lamp.

crushed sleeping pills inside, fine and pale, barely noticeable unless you’re looking for them.

you’d thought about this earlier, not out of spite, but practicality. you knew how tonight would go the moment he said no. knew he wouldn’t let it go, wouldn’t back down. you could argue until you were blue in the face, and it still wouldn’t change anything. he’d just sit out there all night, watching you, waiting to stop you the second you tried to leave.

so you came up with a different plan.

nothing harmful, just enough to make sure he’s out cold before you walk out the door. he’ll fall asleep thinking the fight’s over, thinking you listened. and when he wakes up? you’ll be back, safe and sound, like nothing ever happened.

your phone lights up with another message.

you glance back at the baggie.

you’re still going out. no matter what.

you pick up your phone, fingers flying over the screen as you open the group chat.

you: just give me an hour and a half, have to sort out luigi

it doesn’t take long for you to get a response.

rachel: ooo 👀

you smirk a little, shaking your head.

you: it’s alright, i’ll explain later, text u girls when i’m ready <3

you slip your phone off and carefully tuck the small baggie into the pocket of your sweatpants, making sure it’s hidden and secure. the weight of it is comforting, your secret weapon for the night.

quietly, you slip out of the bedroom and head down the hall to the kitchen. opening the fridge, you grab two cans of lime flavoured la croix. you wrinkle your nose in disgust. who the fuck likes lime la croix? seriously, luigi must be a psycho for choosing that flavor, but you know he swears by it.

glancing quickly over your shoulder to make sure he’s not coming, you pop the tab on one can, the familiar hiss breaking the silence. you sprinkle a small, precise pinch of the crushed pills into the open can, just enough to knock him out without causing any harm.

leaving the tab popped and the can open, you grab the other unopened can and head back toward the living room, holding both like you’re just bringing drinks for the two of you. luigi’s sitting on the couch, looking up as you approach, calm but watchful. you force yourself to stay steady, masking everything behind a casual smile as you settle in beside him.

without missing a beat, you walk over and hand him the opened can, the laced one, making sure your fingers brush his when you pass it to him. “here,” you say with a faint smile. “figured you’d want something cold.”

he takes it with a small nod, cracking a tired smile. “thanks baby,” he says, raising it slightly before taking a sip. “you always know what i like.”

you sit down next to him, holding your own unopened can, but you don’t open it. not yet. you take a slow breath and lean back, acting casual, like this was always the plan. “you know what?” you say, keeping your voice light, almost thoughtful. “i changed my mind. i don’t wanna go out anyway.”

luigi turns his head toward you, just enough to look at you more directly. “yeah?” he asks, a hint of surprise in his tone. “you for real?”

you nod, brushing a hand through your hair like it’s no big deal. “yeah. i was thinking about it, and honestly, i’m tired. the whole idea of dressing up, getting shoved around in a crowded club, overpaying for drinks just to stand around yelling over the music… kinda lost its appeal.”

he nudges your leg with his, eyes flicking over you with something between amusement and approval. “good. i don’t want you out there prancing around town dressed like some slut.”

his tone is light, like it’s a joke, but you know he means every word.

he takes another sip from the la croix, the faint sound of the carbonation hissing as the can tips back. you watch him closely, eyes fixed on the way his throat moves as he swallows. every detail matters now, the timing, the dose, how quickly it kicks in. you keep your face calm, pleasant, like everything’s fine.

you pop the tab on your own can, letting it hiss open in your hand. you bring it to your lips, tilt it just slightly and pretend to take a sip. you don’t drink a drop.

no way in fuck are you taking an actual sip. you hate that shit. but more importantly, this moment’s not about relaxing. it’s about playing your part, letting him think you’re settling in for the night, too. keeping him at ease.

you lower the can again casually, glancing sideways at him. he’s already sinking deeper into the cushions, the drink still in his hand. you offer a small smile, legs curled up beneath you, and wait.

thirty minutes pass.

the tv flickers quietly in the background, casting soft light over the room. luigi hasn’t moved much, he’s slouched low on the couch now, his body heavy and warm, eyes half lidded and blinking slow.

he shifts a little, murmuring, “baby… i’m tired…”

you glance over at him, and the corners of your mouth lift just slightly. good, you think. it’s working.

“i know, baby,” you say gently, reaching over to smooth your fingers through his hair. “you had a long day.”

he exhales slowly, head tilting toward you like he’s about to say something else, but the words never come. his mouth parts slightly, breath evening out as his body goes still.

out cold. just like you planned.

well that was quick.

you stand there for a moment, watching him sink deeper into sleep. his breathing is slow and steady, his body heavy, completely still under the dim glow of the tv. the can is slipping from his fingers, forgotten.

you quietly grab the throw blanket draped over the back of the couch and pull it over him, tucking it gently around his shoulders. he doesn’t stir.

leaning in, you press a soft kiss to his forehead, careful and silent, then straighten up and head down the hallway.

once in the bedroom, you close the door behind you with a soft click and let out a slow breath. now it’s time.

you’ll change, do your makeup, slip out the door without a sound. and by the time he wakes up, you’ll already be back, hair tossed into a bun, comfy clothes on, like you never stepped foot outside. he won’t suspect a thing. to him, it’ll just feel like he fell asleep a little early.

you cross the room, grip the hem of your sleep shirt, and pull it over your head, tossing it aside without a second thought. your sweatpants follow, hitting the floor in a soft heap at your feet. you step out of them, left in nothing but the quiet buzz of adrenaline.

at the dresser, you open the top drawer and spot the purple lingerie instantly, the lacy bra and matching panties luigi got you for valentine’s day. you remember how bashful he was handing over the little gift bag, and how smug he looked when he saw you in it later that night. it’s beautiful, sheer lilac lace, delicate floral stitching, and soft satin straps that feel expensive just to touch.

you slip into the set carefully, adjusting the fit with practiced ease. it’s hugs your body in all the right ways, the kind of pretty that makes you stand taller without even thinking about it.

then you reach into your closet and pull out the blue dress, the one that sparked everything tonight. you step into it, drag the smooth fabric up your legs, and slide the straps over your shoulders. it clings just enough, catches the light perfectly.

you study yourself in the mirror for a moment, hands smoothing over the fabric of the blue dress. it’s bold. it’s unapologetic. and it’s exactly what tonight calls for.

now comes the rest.

you move to your vanity and tie your hair up loosely to keep it out of the way, then pull open the small drawer filled with your skincare essentials. you know the routine by heart, cleanser, toner, a bit of serum to wake your skin up, and moisturizer to lock it all in. you don’t rush it.

there’s something grounding about the process, something steady. it gives your hands something to do while your mind stays focused.

once your skin is prepped, you move to your makeup. you swipe on a light base, just enough to even things out, then build from there, brows, a touch of blush, highlighter on your cheekbones, winged liner sharp enough to cut, and a coat of mascara that pulls your whole look together. for your lips, something nude with a slight sheen. effortless, but put together. clean. controlled.

finally, you let your hair down and grab your curling iron. you section it off and start wrapping the pieces one by one, watching as soft curls fall into place around your shoulders. the heat brings out the shine, gives it volume, shape, movement.

when you finish, you run your fingers through the curls to loosen them a little, give it that undone look. you stare at your reflection once more.

everything is set. hair curled. makeup flawless. skin glowing.

you don’t just look ready.

you are ready.

you pick up your phone from the vanity and open the group chat, fingers flying over the screen.

you: ready now lol

a few seconds later, rachel replies:

rachel: omg send a pic of your outfit babe

you smirk, turn toward the mirror, and snap a quick mirror selfie, curls perfect, makeup flawless, the blue dress hugging you in all the right places. you send it without hesitation.

gabby: OMG 😍 you look insane. like… actually unreal.

rachel: okay miss hot stuff??? how did you get luigi to let you go out looking like THAT

you glance at your reflection again, lips curving into a small, knowing smile.

you: i’ll explain later 😭

a few moments pass before rachel replies again.

rachel: okay okay just picking up gabby now, be at urs in a bit 💕

you lock your phone, set it on the vanity and grab your purse, then reach for your favorite perfume, the one luigi always said drove him crazy. you give yourself two quick spritzes, wrist, neck, then toss the bottle into your purse and take one last look in the mirror.

perfect.

you move to the edge of the bed and pick up your heels, gripping them by the straps instead of slipping them on. no way you’re clicking across the floor and waking him up now.

you sit down on the edge of the bed and wait quietly, heart steady, listening to the faint sound of the tv in the other room. after a few minutes, your phone lights up with a buzz against the vanity, rachel’s message coming through on your lock screen.

rachel: we’re here now <3

you stand, purse slung over your shoulder and your heels in hand, and move to the bedroom door. you open it slowly, inch by inch, until it gives with the faintest creak. you slip into the hallway silently and glance toward the couch.

luigi’s still there, bundled under the throw blanket, completely knocked out. his chest rises and falls in a slow, even rhythm. not even a twitch.

you move past him carefully, step by step, until you reach the door. you ease it open, slip outside, and close it behind you just as quietly. you pull out your key and lock it with a soft click.

only then do you crouch down at the top of the steps and finally slide on your heels. straightening up, you scan the street until your eyes land on rachel’s car waiting at the curb, headlights low.

you walk toward it without looking back.

you make your way down the path, heels clicking softly, and spot rachel’s car waiting at the curb. the headlights are low, music playing quietly through the open windows. you approach the car and hop in the back seat.

“there she is,” rachel says with a smirk, glancing back from the driver’s seat. “took you long enough.”

gabby looks back at you from the front seat, her eyes running over your outfit. “okay, that dress looks even better on you in person!”

you slip into the seat, pulling the door closed behind you, trying not to smile too much. “thank you guys…”

“no, seriously,” rachel adds, turning the wheel as she pulls away from the curb. “you look great. that colour’s doing everything for you.”

gabby nods in agreement. “you nailed it. hair, makeup, the whole thing, it fucking WORKS!”

rachel eases the car onto the road, city lights blurring past the windows as the night settles in. soft music plays through the speakers, filling the space with a steady beat. you take the bottled smirnoff gabby handed you from the cup holder, the glass cool against your fingers. you take a slow sip, letting it calm your nerves.

“so,” gabby says, leaning in with that smug grin, like she already has dirt on you. “how’d you ditch luigi tonight? thought he’d have you chained to the couch or some shit.”

rachel smirks from the driver’s seat. “yeah, do tell.”

you grin, dropping your voice like you were spilling some dark secret. “let’s just say… i roofied his la croix.”

gabby and rachel go dead quiet, the car filled only with the screechy music. then, they both burst out laughing, gabby snorting so hard she nearly chokes.

“what?” gabby wheezes, wiping her eyes. “you roofied him?”

you slouch back in the seat, a sly grin spreading across your face like you’d just pulled off the ultimate prank. “relax, it wasn’t, like, a real bad roofie, i just crushed up some melatonin and tossed it in his booger drink and sent him straight to nap city. he’s probably snoring so loud the neighbours can fucking hear him.”

gabby loses it, and rachel lets out a loud, “hah!” and smacks the steering wheel, nearly swerving as she laughs.

“that’s smart!” rachel says, her voice dripping with amusement as she shoots you a look in the rearview mirror.

the city lights streak past, painting the windows with neon glows as the car hums along to a gritty pop punk track, all screechy guitars and angsty vibes. you twirl the cold, sweaty bottle in your hand, the fizz of your drink cutting through the buzz of the night.

gabby, still giggling, glances at you, her eyes sparkling with that troublemaker glint she always has. “okay, but hold up. if you’re at the point where you’re, like, drugging your boyfriend just to sneak out for a night of clubbing, maybe you should… i don’t know. reconsider your life choices?”

you roll your eyes, letting out a dramatic huff. “i know, i know, it sounds awful when you say it like that. but he’s not that bad, he’s really sweet in other ways… he just doesn’t like me wearing short clothes out in public and hates it when i go to bars without him… he doesn’t want other guys to even talk to me.”

rachel keeps her eyes on the road but glances over with a small shrug. “yeah, from what i’ve seen, he’s the sweetest to you. he’s super nice, he’s just really possessive and worries way too much.”

“exactly,” you say, your voice softer now. “i just wish he believed me when i tell him he doesn’t have to worry. i don’t want anyone else but him.”

gabby turns and looks at you, her brows raised. “wait, what happens if he wakes up and you’re still gone?”

you let out a quiet laugh, bringing the bottle back to your lips and taking another sip. the drink goes down smooth, cooling the back of your throat.

“relax,” you say with a smirk, leaning your head back against the seat. “he’ll be out like a light all night. trust me.”

the tv is still on, low but steady, playing some late night rerun with canned laughter echoing faintly through the apartment. the flickering light casts soft, uneven shadows across the room.

luigi shifts under the blanket, brow furrowed as he slowly blinks awake. his head feels heavy, his body sluggish. there’s a dull ache in his neck from the way he’s been lying.

he sits up slowly, rubbing at his face with both hands. the blanket slips off his chest as he reaches over to the coffee table and grabs his phone.

the screen lights up.

12:02 AM

he frowns, staring at the time for a few seconds. last thing he remembers, it was barely nine. he doesn’t even remember lying down, let alone falling asleep.

his eyes scan the room. the couch beside him is empty. the apartment is quiet except for the chatter coming from the tv.

and you’re nowhere to be seen.

he sits on the edge of the couch for a few seconds, rubbing a hand over his face as he tries to shake off the fog still clinging to his head. his eyes flick to the hallway. you’ve probably just gone to bed quietly, like you do sometimes when he crashes early. no big deal.

he stands, joints stiff, and stretches his arms overhead with a low sigh before making his way down the hall toward the bedroom.

the room is quiet. dark. still.

he flips the light on.

the bed is perfectly made. undisturbed. pillows lined up exactly how they were earlier. it doesn’t look like anyone’s touched it all night.

he stares for a second, a small crease forming between his brows.

maybe you’re in the bathroom.

he crosses the hallway and nudges the door open.

empty.

now he’s moving slower. checking each room with more focus. he steps into the kitchen, glances around. nothing. he opens the laundry door. checks the tiny storage nook. paces through the living room again, as if he missed something.

still no sign of you.

he even opens the sliding door to the balcony and steps outside, scanning the space quickly. no one.

back inside, the air feels heavier. the house is too quiet. he looks down at his phone again.

three hours gone. still no messages. no calls. no nothing.

he stands there for a moment, heart thudding a little faster now.

what the fuck?

luigi steps back into the bedroom, every movement heavy with unease. he flicks on the light, and his eyes immediately catch sight of the sleep shirt and sweatpants you’d been wearing earlier, lying crumpled on the floor near the dresser. the sight feels off, too careless, too sudden.

he moves closer, his gaze dropping to a small, clear baggie resting beside the clothes. inside, faint traces of white powder cling stubbornly to the plastic. his heart starts to beat faster as he carefully picks it up, turning it over in his hand, trying to steady himself.

then his eyes shift to the nightstand where your bottle of sleeping pills sits. the label is worn but familiar. he grabs it, shaking it gently, counting the pills inside. there are only three left. he clearly remembers seeing five just last night.

his mind races. she hasn’t taken any of these pills today. not one.

the pieces begin to fall into place with crushing clarity.

you drugged him.

a cold fire ignites inside him, a mix of shock, betrayal, and rage. how could you do this to him? how could you sneak something into his drink and rob him of control, of choice? the thought makes his hands tremble, fists clenching tight enough to whiten his knuckles.

with trembling hands, he fumbles for his phone on the counter, the screen lighting up as he unlocks it with a swipe. his fingers move on instinct, navigating to the “find my” app, his heart hammering as the map loads. he doesn’t want to believe it, doesn’t want to see the proof of your betrayal spelled out in a glowing dot on a screen, but he has to know.

the app pings, and there it is, your location, a pulsing marker in the heart of the city. vibepulse nightclub. the name hit him like a slap, conjuring images of thumping bass, flashing lights, and bodies pressed too close in a haze of sweat and alcohol. you’re there. right now. while he’s here, reeling from the aftereffects of what you’ve slipped him.

you planned this, calculated it, knowing full well he told you no. no to the late nights, no to the short blue dress, no to the nightclub scene you craved despite his pleas for you to stay home, to stay safe, to stay with him.

the memory of your argument a few hours ago flashes in his mind. he thought they’d settled it, that you understood. but no. you’ve taken matters into your own hands, and now here he is, betrayed in the most insidious way.

his fingers tighten around the phone, the plastic creaking under the pressure. he wants to call you, to demand answers, to let the full force of his rage pour out in words that would cut as deeply as your betrayal has. but he stops himself, forcing a slow, shuddering breath.

no. a call wouldn’t be enough. he needs to see you, to look into your eyes and make you understand the weight of what you’ve done. the rage was still there, simmering, but it’s sharpening into something colder, more focused… a determination to confront you, to reclaim the control you’ve stolen from him.

luigi sets the phone down, his jaw still locked, his fists still trembling. vibepulse nightclub. that’s where you are, and that’s where he’ll go. he doesn’t know what he’s gonna say when he sees you, doesn’t know if he’s gonna shout or seethe or simply stare at you in silence, letting the weight of his anger speak for itself.

but one thing is certain: he isn’t going to let this slide. you’ve crossed a line, and the cold fire in his chest isn’t going out until he’s faced you.

luigi’s rage burns cold and fierce in his chest. he snatches his wallet and keys, the metal digging into his palm. he storms out of the bedroom, boots thudding, and rips open the front door, the night air sharp against his face. slamming it shut, he charges down the driveway towards his car. he gets in, puts his keys in the ignition and it growls to life, tires shrieking as he speeds off, city lights blurring past.

you lurch out of the club, the neon glow and thumping bass still buzzing in your head, the world tilting under your feet. you’re wasted, legs like jelly, thoughts a blurry mess of lights and laughter, the vodka shots you slammed earlier burning through you. a sloppy grin sticks to your face as you grab gabby’s arm to keep from falling, the streetlights smearing into hazy streaks.

gabby’s just as gone, her hair a tangled wreck as she stumbles over her heels, laughing too loud. rachel, hooked onto gabby’s other arm, is a giggling disaster, mascara smudged from dancing or maybe crying to that last track. the three of you are a mess, arms knotted, staggering onto the sidewalk, voices slurring into a chaotic blur of half sentences and cackles.

“gabby,” you mutter, words tripping as you tug her sleeve, nearly tipping over. “your brother coming to get us or what?” a hiccup slips out, and you snort, picturing todd’s beat up van rolling up.

gabby sways, catching a streetlamp, her eyes glassy. “yeah, he’s on his way. him and his boyfriend.” she waves a hand, almost smacking rachel, who cracks up. “they’ll probably give us shit, but whatever.”

you nod, or try to, your head heavy and wobbling, a laugh bubbling up at the thought of todd and his boyfriend pulling up. the three of you cling to each other, barely upright, drunk on liquor and the fading rush of the night.

you teeter on the sidewalk, the world still a dizzy whirl from the vodka and the club’s pulsing lights. your grin feels glued on as you throw your arms around gabby and rachel, pulling them into a sloppy hug. “this was such a good night,” you slur, words spilling out. “i love you girls so much.”

gabby sways against you, her laugh thick with liquor. “love you too, babe.”

rachel, mascara streaked and giggling, squeezes your arm. “love you, you hot mess.”

before you can respond, gabby lurches forward, hand clapped to her mouth. she stumbles to the curb and hurls, the sound raw and wretched, cutting through the night. you grimace, your stomach twisting in sympathy.

rachel jumps into action, grabbing gabby’s messy hair and yanking it back. “aaand this is why i told you to slow down before!” she says, half laughing, half worried, holding gabby’s hair with one hand while patting her back with the other.

headlights flare as a beat up van screeches up. todd and his boyfriend, jay, leap out, both rocking fitted tees and jeans that scream effortless style. todd, tall with a sharp buzzcut, struts over, hands on hips. “sis, are you serious?” he snaps, dropping to one knee beside her.

jay, all lean limbs and tousled curls, sashays up, one eyebrow arched. “sweetie, did you chug the whole bar?” he purrs, eyeing you and rachel with a smirk. “and you two look like you’re one shot from a reality show meltdown.”

gabby retches again, groaning. “i’m fine, shut the fuck up…” she mumbles between heaves, clearly anything but.

todd rolls his eyes, rubbing her back with a dramatic sigh. “fine? girl, i’ve told you numerous times that you CANNOT handle your damn liquor!” he glances at jay, tossing him a playful glare. “told you we should’ve stayed in with a rosé and some bravo.”

jay pulls a water bottle from the van, tossing his curls with a grin. “babe, you’re buying me fancy dinner for this chaos,” he teases, handing the water to todd. “and i’m picking the place.“

todd steps over to gabby, who’s swaying slightly, still buzzing from the night’s chaos. “drink up, honey,” he says, pressing the bottle into her hands with a protective smirk, making sure she’s steady before turning away.

you, still drunk and wobbly, stumble forward, wrapping your arms around todd in a sloppy hug. “thank you both so much for coming to get us,” you slur, voice thick with gratitude. you let go, then lurch toward jay, throwing your arms around him too, nearly knocking him off balance. “seriously, you guys are the best,” you mumble, your words muffled against jay’s shoulder as he laughs and steadies you.

suddenly, luigi’s voice cuts through the night, sharp and furious, yelling at you. you jerk back from jay’s embrace, heart lurching as you spin toward the sound, the world tilting around you.

luigi sits in his car, parked across the street from vibepulse nightclub, his grip on the steering wheel so tight his knuckles ache. the cold fire in his chest burns hotter as he watches you, swaying on the sidewalk with gabby and rachel, your laughter carrying faintly over the thumping bass spilling from the club.

you’re wearing that blue dress, the one he told you not to wear, the one that hugs your curves so perfectly it makes his breath catch even now. you look stunning, the fabric catching the neon glow, accentuating every line of your body in a way that’s almost too much. he can’t lie to himself: you’re breathtaking, radiant in a way that twists his heart.

but that beauty stokes his rage too, because it’s not for him tonight. only he should see you like this, not the pulsing crowd of strangers inside vibepulse, not the world you chose over him.

his jaw clenches as he glares, the betrayal cutting deeper with every second. you roofied him, slipped something into his drink, left him passed out on the couch just so you could sneak out here, flaunting yourself in that dress, laughing with gabby and rachel like nothing’s wrong.

the memory of waking up disoriented, piecing together your deception, fuels the anger coiling in his gut. he trusted you, and you betrayed him for this, a night of reckless freedom, dancing in a place he begged you to avoid.

his eyes narrow as two guys approach you, both strutting with a confidence that sets his teeth on edge. one’s tall with a buzzcut, the other leaner with dark curls, and they’re moving in too close, their voices carrying a playful edge as they talk to you, gabby, and rachel. luigi’s pulse spikes, rage flaring white hot.

did you drug him to come out here and meet guys? the thought is a knife to his chest, twisting with every laugh you share with them, every glance you toss their way. his hands tremble, the steering wheel creaking under his grip as he imagines you planning this, slipping away to flirt and dance with strangers while he was helpless at home.

then he sees it, you stumble forward, wrapping your arms around the tall guy in a sloppy hug, your words slurred but warm. before luigi can process it, you lurch toward the curly haired guy, throwing your arms around him too, nearly knocking him over as you mumble something against his shoulder.

that’s it. the last fucking straw. the sight of you in that dress, clinging to other men, laughing like you didn’t shatter his trust, snaps something inside him. his vision blurs with fury, the cold fire in his chest exploding into an inferno. he doesn’t care who they are or what they’re saying, enough is enough.

he shoves the car door open, the hinges groaning as he leaps out and slams it shut with a force that echoes down the street.

his shoes hit the pavement as he charges across the road, dodging a honking car, his heart pounding in sync with the fire in his chest. his eyes lock on you, still tangled in the curly haired guy’s arms, and the betrayal cuts deeper with every step.

“is this what you’ve been fucking doing?!” he shouts, his voice raw, slicing through the night air as he closes the distance.

you spin toward him, heart lurching. his eyes burn with fury, fixed on you, and shock slams into you. he’s awake. he’s here. you thought the stuff you slipped in his drink would keep him out until dawn.

everyone around you goes quiet. gabby, still hunched from earlier vomiting but done now, straightens up, wiping her mouth as she stares. rachel, holding gabby’s hair moments ago, lets her hands drop, eyes wide. todd and jay, mid chat, freeze.

but you’re so drunk, the world a dizzy, glittering haze, that the panic fizzles fast. the vodka coursing through you smothers it, leaving only reckless glee. you meet luigi’s betrayed glare and burst into a sloppy laugh, clutching your side. “lu, chill!” you slur, flailing a hand at him. “it’s just a night out, god!” you giggle again, wobbling, the alcohol numbing you to the storm in his eyes.

luigi walks up to you, his face twisted with raw fury, and seizes your arm with a grip so tight it feels like it could bruise bone. the world lurches, the neon glow of the club blurring as his fingers clamp down, anchoring you to his rage. “you fucking roofied me!” he yells again, voice jagged with betrayal, close enough for you to smell the bitterness on his breath. “slipped shit in my drink so you could sneak out and prance around clubbing without my permission? look at you, you’re dressed like a fucking slut!”

his words are a vicious snarl, each one a blade meant to cut deep, his eyes blazing with a mix of hurt and venom as he towers over you.

todd steps in, his posture sharp, voice dripping with defiance. “woah, woah! honey you need to back up! he snaps, one hand slicing the air, his tone fierce and unapologetic. “you don’t get to treat her like that.”

luigi whips around, his face contorted, eyes flashing with menace. “you stay the fuck out of this.” he growls, voice low and dangerous, a warning that vibrates through the tense air. todd hesitates, his jaw tightening, but he steps back, exchanging a wary glance with jay.

you’re so drunk, the vodka numbing the sting of luigi’s grip, his cruel words barely piercing the foggy haze in your mind. the world feels like a dark, spinning carnival, and despite the intensity, you can’t help but laugh, a sloppy, reckless cackle that spills out as you sway in his hold. “babeeee, chill!!” you slur, giggling as you swat at his chest, your hand clumsy. “don’t be such a debbie downer!” your laughter rings out, jagged and carefree, blind to the storm of rage in his eyes, the alcohol drowning out the darkness closing in.

luigi’s face is a storm of rage, his eyes burning as he tightens his grip on your arm, the pressure bruising. “we’re going home,” he snaps, his voice low and final. he doesn’t wait for a response, yanking you toward the street, dragging you with a force that makes you stumble, your heels scraping the pavement. the world tilts, vodka still clouding your senses, but his iron hold keeps you moving.

you giggle, the sound sloppy and wild, your drunken haze making his anger feel distant, almost absurd. as he pulls you across the road, you twist your head back, catching sight of gabby, rachel, todd, and jay. you flash a lopsided grin and wave clumsily with your free hand, your voice slurring as you call out, “byeeee, love you guys!” your laughter bubbles up again, carefree and oblivious, even as luigi’s grip tightens, hauling you toward his car parked under the flickering streetlight.

you get to his car, which is parked under a flickering streetlight, his grip on your arm unrelenting, bruising. the world spins, a drunken kaleidoscope of neon and shadows, but his fury is a sharp anchor. he yanks open the passenger door, the metal creaking, and shoves you inside with a rough push, your body slumping into the seat. the door slams shut with a jarring bang that echoes in the night, making you flinch, though the vodka in your veins keeps you giggling.

luigi storms around to the driver’s side, wrenching the door open and sliding in with a scowl, his movements taut with rage. he turns to you, eyes blazing, and snaps, “put your fucking seatbelt on.”

you snort, the words striking you as absurdly funny in your drunken haze. “fucking bossy ass BITCH!!” you slur, a sloppy laugh spilling out as you fumble with the seatbelt, your fingers clumsy and uncoordinated. after a moment of struggling, you manage to click it into place, the sound loud in the tense silence of the car.

luigi doesn’t respond, his jaw clenched as he jams the key into the ignition. the engine roars to life, and he peels out onto the street, tires screeching, the city lights blurring past as you lean back, still giggling, oblivious to the storm brewing beside you.

the car speeds down the dark city streets, neon lights streaking past as luigi grips the steering wheel, his knuckles white, the cold fury in his chest burning hotter with every second. his jaw is locked, his eyes fixed on the road, but they flicker toward you, slouched in the passenger seat, still swaying slightly from the vodka. “who the fuck do you think you are?” he snaps, his voice sharp and venomous, cutting through the hum of the engine.

you blink at him, the words bouncing off your drunken haze, and a giggle slips out, high and sloppy. “what?” you slur, tilting your head, a confused grin spreading across your face as you giggle again, the seriousness of his tone not registering.

luigi’s hands tighten on the wheel, the leather creaking. “you think you can just roofie me, sneak out in that fucking outfit, and go cuddle up with random guys like it’s nothing?” he growls, his voice low and seething. “you lied to me, broke my trust, and now you’re laughing like it’s a fucking joke. you think you can play me like that?” his eyes dart to you, blazing with betrayal, the car swerving slightly as his anger spills over.

you slump in the passenger seat, the car’s motion making your head spin, and luigi’s words, sharp with betrayal, bounce around in your drunken fog. yet another giggle erupts from you, loud and uncontrolled, the absurdity of his anger somehow hilarious despite the tension.

“stop fucking laughing!” luigi snaps, his voice a harsh whip, eyes flashing as he glares at you, the streetlights casting sharp shadows across his face.

you hiccup, giggling again, and wave a clumsy hand. “baby,” you slur, words tumbling out, “those guys i was hugging? they’re gay. like, together gay. dating each other.” you lean back, grinning, as if that explains everything, your voice thick with vodka.

luigi’s hand slams down on the steering wheel, the sharp crack making you jump. “that doesn’t change a fucking thing!” he snarls, his voice low and furious. “you were probably still cozying up to other guys on the dance floor, weren’t you? flashing your tits at them no doubt, acting like you don’t have a fucking boyfriend!” his anger fills the car, heavy and suffocating, his jaw clenched so tight it sharpens his features.

you tilt your head, still drunk, the world a hazy blur, and his words don’t hit as hard as they should. instead, you focus on him, his dark eyes blazing, the tense line of his jaw, the way his hands grip the wheel like he’s holding himself back. jesus christ, he’s hot when he’s angry, all raw intensity and fire.

you giggle again, leaning toward him. “why would i do that when i have you?” you mumble, words slurring together. “i only want you, baby. nobody else.” your voice is earnest, sloppy with booze, but you mean it, even if it’s buried under the haze.

luigi goes silent, his lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes fixed on the road. the car hums, the city lights streaking past, and the weight of his silence fills the space between you. you sink back into the seat, still buzzing, staring at him, his anger making him look even more striking, though you’re too drunk to fully grasp the storm you’ve ignited.

you can’t stop staring at him as he drives, his silence thick and seething in the dim car. the streetlights carve sharp angles across his face, highlighting the clenched jaw, the blazing heat in his dark eyes, the way his knuckles strain white against the steering wheel. he’s so fucking hot when he’s angry, all raw intensity and coiled power, setting your skin on fire even through the drunken haze. the vodka surges through you, a reckless, molten wave that dulls his rage and ignites a throbbing need low in your belly.

your thoughts, foggy and disjointed, slip to those nights when luigi’s been this pissed, his hands rough, pinning your wrists to the bed, his hips slamming into you with brutal, relentless force, fucking you so hard the headboard rattled, his anger pouring into every deep, punishing thrust. the memory makes your core clench, a wet pulse of heat spreading through you.

you’re so drunk, the world a blurry swirl of neon and motion, that shame feels like a foreign concept. the alcohol makes everything urgent, your body moving faster than your sluggish brain can process. you fumble with your heels, kicking them off with a clumsy thud to the floor of the car. your hands move on instinct, driven by the haze and the electric pull of his presence.

locking eyes with him, his gaze still burning into the road, but you feel his awareness like a physical touch, you slide your fingers under the hem of your blue dress, hooking the edge of your purple lace thong, already soaked with sweat and slick arousal. you tug it down slowly, deliberately, the damp fabric dragging across your thighs, catching briefly at your knees before slipping to your ankles. holding his stare, your eyes glassy but defiant, you flick the thong into the backseat, where it lands in a crumpled, wet heap.

you spread your legs wider, the dress hiking up to bare the glistening folds of your pussy, slick and aching in the cool air. the alcohol makes every sensation sharper, your body thrumming with reckless need. your fingers find your dripping core, sliding through the wet heat to your swollen clit, and you moan softly, the sound lost in the engine’s hum. you start rubbing yourself, fingers moving in tight, desperate circles, then dipping lower to plunge inside, your cunt clenching around them as you pump slowly, then faster, slick sounds filling the car.

your breath comes in ragged gasps, thighs trembling as you spread yourself wider, touching yourself shamelessly, eyes locked on luigi. his jaw twitches, his grip on the wheel tightening, his anger a dark, magnetic force that only fuels the drunken, pulsing heat between your legs.

your free hand fumbles for the window button, the vodka making your movements sloppy but determined. you press it down, and the window slides open, a rush of cool night air blasting into the car. the wind whips your hair around your face, strands sticking to your sweaty skin, and the chill hardens your nipples, making them strain visibly against the tight dress, poking through the thin fabric like sharp points.

you’re still so drunk, the world a hazy, pulsing blur, every sensation heightened by the alcohol coursing through you. your other hand stays busy, fingers slick with your arousal as they work your throbbing pussy, circling your swollen clit before plunging deep inside, your cunt clenching tightly around them. you moan softly, the wet sounds of your fingers fucking yourself mixing with the hum of the engine, your thighs spread wide as you stare at luigi, his furious profile lit by passing streetlights. the sight of his clenched jaw, his burning eyes, only makes you wetter, your body thrumming with reckless need.

luigi’s glare snaps to you, sharp and livid, though his eyes stay mostly on the road. “stop that.” he growls, voice tight with anger, his knuckles white on the steering wheel.

you giggle, a drunken, airy sound, tilting your head. “stop what?” you slur, your fingers never slowing, dipping deeper into your dripping heat, a fresh wave of slickness coating your hand as you rub your clit with your thumb.

“stop acting like a slut.” he snaps, his voice low and venomous.

you moan louder, the sound raw and needy, your fingers pumping faster, your pussy clenching as you imagine luigi losing control, ripping your dress off, tearing it to shreds, and fucking you right here in the car, his hands rough, his cock slamming into you with all that pent up rage. the thought makes your core pulse, your nipples aching as they press harder against the dress.

you giggle again, leaning back, your voice thick with booze. “what if i don’t want to?” you tease, your fingers circling your clit, slick and relentless.

“i mean it.” he says, his voice a dangerous rumble, his eyes flicking to you again, dark with warning.

“no.” you purr, defiant, still touching yourself, your fingers soaked as you spread your legs wider, the wind from the open window cooling the wet heat between your thighs. you’re too drunk to care, the alcohol making you bold, every touch sending sparks through your body.

luiigi’s jaw tightens, and without warning, he yanks the wheel, swerving the car down an empty side street, the tires screeching as the city lights fade behind you. the road is dark, lined with shadowed buildings, and you feel the shift in direction, your drunken haze sharpening just enough to notice.

“this isn’t the way back home,” you say, your voice slurring, a giggle bubbling up even as your fingers slow but don’t stop, still teasing your slick folds.

“well guess what? i don’t remember asking you!” he snaps, his voice cold and final, his eyes fixed on the road as he speeds down the deserted street.

the car eventually slows, pulling into the shadow of an abandoned church, its crumbling spire looming against the night sky. luigi parks behind it, the lot shrouded in darkness, the engine cutting off with a low rumble. you glance at him, your hand still between your thighs, and notice the unmistakable bulge in his pants, his erection straining against the fabric, betraying the desire beneath his rage. your lips curl, the sight sending another pulse of heat through you.

luigi shoves his door open and storms to your side, yanking the passenger door open with a creak. “get out.” he growls, grabbing your arm roughly and pulling you from the seat. you stumble out, your bare feet hitting the gravel, the purple lace thong left behind in the backseat, your dress still hiked up, your fingers glistening as you sway, the alcohol keeping you defiant, reckless, and aching for whatever comes next.

your head spins, the world tilting, your thoughts a blurry, pulsing chaos. you fumble to pull your dress down, the fabric sliding over your thighs to cover your slick, exposed pussy, a desperate grab at the last scraps of dignity.

he strides to the crumbling church wall, shadows looming behind him, and leans against it, his gaze dark and commanding. “knees.” he orders, voice low and sharp, slicing through your drunken fog.

you know what he wants, and it ignites a raw, desperate need in you. you want, no, need to suck his cock, the urge consuming you, fueled by the alcohol and his searing anger. your body moves before your mind catches up, and you drop to your knees on the rough gravel, the sting a distant hum. your shaky hands, eager despite the blur, undo his belt with a clink, tugging his trousers down just enough to bunch at his thighs. you reach into his boxers, pulling out his hard cock.

it’s huge, thick and heavy, veins throbbing under your fingers, the head glistening with precum. your friends always called you a soldier for taking him, laughing about his size, long, impossibly girthy, a challenge most couldn’t handle. your mouth waters, the alcohol heightening every sensation, urging you on.

you lean in, lips wrapping around the swollen tip, tasting the salty precum as you swirl your tongue, moaning low. you’re so drunk, your movements sloppy but fervent, head bobbing as you take him deeper, his cock stretching your mouth, filling it to the brim.

you suck hard, cheeks hollowing, spit dripping down your chin, pooling on the gravel as you work him, tongue tracing the thick vein along his shaft. your hands grip his thighs, nails biting into muscle for balance, the wet, slurping sounds loud in the silent lot. you look up at him, his face hard, unyielding, and his visible rage only drives you to suck harder, desperate to please, your body buzzing with reckless heat as you lose yourself in the act.

your head keeps bobs eagerly, spit slicking your chin, dripping onto the gravel as you take him deeper, your throat yielding to his size, the ache in your jaw a delicious burn. you love this, love the heavy feel of his cock on your tongue, the way it fills your mouth completely, the power it gives you even as he looms above, commanding and intense. sucking him feels like a ritual, a rebellion, everything you crave right now, your mind lost in the need to please him.

you ease back, lips sliding off with a wet pop, and tilt your head to lick up his length, your tongue dragging slowly along the throbbing vein, savoring every inch of his massive cock. you lock eyes with him, his dark gaze searing into you, and the heat of it sends a pulse straight to your core, your pussy clenching with need.

you tease the swollen tip with quick, kitten like licks, flicking over the sensitive head, lapping at the precum leaking out, relishing the salty taste. then you dive back in, wrapping your lips around just the tip, sucking hard, tongue swirling in tight, relentless circles, all while holding his stare, your eyes glassy but defiant, daring him to respond.

your free hand drifts down, cupping his balls, warm and heavy in your palm. you knead them gently, fingers rolling the soft skin, tugging just enough as you suck his tip, the combined touch making your arousal drip down your thighs, your dress still bunched from earlier. you love how his cock pulses in your mouth, how his balls tighten under your fingers, how every sound you pull from him feels like a triumph.

luigi moans, a low, ragged “fuck,” escaping as his head tips back against the church wall, his hips twitching, pushing his cock deeper for a split second. the sound drives you harder, lips tightening, tongue flicking faster, fingers squeezing his balls to make him shudder. you love this, love how his cock throbs against your tongue, how your mouth can unravel him, how the alcohol makes every wet, sloppy sound louder, every sensation sharper, as you suck, lick, and tease, consumed by the raw, messy thrill.

minutes slip by, the world a blurry whirl of shadows and heat as you kneel on the gravel, luigi’s cock slamming into the back of your throat. his hand grips your hair roughly, pushing your head down with each thrust, the tip of his massive dick hitting deep, making you gag softly, spit drooling down your chin.

the alcohol amplifies every sensation, the stretch of your throat, the burn of his grip, the wet, sloppy sounds filling the air. you love it, love the way his cock fills you, the way you can barely breathe around him, your pussy dripping as you suck harder, tongue swirling, cheeks hollowing.

you look up, and he’s fucking beautiful, cheeks flushed a deep red, eyes rolling back, lips parted as he moans so loud it echoes off the church wall. his pleasure is raw, unrestrained, and it makes your core throb.

“doing so good,” he groans, voice thick and rough, “i’m gonna cum down your throat.” the words send a shiver through you, urging you on, your lips tightening as you bob faster, taking him deeper, gagging but not stopping, your fingers still kneading his balls.

with one final, moan, luigi’s hips buck, and he cums hard, hot ropes of thick, salty cum flooding your throat. it’s overwhelming, the taste bitter and musky, coating your tongue as it pulses out, filling your mouth with its warmth. you struggle to keep up, swallowing greedily, feeling it slide down, heavy and slick, as he keeps pushing into you, his grip in your hair unrelenting.

“yeah, take every drop, don’t waste it,” he growls, voice low and commanding. you nod slightly, still sucking, milking him until he’s spent. he pulls his cock out with a wet pop, and you stick out your tongue, showing him the glistening proof that you’ve swallowed every bit, the lingering taste of his cum sharp and potent in your mouth.

luigi tugs his boxers up, leaving his trousers low, and yanks you to your feet, his grip rough on your arm. you stumble, the alcohol making your legs wobbly, but you’re buzzing, the intensity heightened by the liquor in your veins. he drags you back to the car, flinging open the backseat door. “get in,” he orders, his voice a dangerous rumble.

you climb in, collapsing onto your back across the seat, your body humming with need. luigi follows, climbing on top of you, his weight pinning you down as he crashes his lips into yours, kissing you roughly, all teeth and hunger. you moan into his mouth, the sound muffled, kissing him back with equal desperation, your tongue tangling with his, tasting yourself and him, the alcohol making every touch feel like fire.

his hands shove your dress up, exposing your dripping pussy again, the cool air hitting your wet folds. without warning, he plunges two fingers deep inside you, the sudden intrusion making you gasp, your cunt clenching tight around him. his fingers are thick, relentless, pumping fast and hard, curling to hit that spot that makes your vision blur.

your slickness coats his hand, the wet squelch of his fingers fucking you loud in the cramped backseat, your thighs trembling as the alcohol intensifies every thrust, every rough drag against your sensitive walls, pushing you closer to the edge.

“fuck, lu, yes!” you cry, your voice raw, unhinged, as you claw at his back, your tits bouncing with each hard thrust. “so good, don’t stop!” your words spill out, desperate and loud, your body trembling as he fucks you deeper, the sensation of his cock hitting every sensitive spot driving you wild, the heightened intensity making every thrust feel like it’s unraveling you completely.

he keeps fingering you, relentless, his eyes dark and commanding. “would you let other guys do this to you?” he growls, his voice low, possessive.

you moan, head lolling back, the pleasure overwhelming. “no,” you whimper, your voice trembling as his fingers pump faster, stretching you, your juices dripping down his hand.

“of course not,” he snarls, leaning closer, his breath hot against your skin. “no one’s better than me.”

your body shakes, the intensity building, and you moan, desperate, “please fuck me, lu.” the words tumble out, raw and needy, your voice bold, unfiltered.

he smirks, dark and cruel. “so impatient, fucking whore,” he says, his hand yanking down the top of your dress, the fabric ripping slightly to reveal your purple lace bra, your tits spilling out, nipples hard. his hand cracks across your breasts, a sharp slap that stings deliciously, and you moan, loud and wanton, the pain blending with pleasure, making your pussy pulse.

luigi shifts, grabbing your legs and hoisting them onto his shoulders, your body folded beneath him. he pulls his cock out again, thick and throbbing, and slaps it against your slick folds, the wet smack of his head against your clit making you shudder. he teases you, dragging his cock through your dripping pussy, coating himself in your juices, each slap sending jolts through your core. you moan, hips twitching, desperate for more, your body buzzing with need.

finally, he lines himself up and thrusts in, hard, his cock splitting you open, stretching your tight cunt to its limit. “ohhhh yeah…” he groans, the sensation of your walls gripping him tight pulling the sound from his throat. you nearly scream, the feeling of being so full, so stretched, overwhelming, your pussy clenching around his massive length as he fills you completely. the intensity is amplified, every nerve alight, making you bolder, louder, your voice unchecked.

he sets a relentless pace immediately, fucking you rough in the backseat, your legs pinned on his shoulders, his hips slamming into you with brutal force. the car rocks with each thrust, his cock pounding into your dripping cunt, the wet, filthy sounds mixing with your moans.

“fuck, yes, yes!” you cry, your voice raw, unhinged, as you claw at his back, your tits bouncing with each hard thrust. “so good, don’t stop!” your words spill out, desperate and loud, your body trembling as he fucks you deeper, the sensation of his cock hitting every sensitive spot driving you wild, the heightened intensity making every thrust feel like it’s unraveling you completely.

with your legs still hoisted on luigi’s shoulders, his hand slides up, wrapping around your throat, fingers tightening just enough to make your breath hitch. he loves choking you, always has, a regular ritual in bed, the way it makes your eyes flutter, your body surrender completely to him. and he loves how much you love it.

your eyes roll back, pleasure spiking as his grip tightens, the pressure blending with the relentless pounding of his cock, your cunt clenching around him. the heightened intensity makes every sensation sharper, bolder, your voice unfiltered, your moans spilling out without restraint.

“yeah, learned your lesson now?” he growls, his voice low and commanding, hips never slowing as he drives into you.

you moan, loud and wanton, your head swimming, the world a blur of heat and need. “no,” you gasp, the word defiant, your voice trembling with pleasure as he fucks you faster, his cock slamming deeper, hitting every sensitive spot.

“no?” he snaps, eyes flashing. “flip over.”

you giggle, very drunk, the sound high and reckless, your boldness surging. “no,” you tease, smirking, your body buzzing with fearless energy.

his hand leaves your throat, and he slaps your tits hard, the sting making them bounce under your bra, a sharp jolt of pleasure shooting through you. “flip over,” he growls, voice dark and insistent.

you moan, the pain mixing with desire, but you comply. he pulls out, his cock slick and throbbing, and you slide your legs off his shoulders, flipping over in the cramped backseat. face down, ass up, your dress still bunched, your pussy exposed and dripping. he doesn’t wait, plunging back in immediately, his cock splitting you open again, fucking you from behind with ferocious intensity. the new angle drives him deeper, his hips slamming against your ass, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing in the car.

you whine loud, the sound raw and desperate, mixing with his own noises, a primal chorus filling the space. “fuck, fuck, fuck!” you cry, your voice bold and unrestrained, the heightened state making you louder, fearless, every thrust sending waves of pleasure through you. “harder!” you gasp, your cunt clenching around him as he hits that perfect spot, your body trembling.

luigi’s hand crashes down on your ass, the sharp smack echoing in the backseat, branding your skin with a fiery red mark that pulses with heat. the sting rips through you, blending with the relentless pounding of his cock deep in your drenched pussy, your body clenching him tight.

every sensation is magnified, his thrusts, the burn of his hand, the pleasure all blazing brighter, pushing you to moan louder, your voice raw and unrestrained, spilling out with wild abandon. “don’t ever roofie me again, got it?” he growls, his voice low and filthy, dripping with dominance as he slams into you, his fingers curling inside your soaked cunt alongside his cock, stretching you to the limit.

you moan, desperate and trembling, your body shaking, ass stinging, pussy throbbing as he drives deeper. the sound is fractured, your mind consumed by the overwhelming intensity, too lost to form words, the heat of his handprint fueling your craving.

his hand strikes your ass again, harder, the pain sharp and electric, the red mark darkening as he keeps fucking you, hips crashing against you, the wet slap of skin deafening in the car. “got. it.?” he demands, voice slicing through, his cock plunging so deep your vision blurs.

“i won’t!” you wail, the word ripped from you, quivering as pleasure and pain collide, your body rocking with his merciless rhythm, your tits bouncing, your pussy gushing around him.

“good,” he moans, low and guttural, his pleasure weaving with yours in the cramped space. his hand seizes your hair, yanking it back hard, forcing your head up as he fucks you even harder, if that’s even possible. his cock rams into you with brutal force, each thrust deeper, faster, splitting you open, your juices coating him, dripping down your thighs. your moans pour out, wild and unfiltered.

“yes, yes!” your voice bold, unrestrained, every thrust sending shockwaves through your core, his fingers still pumping inside you, his grip on your hair tight and possessive. the car trembles with the ferocity, your ass burning, your pussy pulsing, every sensation pushed to a fevered edge as he drives you both toward oblivion.

“fuck, your pussy grips me so good,” he groans, voice thick with hunger, hips slamming forward, filling you to the hilt.

you’re trembling, body shaking under him, the overwhelming sensation pushing you to the brink. a desperate moan spills from your lips. “i’m gonna cum!” you gasp, voice cracking as your aching cunt tightens around him, the pleasure so vivid it’s dizzying, amplified by the night’s fog that makes every pulse burn hotter.

luigi’s grip on your hair tightens, his other hand digging into your hip. “i’m gonna cum too,” he grits out, thrusts turning wild, fueled by the way you clench around him, pulling him deeper with every move. the way you’re so open, so raw from the night, makes it hit harder, makes him feel like he’s staking his claim all over again.

“please!” you whimper, voice raw and pleading, pushing back against him. “please, creampie me, fill me up, i need it!” your words are a frantic beg, your body craving it as much as your voice, every inch of you trembling with the need to feel him release inside you.

he smirks, dark and possessive, tugging your hair to arch your back further. “yeah? gonna fill you with all my cum,” he murmurs, voice low and commanding, the promise sending a jolt through you. his hand slides to your ass, delivering one last sharp smack that makes you gasp, the sting melting into the pleasure, shoving you right to the edge.

your both shatter together. your orgasm tears through you, body convulsing as you cum hard, your juices soaking his cock, pulsing around him in waves that leave you breathless. luigi groans, low and guttural, his thrusts stuttering as he unloads inside you.

his cum spills hot and thick, flooding your core, each pulse of his release painting your insides, claiming you in the most primal way. it’s messy, overwhelming, the warmth of it spreading through you as he holds you in place, still gripping your hair, making sure you feel every last drop. the intensity of it, heightened by the night’s haze, leaves you both panting, bodies locked together in the afterglow.

you ease up in the backseat, catching your breath, the warm, heavy sensation of luigi’s cum still inside you, a lingering reminder of the intensity you just shared. your body hums, senses sharper from the night, as you sit up, legs unsteady. luigi reaches for you, his touch soft now, guiding you onto his lap. his arms encircle you, warm and firm, pulling you close against his chest.

he presses a tender kiss to your forehead, lingering there, his breathing calming. “i’m sorry for yelling at you,” he murmurs, voice quiet and earnest, a shift from his earlier anger. “you know i love you, right?” his words carry a raw sincerity as he holds you tighter, lips brushing your skin again, anchoring you both in the quiet afterglow.

i haven’t proofread this but you know what? it ain’t that serious! hope you all like hehehe

tags: @alleviatcd @luigisbambinaaa @honeyblossombaby @corrodeddeadlydoll @contrarianshitstan @weegeewifey @mangionesdoll @luigis-nostrils @hiscalliope @luiluvr @mangobabygirl @luigisnumber1fan @fligniuz @freeluigihesbae @number1yearner @soulsmangione @ohsorrythen @bbyelle12 @mangionebabymama @multi-culti-girl @briarloves @luigis-stellina @mangionesdaisy @thm12 @mrs-cactus69 @purplebadd1e @kikigoogoogaga @daydreamingwithluigi (comment if you would like to be added!)

masterlist | previous work

#luigi mangione smut #luigi thoughts #luigi mangione fic #luigi mangione fanfiction #luigi mangione x reader #luigi mangione x y/n #luigi mangione imagine #palmersluvr #palmersluvr works #luigi mangione fanfic

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changingplumbob · 3 days ago

Text

Second Round - Day Six (BB) 2 of 2

@belsasim, @corrienteallita, @cawthorntales, @hashimasims, @ravingsockmonkey, @pixeldistractions - Sim creators and co-writers

Kaye: *happy dance*

Sarah: I told you we should have stayed home to play video games

Kaye: *sitting* What? No! I've already had my date

Devin: She's right. Kaye gets bonus points and you get the date Sarah

Sarah: No way! Maybe I should believe in luck...

The weather today makes for beautiful views at the cafe Sarah has chosen for her date.

Deanna: Do you think you're mostly lucky or unlucky?

Sarah: I don't think I'm either lucky or unlucky.

Deanna: Neither at all?

Sarah: I believe in hard work

Deanna: Dreams do require work

Deanna: Can we get deep for a bit? My family believe in the watcher but I know not everyone does. Do you believe in fate, you know, destiny? Or do you think we're all at the mercy of some watcher?

Sarah: Eh, I don't really know?

Deanna: I think it's good to be able to say we don't know about things

Sarah: My sister believes in all that stuff. She's even studying to become a church pastor. But everybody believes something different and who am I to say who's right or wrong?

Deanna: *smiles* I like the open mindedness

Deanna: Say you can live anywhere. Where would you live?

Sarah: San Myshuno! I'm a city girl—all the culture, the technology, the marvel of human design and invention, and just being able to step outside your apartment and reach literally anything you want. It's a few hours away from where I go to school and we go there sometimes on the weekends. I can't wait to move there after I graduate

Deanna: Some amazing technology inventions are coming out of there

Sarah: Absolutely! I know San Sequoia or Del Sol have big tech communities but San Myshuno is definitely a hub

Deanna: I have to say I like being in Tartosa because it's close to my family. I could be persuaded to move if it was to somewhere stable, not constant packing and unpacking

Sarah: Moving for someone is a big ask! *thinking about the now-ex-girlfriend who wanted her to move in together, and she dumped her instead...*

Deanna: It is but I'm willing to compromise. I get tied to people more than I get tied to places

Sarah: I hope I would feel honored, if someone wanted to do that for me, but you'd have to really really see a future with someone to make that move.

When everyone is back at the villa it's time to work on their skills. While some challenges are more up to luck, there are some that are influenced a lot by skill.

Harmony and Billie decided to build on today's challenge and focus on their fitness skills. Mariela is feeling playful and decides comedy is the way to go! No one will be able to escape her jokes. Dee meanwhile has picked logic to focus on. Rounding out the group Kaye and Sarah have picked charisma to work on.

Devin: Another date with Sarah. How did it go?

Deanna: Pretty good I think. She has interesting ways of looking at things

Devin: So sentiments?

Deanna: None today. I mean we had a good time but not spectacular gold level

Devin: Clearly I need to tell the contestants to up their game...

After skill time we give everyone a chance to unwind. Time for a water balloon fight! Contestants get in to their hot weather outfits and head outdoors. Sarah is quick to wind the others up. Strangely Mariela takes a back seat for this activity, maybe trying to not be a target since she came into this round in the lead for this group.

Harmony smiles and throws some balloons but it seems no one wants to return fire (for which she is grateful because dodging while clumsy…). It doesn't take long for Sarah to get pelted and for Kaye to take over riling everyone up duties. Strangely this group seems apprehensive to throw at Deanna, even when she's wide open.

Deanna does want to participate though and ends up hitting Dee right in the face, knocking her sunglasses. Whoops. Sarah finds it hilarious while crafty Mariela appears beside Dee, picking it as a safe spot for a while. Harmony grows sad at her inability to hit anyone but Billie assures her she's fine.

Deanna: Thanks for playing everyone. Your sunglasses aren't busted are they?

Dee: *sighs* They are fine, my face is less so

Kaye: Looks fine to me

Billie: Yeah but we've still got our sunglasses on

Sarah: Why? Don't tell me they're tied to your outfits

Mariela: It's fashion. Can't ruin the hashtag aesthetic. Hashtag vibes. Hashtag llama

After dinner autonomy is set to full and Deanna is locked out of all rooms (and away from computers). To start things off though she suggests the group watch a movie. I don't tell her to do anything so the night is very much up to the contestants.

Sarah: The Island? Are they on an Island?

Dee: Supposedly they'll go to an island... I don't believe them

Kaye: I could tell you but spoilers

Billie: Scarlett Johansson, she's so beautiful! But why are they all in white? Where's the colour?

Harmony: Maybe they don't have colour in the future

Mariela: Is it the future? Why are they basically slaves if it's the future?

Dee: Are they slaves?

Mariela: He can't choose his food or what he wears or what his job is, sounds like slavery to me

Sarah: Eh, Sean Bean! I bet he dies

Harmony: Why do you say that

Billie: There's this thing that if he appears as a character he's probably going to die because most characters he plays die

Kaye: *to self* not spoiling it, not spoiling it

Mariela: Well... not slaves exactly

Sarah: Clones? For rich people to have transplants?

Billie: And babies apparently

Dee: That's so messed up! And yet... I can see rich people doing that

Kaye: Same! They make some crazy calls

Harmony: I sure hope they manage to get away from it all. I'd like a happy ending

After the movie everyone chats for a while.

Sarah: That was wild. Did they need so many explosions

Kaye: It's an action movie, action movies have explosions

Dee: *sighs* Not my favourite genre

Deanna: Sorry to hear that. I'm not a big action fan but I watched so many movies with Devin, I figured Scarlett Johansson was a safe bet

Mariela: She is gorgeous. I could be talked in to watching most movies she's in

Billie: So Harmony can you show me how you get from sketch to animation

Harmony: *smiles* Sure! I'll grab my digital sketchpad

Deanna joins the growing list of sims who decide to brew coffee after 8pm… interesting choice. Sarah heads to one of the house computers and gets some gaming in for the day. She needs some digital time to relax. Kaye decides to nap on the couch in the lounge despite the stereo going… it's not a very successful nap. Billie and Harmony keep chatting.

After seeing Deanna have coffee Dee decides to follow suit. Maybe copying her behaviour will win her over? Maybe? Mariela decides to go sleep in a bed! But she chooses the same room that Sarah is gaming in… I don't know how she manages to sleep through the game sound effects. Billie and Harmony talk until Harmony heads to sleep and it seems everyone is talked out for the day.

Gym build by @hashimasims Cafe build by @sleepyselkiesims Villa renovation by @paracosmic-sims

#sims 4 #the sims #simblr #my sims #ts4 #active simblr #DatingDeanna #DatingDeannaRound2

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aayakashii · 3 days ago

Note

Hii Aya!♡

Could I have a double espresso with a croissant and a red velvet cake, please? If it’s not too much(´∀｀) I’ll be visiting with Ren!٩(^‿^)۶

Order up! Double Espresso (University AU) and a Croissant (Roommates) [I only take two prompts at a time, sorry!]

The loud slam of the front door was pretty much all the warning you needed in regards to Ren's mood as he arrived in your shared apartment.

And if that wasn't enough to make the situation immediately clear, the way he scurried away like a frightened cat without as much as a hello and immediately shut himself in his room was a dead giveaway.

Ren didn't have a good day.

Not that he seemed to have ever had a single good day in his whole life, what with how grumpy he constantly was – complaining about his classes, complaining about his seniors, complaining about the fact that he had a roommate and so on and so forth.

But usually, he'd stop by the living room and make some snarky comment about whatever you were watching, or call you a nerd if you were studying – his unorthodox way of finding excuses to chat. You knew that deep inside that bitter little heart, he had some fondness for you, despite knowing he would deny it vehemently.

Regardless, he would spend at least a few minutes talking to you after getting home from classes or his part-time job, enough for you to know that he's okay (or as okay as his moody ass can be) before shutting himself in his room to play his countless mobile games or watch the worst movies imaginable. The fact that he skipped this whole part of his daily routine sent off alarm bells in your mind.

And so, without much thought, you got up with a sigh, kicking the cozy weighted blanket you always kept neatly folded on your side of the couch, and went to the kitchen, absent-mindedly looking for his favorite ramen packets and snacks.

Honestly, you don't really know when you started liking Ren. You just know that you do. Maybe you're a bit masochist, or maybe the consistent domesticity of living with him for months softened your heart, but you were pretty much aware of the feelings that were safely tucked there, in your chest.

But you didn't plan on confessing nor acting on them at all. Ren avoided every type of relationship like a plague (you never even remember if he ever mentioned friends beside you), but most of all: you didn't want to make your living situation weird – the apartment is comfy and rent is cheap; no way you'd lose that just to get a broken heart in return.

However, you still cared for him. Maybe more than what a normal friend (let alone a roommate) would do, and maybe more than what Ren deserved, but still. You liked him, so being gentle was more of an instinct than conscious thought.

Which is how you ended up in front of his door a few minutes later, softly knocking against it in an attempt to tear him away from his cave and maybe pacify the little monster inside his head.

You were positively relentless. Despite your knocking being careful and low enough to almost go unnoticed, it rang inside Ren’s head like a gong. It was annoying, like pretty much everything in his day, so he groaned against his pillow, curling himself into a ball to make himself smaller, trying to will his body into fusing with his bed so maybe that way he would never have to step outside ever again.

“Ren, come on.” You voice came through the door a little muffled. “I know you’re in a bad mood, but you need to at least eat a little. I promise I’ll let you go back to your room as soon as you’re finished.”

He turned his head to the side, glaring at the door as if he could burn you with a laser beam.

“I don't wanna go out, I want a trillion bucks, a mansion in an isolated island with perfect internet, and no one else to bother me ever again.”

You rolled your eyes and leaned your forehead against the small gap between his door and the hallway's wall, in order to make your voice reach him a bit louder.

“Okay, I get it, but you can't plan for your future total isolation in an empty stomach, can you?”

Ren groaned, rubbing his face against his pillow aggressively.

“Leave me alone!!”

“I even got you your favorite ramen packets. I know you were out of them, so I got some last time I went grocery shopping. I promise I won't even nag you to eat healthy. You can eat as much sodium as you want today.”

That made him pause.

It pissed him off a little, how caring you were sometimes. He was pretty sure you were a little off in the head because usually anyone else would have left him alone a long time ago due to his disagreeable behavior.

Ren knew he wasn't the most pleasant person to be around, but after a while, he wholeheartedly accepted his own nastiness as his own way of protecting himself. He truly didn't need a repeat of elementary school, when he still tried to make connections and was thoroughly bullied for being just a little off the mark. If no one wanted to accept him, then they can all go fuck themselves and he'll happily be the one to tell them that.

He wasn't used to someone trying to go through his barriers. He never even knew there were gaps in the walls that surrounded him before you managed to keep squeezing yourself through them day after day after day.

It was annoying. Disconcerting.

You knocked again.

“Did you listen? I got your favorite–”

“Yeah, yeah. I did.” Ren rolled his eyes and slowly pushed himself off of his bed with a sigh. “Just a sec.”

“Really?!” You gasped. “I mean, okay. Take your time! But, like, not that long either, I don't want the water to go cold.” You babbled, making him heave a long sigh yet again, as he quickly changed into his old and ratty loungewear.

The door flew open suddenly and you flinched.

“My god, I'm here, you're so persistent.” He mumbled, running a hand through his tousled hair.

You gulped and licked your lips as the scent of his cologne flooded your senses, being so close to his room and himself. You cursed yourself for thinking he still looked pretty despite being dressed like a homeless man.

“So?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Huh?” Your eyes snapped back to his face and you didn't even realize you were ogling the way his sweatpants hugged his hips a bit too low.

He cleared his throat and looked away, feeling his ears go warm when he noticed your lingering stare.

“The- the packets. Ramen. Where are they.” He mumbled.

“Oh! Yeah!” You blinked. “I set them on the coffee table in front of the TV.” You point at the living room as you begin walking towards it and motion with your head for him to follow.

Ren stopped right behind the couch and eyed the table with a squint. There was a teapot, steaming with boiling water, right beside the ramen packets, but you also had hooked up an old, dusty game console to the TV, which played the mind-numbing 8-bit tune of a crappy co-op game.

He tilted his head.

“I thought you said I could just eat and go back to my room?”

You shrugged, walking around the couch and plopping yourself on your usual seat.

“You can, I just turned that on in the off case you wanted to distract yourself with something else besides your mobile games for once.” you murmured with a pout and grabbed a ramen cup for yourself, immediately going through the usual motions of pouring boiling water into it.

He raised an eyebrow as he sat right next to you.

“I thought you didn't eat this type of food.”

“I mean…” you set a timer on your phone, staring at it as if it would make the time pass by faster. “Once in a while is okay, isn’t it? And I think you need some moral support right now.”

Ren pursed his lips in a thin line and grabbed the cups, reading each label. You really had bought all of his favorites. How the fuck did you even know his favorites?

He stared at you from the corner of his azure eyes.

“Why are you doing this?”

You stared back for a moment and grabbed the cup, pointedly ignoring how it still had 20 seconds to go before being ready to consume.

“You know,” you opened the lid, blowing softly “When you're really upset, you do this thing with your eyebrows and mouth.”

Ren tilted his head in confusion and you couldn't help but think he looked like a puppy sometimes.

“What thing?”

“Like… You scrunch your eyebrows and your lips are very downturned.” You mimicked the expression before dipping the hashi and mixing the noodles. He scoffed.

“That's called frowning. Probably a billion other humans do this when they’re upset too.”

“Noooo, stop. It's different.” You pursed your lips, suppressing a smile.

He hummed, suspicious.

“How so?”

You stared at him.

You couldn't say how he normally just pouted, slumped his shoulders and crossed his arms like a spoiled brat when he was his ‘usual flavor’ of upset.

You couldn't tell that when he was truly upset, like now, his eyes looked dimmed and unfocused, as if his gaze was lost, pining for somewhere distant. As if he was ready to be taken by a tidal wave and taken some place else; some place completely out of reach for you.

You couldn't say that. That would be too much.

So you just shrugged.

“I don't know, it's just different. Anyway. Do you wanna talk about what happened today?”

You changed the subject abruptly and Ren noticed, but his back was hurting and his stomach was growling. He didn't have it in him to pursue whatever thoughts were running deep into the recesses of your mind. Maybe you were right. Thinking on an empty stomach does seem impossible.

He sighed loudly, shaking his head as he picked up his favorite ramen cup, quickly opening the lid and pouring boiling water into it.

“Nah. Just the same stuff as always. Loud people, nosy people. Assignments and a job I hate. I'm just tired.”

You nodded.

“Just remember, you only need to put up with all of this for 4 years in total.” You held up four fingers. “After that, you can bid farewell to everything that annoys you, even me.” You said with a self-deprecating smile before taking a bite of the noodles.

Ren stared at you for what felt like an eternity as you ate. For whatever reason, he hated what you just said; and his own feelings took him by surprise.

The thought of being alone after those months in which you had been there with him as the only good company, the only one who understood him, the only positive influence in his days... it hung a heavy weight in the pit of his stomach.

A foreign bitterness coated his mouth, and he opened the lid of his ramen cup, taking a huge bite and almost burning his tongue in the process. But at least it took his mind out of his thoughts.

“… You don't annoy me.” he mumbled after swallowing and putting the cup back down.

“What?”

“You don't annoy me.” he repeated, louder.

“Oh. Really?” you widened your eyes.

“Yeah. Really.”

You hummed, pensive.

“Does that mean I get to be in your game's guild for more than 4 years?” You smirked mischievously, hoping you could hide how giddy you felt behind your words.

Ren grabbed one of the napkins on the table and threw it in your direction, scoffing, and immediately picked up his ramen cup again.

The steam rose against his face. For that short moment, he could blame it for the redness on his cheeks and the tip of his ears.

A comfortable silence settled between the two of you as you ate, the 8-bit music still looping in the background, but the heightened awareness of each other being so close to one another made it less overbearing.

Ren placed the now empty cup back on the table with a sigh.

“Um…” he began “Thank… thank you. For this.”

You shrugged with a smile and placed your cup right beside his. “No problem.”

Ren fiddled with the string of his old hoodie, eyes flitting towards the tv and back to you as you leaned comfortably against the couch, eyes half-lidded as you stared at the screen as well. He began restlessly shaking his feet before finally speaking up after a whole minute.

“Should- should we try this old ass game then?” He mumbled and pointed at the tv. You immediately straightened up.

“Ohh, I was hoping you'd say that! I really wanted to try, but since it's co-op, I was afraid you wouldn't be interested in it.” You say, quickly getting up and grabbing the two old controllers. "It's split-screen, so I hope you have 20/20 vision, otherwise we'll have a hard time!"

Ren could feel the corners of his lips tug upwards at your enthusiasm and the way you rambled and handed the controller to him with the utmost care.

With an old, beat-up controller in his hand, and you happily sat by his side, Ren's heart lurched forward in the same way it did whenever he knew something important was about to happen.

It was then that he decided he needed to make sure you'd stay with him for longer than only four years.

#tokyo debunker #ask #tkdb cafe event #ren shiranami #ren shiranami x reader

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detectivestucks2 · 2 days ago

Text

Mean, Rich, & Mine Pt. 7

18+ content, Minors do NOT interact

Pairing: Frat Boy Sukuna x F!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, harassment, toy usage, nipple play, oral female receiving

Summary: You're supposed to meet up with Sukuna to finally write your midterm lab paper when he chooses to surprise you with his most devious plan yet.

Art Credit: @innaillus

Word Count: 4.3k

Chapter 6 I Chapter 8

Your phone buzzes in your pocket while you sit at the front desk of the business office. You're squeezing in some reading while fulfilling your work-study hours when you slide out your cell and see Sukuna's name on the screen.

What?

U coming over later?

After work study, yes

Good. I have a surprise for you. 😏

A surprise?

Yes

Ryo, I’m not writing the paper in exchange for sex. We’ve been over this.

No, it’s not that. But dress cute. Preferably something I bought you.

Why?

I like seeing you in pretty clothes. They match ur personality. 😉

That’s actually very sweet of you to say.

I can be nice sometimes.

Emphasis on ‘sometimes’

🙄

I’ll text you when I’m OMW

K, see u later

You set your phone down on the wood of the front desk. Sukuna, thee Sukuna, is planning a surprise for you. Either he’s about to do some kind of awful prank and all this tension between you was just an elaborate joke, or he’s going to gift you his dick. There’s no in between.

Part of your spirit drops. You’ve enjoyed this version of Ryomen. Even if it’s fake, it’s been nice to feel like he’s into you. He even makes it seem like he’s fallen for you. Chills roll down your arms and chest, puckering your peaks with the memory of yesterday.

The way he makes demands of your body. The way he gets jealous and makes ludicrous declarations of you belonging to him, how long will he keep it up? So much of you wants his shenanigans to be real, but you suffocate that thought before it takes hold. You will not fall for Sukuna. Not a chance. Even if the foreplay is mind-blowing, succumbing to him must be avoided at all costs. Still, after you check out at the business office front desk, you trek back home to go change into an outfit purchased by your ‘weekend sugar daddy’ as he once put it.

Expensive loafers with a thigh length skater skirt are matched with a shear sleeveless button up. Underneath you wear a black lace set , feeling slutty and looking like you belong in a bad porno. “Welp, at least this time I won’t blame the boys for thinking I strip.”

You pull your hair up into a high pony and pull out a few framing pieces at the front, perfecting the art of seemingly effortless beauty.

After a quick search of your apartment, you grab your lab notebook, chemistry textbook, and your laptop, stuff them in your pretty designer bag and walk all the way back to frat row to Sukuna’s house.

OMW

Bout damn time

You required a dress code, I had to go back and change.

Just walk quick and txt me when you’re here

Will do

You slip your phone in your pack’s side pocket, wondering why Ryomen is so anxious to see you. The curiosity does put a pep in your step, so you arrive at the giant, white mansion more quickly than usual.

I’m outside

You quickly text him as you walk up to the kitchen entrance and open the door like you belong.

“Hey! It’s Charity!” Toji and Geto greet from the kitchen island.

“Hi guys.” Your cheeks heat, feeling uncomfortable.

“My oh my! It’s my favorite poor girl. How are you Charity?"

“Hi Mahito, I’m fine.”

The entire exchange is uncomfortable; you cast your eyes down trying to walk away, but Mahito decides to stride up to you. You take several steps back, attempting to get out of his way, however, he continues his advance, backing you into one of the kitchen walls. Your eyes grow to saucers as you stare at him, frightened by his proximity.

“Can I help you?”

His thin fingers reach for the strands of your hair, “Yes, dear. You definitely can.” You squeeze your thighs together, suddenly very aware that you’re in a skirt.

“Mahito, I need to get to Suku-”

“Ah, ah, ah, shh, we don’t need to bring him up right now,” he says as he places his pointer to your lips, his opposite hand finds the wall and cages you in. A chill wrecks your body from the small touch. Thankfully, the other brothers start calling out to him, beginning with Geto,

“C’mon Mahito, she’s off limits. You know you can't be doing this.”

“Yeah, bro. If she’s gonna choose anyone it’d be me.” Toji chimes, to which he winks as you shoot him a glare past the blue tresses that hang over Mahito’s shoulder.

“Shut up. The off limits rule is bullshit. They’re not even dating.”

“Say that again?”

The kitchen grows dark. When you look for the source of the shadow, you catch Sukuna towering above you. His terrifying red eyes flood your body with relief even when they should probably make you pee yourself, especially when he looks this pissed off. Determined, Mahito’s hands slide to your biceps, where they grip you hard, trying to steal you from Sukuna’s claim.

You wince in discomfort, the sound setting off a reflex in Sukuna. He fists Mahito’s indigo locks and smashes his face into the wall by your head. Crimson blood instantly spurts out of his broken nose and runs down the front of his shirt. Ryomen pulls back, bending Mahito’s neck so that he’s looking up at Sukuna, who growls at him, “When you wake up, you have 6 hours to move out.”

“When I-” Thump

Sukuna whacks the back of Mahito’s head, knocking him unconscious. His body dangles limp, only supported by the hair caught in Sukuna’s grip. He lets go, allowing the body to crumple on the floor. One final look of disgust is paid to the heap of human garbage before Ryomen’s eyes return to yours.

His hands lightly trace your face, “You okay, baby?”

You quickly blink, trying to remember how to breathe. Eventually you grasp the situation enough to nod ‘yes’.

“We’re calling each other baby now, hmm?”

“Fuck off, Geto.” Sukuna calls over his shoulder, never taking his gaze from your features cradled in his hands.

“Just seems a little familiar for someone who’s ‘not your girlfriend.’”

Ignoring him, Ryomen grabs your backpack and slings it over his shoulder before finding your hand. He slips his fingers between yours and guides you upstairs to his room, his protective presence warming every part of your body. Something feels right about your hands folded together. Repeatedly, you look down at the union, worried about the feelings blooming in your chest. He’s not boyfriend material; he’s just a jerk who saves you from his jerk friends. But you know it’s a lie. You try to make yourself believe it, but when he pulls you into his room and locks the door behind him, his worried expression rips the fib from your thoughts.

“Did he hurt you?”

“No, just scared me a little.”

Sukuna bends down, making his face eye-level with yours, searching your expression, “You aren’t lying to me, are you?”

“No, though the threat of you murdering others makes it a real possibility in the future.”

The half smile that cracks his worried features softens the mood. His hand slips to the back of your head and pulls you into his lips. He steals your pink flesh with a vicious bite, yet a slight vulnerability still lingers amidst the possessive nature of the kiss. He once more commands your mouth, claiming you like a prize as his fingers tighten in your hair, needy moans lingering on his tongue.

By the time he releases you, your eyes have glazed over and your lips are swollen. A slightly vacant expression stares back at him, as you try to decide how to feel. Your throat eventually bobs before you finally speak.

“So, drama aside, are you ready to write?”

“Not yet, I still have your surprise.”

“If you offer me your dick in exchange for writing our pa-”

“Hold that thought.”

Your eyes narrow at him when his signature mischievous grin splits his mug and reveals his teeth.

From the corner of his room he pulls a wooden chair up to his desk and spins it so the back is facing the desk. Then he grabs a parcel from his bedside and hands it to you.

“A gift?”

“Open it.” he says with a smirk.

You take custody of the box and begin unwrapping the paper gently. As you peel away the giftwrap you see that the box is a custom ‘clone a willy’ dildo with a giant suction up at its base. You glare up at Sukuna half amused.

“I know you still don’t believe in my claim over you, but at least this way, you’re prepared for your fate.” You release an exasperated laugh at his antics.

“You are an extremely self assured man, aren’t you?”

Ryomen’s head tilts to the side as he licks his teeth, considering you before smiling. “I am. Now,” Sukuna opens the packaging and slides out your phallic gift. He walks over to the wooden chair and with a heavy hand, he slams the suction cup against the grain allowing the rubber penile mold to lightly bounce back and forth as it settles onto its new home.

“Sit”

“Sukuna, no.”

“Sit. Down.”

You laugh in disbelief, your arms folded over your chest. “Ryomen, I’m here to write our paper with you. I can’t concentrate if I'm sitting on…that.”

Sukuna spits on the tip of the silicone clone allowing his saliva to dribble down the shaft. Your eyes zone in on its path while you worry your lip, noticing how thick and veiny the item is. Its shape is long with a J hook arching up, the kind that strokes the right places. You wonder how accurately the item replicates Sukuna since you’ve never actually seen what he looks like under his boxer briefs.

Noticing your musings, Sukuna strides over to you, closing the gap with an outstretched hand that cups your cheek. Your eyes flutter wide as you stare up at him. Then he leans down, licking your lips before pressing into them. He pulls you into his chest, one hand against your back, the other sinking into your scalp. You moan into his mouth, your core clenching from anticipation. You rub up against him when he slides his hands between you and undoes the buttons on the front of your shirt, leaving it open to expose your bra before his hands run up your sides and down your arms.

He pulls you forward towards the desk, guiding you over to the chair. His fingers trail under your skirt and pull your panties to the side. You widen your legs, lips breaking contact as you step to each side of the chair. Slowly he pushes you down, the tip of the toy nestling against the center of your labia. He continues to press till the head breaks through your seam and enters your slit, stuffing you more than you anticipated.

Soon the entire shaft is inserted into your core as your ass meets the wood. You clench and instinctively rock your hips while he resumes kissing your neck and chin. When he breaks away, you go to stand up but his large hand on your shoulder stops you. “No.”

You eye him with confusion and watch as he walks over to his nightstand to pull out several wads of rope before returning to you. A thick swallow unconsciously follows while you focus on the contents of his hands, the black rope rolled up into neat little bundles, waiting for a victim to ensnare.

“Do you trust me?” He asks as he stands behind you. In the tiniest of nods you admit you do. Gently, he grabs your wrists and brings them behind your back, overlapping them and knotting them together. Then he pulls the cords up along your spine to wrap them around your neck three times before running the line down your sternum and splitting the chord between your breasts. He continues looping the fibers around your arms and chest, each knot and tie tightening the bindings and accentuating your mounds leaving you exposed and at his mercy. Then, once he’s done constructing your fiber harness, he takes another bundle of rope and begins to tie your ankles to the legs of the chair. Your lips part, a protest upon them, but sensing your objection he looks up at you. “Trust me.” you close your mouth, allowing him to continue restraining you. First he wraps the cord around your ankle and chair then he begins to thread the rope around the stacked ties, separating your flesh from the wooden peg and nearly cutting off your circulation.

Sukuna stands up, looking at you bound in shibari and straddling the chair, sitting on a clone of his cock. His pants feel tight as he gazes at the sexiest sight he’s ever seen and he’s had multiple angles threesomes. “One last thing.”

“How can there be more?!” you say, feeling your arousal spilling out all over the chair as you shamefully clench around the silicone peg wedged inside of you. Sukuna comes back with one last gift that he claims he was saving for later. A sliver chain with three strings and three clamps.

“Ryomen, I don’t know about all this.”

“Tonight, I’m in charge. I am the writer and you are the observer.”

“And the puppet.”

“And my puppet. Now relax, and enjoy.”

“But we’re supposed to be writing a paper!” you protest as he pulls each mound out from your brazier and stretches the skin around your areola before closing the weight of the clamp around your peak. You hiss from the slight pain but he only smiles, knowing exactly what this is doing to you. The chain is threaded through the decorative design of the chair’s wooden back before it’s passed through and the second clamp is placed on your other peak.

Both your nubs feel tender but the abuse is making the slick gush from your center. Then Sukuna grabs the third and final clamp and runs it south. You suddenly realize where he intends to place it and you squirm. “Don’t worry, puppet, you’ll like this.” One pair of fingers open your labia to expose your engorged nerve bundle while the other pair open and close the clamp's jaws, trapping the pleasure nub inside its pinch.

You gasp and moan feeling the pain and increased sensitivity. Every shift of your torso is felt due to the tug of the chain threaded through the chair back and every tilt of your hips feels more extreme with the weight of the clamp sitting at the apex of your sex. Then, with one finger looped through the chain that connects all three jaws together, Sukuna gives a little tug.

“Fuck!” you gasp

“She’s sensitive. Good.”

That toying smile is wide on his face and you realize it was a mistake playing nice while he put you in this position. If anyone walked in, you’d be humiliated, yet here Sukuna stands, admiring you like you’re a work of art. “Now that you’re prepped and ready, it’s time to write our paper.”

“Like this?!”

“Yes.”

“Sukuna, I can’t use my hands!”

“I can always stand behind you. I’m sure you can reach what you need to from that angle.” You glare at him, not ready to reward him with a hand job after this stunt. “Relax, Charity. I’m writing that paper, remember? You talk, I write. We’ll do the entire thing together like we should’ve done from the beginning.”

That’s when it starts to dawn on you, this twisted little sex game is actually his version of some kind of apology. Making sure you’re pleased while he writes. In his own devious way he’s trying to make up for his earlier fuck up by giving you sex while he writes the paper. “Now let’s start with the outline.”

Sukuna pulls up his computer chair next to yours at his desk and opens his laptop. The two of you walk through each section of the paper, contrasting the outcomes of your various experiments on the synthesis of typical over the counter drugs like aspirin and acetaminophen. Every so often a moan slips out as you adjust your position on top of Sukuna’s clone. Sometimes his hand mindlessly wanders over to play with the silver chain connected to your clamps, and sometimes he stops what he’s doing to stand behind you and kiss your neck.

“You have no idea how beautiful you look like this.” he whispers into your ear. “I want to take a photo and turn it into the wallpaper of my bedroom.” your eyes close at the dirty thought. “Ride that dick for me baby. I wanna see just how sloppy your hole is after sitting on it all this time.”

Your eyes cast down as you acquiesce. You begin to tilt your hips forward tugging on the clamp squeezing your clit. You cry out in pleasure, constricting around the dildo while also raising up off the chair ever so slightly. Sukuna kneels on the floor behind you, lifting your skirt, watching the seat of your chair, mesmerized by the way your lips stretch around the thick girth of the dildo. He imagines it’s him. A deep growl releasing itself from his chest as his cock aches with want. His palm finds his pants, soothing the appendage while he watches you slowly glide up and down on your chair-bound toy.

“Fuck it.” he says, grabbing his phone. He starts recording you from behind, holding up your skirt for the camera. “Moan for me baby. I wanna hear just how good it feels.” Your head tilts back as you whine from the way the dildo pushes into you, reaching deeper than any man ever has.

Then Sukuna comes around the front, his left hand tugging on your chain while the right one records. Your eyes pinch together, from the abuse, your hips moving faster on the silicone splitting you open. “That’s a good girl.” he whispers in your ear, putting his phone away before you notice it. He puts his hands upon your shoulders signaling you can stop. “Let’s get back to writing.” Your breathing slows as you come down from your high, trying to settle in even when your hands go numb behind your back.

You continue this way for another two hours, your juices running all over the inside and backs of your thighs and between your ass cheeks with each adjustment of your position. The lace underwear you wore are drenched and stretched out, and your nipples are purple while each pull of the chain sends bolts of pleasure to your clit.

By the time you’re ready to revise the assignment Sukuna stands up to leave. You fear he’s going to leave his room with you tied like this when you realize he’s going back to his nightstand to grab one final item.

“I was going to save this for another time, but now's as good a time as any.” he pulls out a new mini vibrating wand and walks back to his seat. He presses the button, triggering a buzzing sound and presses the head against your pinched clit. You choke on your own gasp while Sukuna turns back to his laptop and silently reads the paper to himself. Every so often he pulls the vibe away to rewrite a section or fix a punctuation, but each time he picks up the wand, he holds it to a different area.

Switching between your trapped peaks and your swollen nub, the game is driving you wild. You twitch and grind in your restraints, dirty thoughts and intense orgasms rocking you in the chair. By the time Sukuna closes his laptop you’ve had at least five spells of convulsions from his vibrating wand, leaving your brain bloodless and stupid.

You gasp for air under the tight rope around your neck and shrink away from his touch from pure fatigue, when his hands start to grow greedy.

“My baby looks satisfied. Did I take good care of her?” You wordlessly bob your head, a distant part of your brain annoyed that he titled you ‘his baby’ again. “Good, I hope I wasn’t too mean.” You shake your head no. “Does Charity want to be released?”

You nod your answer with a tinge of regret because part of you is still aching for more. The demons in your head want to open your mouth and wait for him to fuck his length into your face. You want to taste his cock and choke on it while it’s shoved down your windpipe. Then after, you want to know what it feels like to have his actual dick between your legs, not this silicone version. The filthiest thoughts rush to your head, filling you with fantasies, but mostly, you’re just tired from your orgasms and just want some rest.

“Okay baby, I’ll help you.” he coos.

He takes the bite off your clit and rubs slow soothing circles around the area, to which you moan loudly. Then he removes the clamps off each nipple in a painful release. You cry out, so to ease the sting he takes each nub into his mouth and sucks on it, licking away the tenderness. Your head falls back in relief, happy to have bloodflow restored. You rock on top of the dildo again, more arousal dripping out of you.

Then Sukuna releases your ankles and lifts you up off the dildo. He doesn’t undo your harness yet, however. Instead he guides you to the bed and has you sit on its edge. “I’m trying so hard to resist you right now, baby, but I need just a quick taste. Just a small one and then I’ll let you go. I promise.”

You’re weak from the evening’s torture; your mind is completely numb as you watch him kneel before you. Thick hands divide your legs before he buries his face between your thighs and begins flattening his tongue along your sex, pointing the muscle and dipping it inside your folds. You fall backwards on the bed, bucking your hips up into his face. It feels like heaven, the way he is slurping your fluids and eating your core. Even when he sucks your clit between his teeth, you can’t help the wall-penetrating moan that escapes. Sukuna continues to push your skater skirt and thong to the side. The fabric of both items are completely soaked from tonight's activity, but he stretches them just to maintain his access to the thing he desires most.

He sounds ravenous. Groans and grunts fill the room while your quiet gasps and cries blend into a melody. His fierce teeth and tongue play with you till you gush into his anxious mouth, cumming directly on his face as your legs box in his head. Your arched back bows in delight while you ride the high.

Gently, Sukuna centers your underwear and rolls you onto your belly to undo the ties binding your arms, chest, and neck. You continue to tremble from your most recent orgasm while his fingers work through the bindings. Once you’re free and have regained some of your strength, you tuck yourself back into your bra and fasten the buttons of your shirt.

“Thank you.” you say, to break the silence.

You’re not even sure what you’re thanking him for. Rescuing you earlier, pleasuring you all night, writing the paper, or finally releasing you. All you really know is that you’re weirdly at peace. “Can I have a ride home? I’m not sure I’ll be able to walk that whole way after, you know….”

He smirks, that smug expression showing how proud he is of a job well done. “Of course.”

Silently he carts your ‘gifts’ off to the bathroom to be cleaned. When he returns he deposits the dildo into your bag. “I’ll keep the rest here for another time, but this” he holds up your bag, “I want you to use every time you think of me.”

Canines flashing once more, you look back at him flustered, feeling a little more arousal drip into your very soggy underwear. “I won’t make any promises.”

He leans down to your ear, “You don’t have to. I can already see from your face that you will.”

He’s definitely not your lab partner anymore. There’s no denying it at this point. You can’t just let a guy tie you up and pretend you’re only friends.

The two of you leave Ryomen’s room, trying to discreetly walk through the house and to the cars parked outside. However, your plans are foiled by the hoard of men sitting on the leather couches downstairs. The entire group of them applaud and whistle, turning your face beet red. One of them even points to the wet spots on your skirt. “Didn’t even get naked first! I told you Charity’s a freak!”

Sukuna stops, menacing eyes turning to them. “Say one more word about her and I’ll make you look like Mahito.” His threat is low and cuts off all banter. No one dares to speak. Making sure they’re good and done, Sukuna grabs your hand and angrily tugs you through the kitchen, leaving them all behind while your other hand hides your face in shame.

“Fucking assholes making fun of my future wife. Actin’ like they know how to satisfy pussy.” he grumbles under his breath, but you don’t miss the words…’future wife.’ That’s what he said.

Sukuna guides you around to the passenger side of a chrome pink Aston Martin, where he opens the door for you and guides you inside. He snaps the door shut, with a little more anger than you were expecting, before walking back towards the driver’s side. You let his earlier statement settle in again. Sukuna isn’t just claiming you or toying with you, he’s thinking about a whole future with you. That’s… scary.

Masterlist I Chapter 6 I Chapter 8

#jjk smut #sukuna ryomen #sukuna fanfic #sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #detectivestucks #ryomen sukuna #sukuna x y/n #frat boy sukuna #toxic sukuna #bully to lovers #enemies to lovers #college romance #new series

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zahhaked · 3 days ago

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Hirano Taiga, and the Consequences of Growing Up with Emotionally Unavailable Parents

(An informal, stream of consciousness headcanon essay, 3,000 words)

Of the four titular characters in the Sasaki and Miyano and Hirano and Kagiura narratives, the character whose home life we know the least about is Hirano Taiga. We have scenes that reveal the influence that each other character's family has had on his personality and development: the scene of Miyano coming out to his mother, Sasaki's backstory with his sister, and Kagiura's admiration of his parents' friendship and partnership, just to name a few. Hirano gets absolutely none of this - to the best of my knowledge, there is only a single interaction with his mother, who affectionately calls him 'Taiga-chan', in an extra printed in Harusono-sensei's art book Candy. It's a glaring absence in light of the role that family plays for the rest of the cast, but this absence may reveal just as much about why Hirano is the man he is. If we assume that Hirano's relationship with his parents is strained, or even characterized by emotional unavailability, it sheds a lot of light on his insecurities, relationship struggles, and emotional dysregulation.

As a main character in this narrative, Hirano is perhaps the one who shows the least insecurity overall; he acts decisively most of the time, and generally doesn't seem too bothered by what others think of him. He bleaches his hair and wears earrings to school, but serves on the Disciplinary Committee and has the respect and trust of the school's faculty. In the Sasaki and Miyano story, he is a good confidant who takes all the developments in that relationship in stride and helps both characters work out miscommunications. He's confident and capable - so where am I getting the idea that he's deeply traumatized and overcompensating?

Let's start at the chronological beginning: Hirano, about to begin his second year of highschool, realizes that he is going to have a younger roommate and goes to Hanzawa for advice about making him feel safe and comfortable. This is already a sort of chink in Hirano's armor, a hint that he's not as confident as he projects; he isn't unaware of how his outward appearance reflects, and he's scared of making the wrong first impression. And, he'd rather be vulnerable and ask for help than make a mess of the situation; as we'll discuss, Hirano doesn't normally or easily ask for help, so this is a big deal (!). Hanzawa gives him the actionable step of giving his roommate a nickname, and Hirano does exactly that. He doesn't trust himself to navigate this relationship without the help of Hanzawa, which speaks to his inexperience with relationships, and his preoccupation with being "bad" at them.

When Hirano does enter relationships, he generally fulfills the role of 'mom friend' - he wakes Kagiura up every morning for practice, he tutors both Kagiura and Sasaki for exams, he is the vice-president of the Disciplinary Committee, he is almost always on Sasaki's case about eating better and tries to coax Kagiura into eating green peppers, he's the first person Miyano calls when he witnesses a fight on campus - and, as a first year, he even goes to the Dorm Manager when his roommate, Ichinose, is feeling sick, which is as much caregiving as the kouhai role allows him in that relationship. This is a role that is, again, full of clear, actionable steps to take when it comes to interacting with others, and particularly serving others. For that reason, I toe the line of wanting to call Hirano a "people pleaser" - he definitely seems to have those tendencies, though. A people pleaser is someone who prioritizes the wants or needs of others over their own, and one thing about Hirano is that he is very good at convincing himself that what's good for other people is in his best interest, too (waking Kagiura up early in the morning gives him more time to study, tutoring Sasaki helps him review the material, etc.). At what point is the line crossed from "doing this for the other person also helps me" to "I feel good about myself when I do things for other people, and bad when I say 'no' to others"? I think Hirano exists very dangerously on the edge of that line. This is especially evident when it comes to touching Kagiura, which is something he is very reluctant to do and struggles to enjoy, but continues to allow (more on this in a bit).

What goes in tandem with Hirano's "people pleasing" tendencies is his hyper-independence. He never refers to Sasaki or Hanzawa as "friends." Actually, he never refers to anyone as a friend. He doesn't stay in touch with Ichinose after they stop being roommates either, and it seems like it's Ichinose who inserts himself back in Hirano's life. After graduation, he doesn't stay in touch with Sasaki either, until they catch up at the cultural festival. When Kagiura says that he wants to do something for Hirano, and demands that Hirano ask him for something, Hirano cannot think of a single thing to ask for. He's not used to sharing responsibility; this isn't a case of "I know what I need from others but I'm too shy/embarrassed to ask," it is entirely, "There is nothing he can do for me that I can't do for myself." He's missing the point that Kagiura isn't asking about Hirano's capacity to care for himself, but asking for some measure of his trust and vulnerability in allowing Kagiura to do something for him that he can do for himself, but perhaps doesn't want to or would benefit from taking off his own shoulders, or just to make them equal. In Hirano's world, the things that must be done are things he must do himself; it doesn't occur to him, even under duress, to share responsibilities.

He ultimately asks Kagiura to teach him basketball, which is a pretty big cop out in my opinion - Hirano doesn't need to be good at basketball for the inter-class ball games..... or does he? That's right, it's time to talk about perfectionism, a quality Hirano has in spades. There is always better. I can't think of a single instance where he's rested on his laurels or basked in an accomplishment. What rank is Hirano going for in exams? "First, of course." What funny anecdote does Sasaki give us about their first year sports festival? Hirano was so determined to win he snatched someone's jacket to use to hold the balls for the ball toss, and ended up getting banned from the event. Whatever he does has to be done correctly, perfectly. It's at odds with his hair, but again, I think Hirano's relationship to his body needs its own section because I think there's a whole other can of worms there. But even with the hair, he dyes it back when he's "supposed to," and Harusono-sensei opens the adult AU by noting that, with Hirano's personality, he probably would go back to black as an adult (and she just chose not to draw it that way).

So I've pointed out Hirano's perfectionism, his hyper-independence, his people-pleasing, his caregiving - what I'm trying to say is, the way he operates in the world is greatly informed if not explicitly dictated by the people around him. Being of service to them, feeling useful to them, being a reliable and trustworthy person, being the best at everything so that he never fails - in my interpretation, all of these acts are a form of distraction. If he is prioritizing others, looking after others, worrying about others, then he isn't doing any of that for himself - specifically, he isn't considering his own emotions.

Hirano does not understand, or even experience, his own emotions. If he's sad about something, confused about something, distressed about something, it's vastly easier for him to open his textbook and study than it is to confront that thing that's upsetting him. Or, he tries to cerebralize his own feelings, rather than to actually feel them. Consider chapter 27, when he's venting his frustrations about him and Kagiura constantly rushing past each other, each with their own obligations, only for Hirano to freak out when Kagiura succinctly says, "So you missed me?" Hirano is looking at the situation as a list of facts, confused as to why these facts are frustrating when they all fit into the logic of his world; he and Kagiura are busy so it makes sense they're seeing less of each other. But he completely neglects to consider that he is allowed to feel a way about that.

There's another thing Hirano probably does in order to not feel his feelings - physically dissociating from his body. The best way not to feel anything, after all, is to untether the connection between your mind and your body. This is where I think we need to talk about Hirano's relationship with his body. The first thing worth bringing up is his appearance; he dyes his hair, pierced his ears, and generally dresses in really wild prints when he's not in uniform; he wants it to look cool, and this is the stuff that looks cool. But even in this, there is dissociation - when Miyano asks him, "What do we do about disciplinary committee members who are violating the dress code?," Hirano doesn't even realize who he's referring to. When Sasaki says, "I forget you're in that club," because of how Hirano looks, he replies, "At least I'm wearing my uniform" (which Sasaki rightfully calls "Moving the goalposts"). I get the sense that what Hirano considers his "self" does not include his physical body - as long as he gets good grades, fulfills his duties, looks after his friends and underclassmen, and so on, he is doing all the "right" things, and so why should his hair matter?

(Incidentally, dying his hair, piercing his ears, and so on may all be ways of exerting control over his body; especially during puberty, when people really can't control what their bodies are doing, any kind of change you can intentionally make is taking back some power. In that way, his body is a thing to dominate, not something to exist symbiotically with, which still feeds into that idea that he's dissociating.)

The sad irony is that when Hirano is forced to exist in his body, to remember that it exists, he is often frustrated because it doesn't do what he wants it to do - even though he's essentially trained himself out of feeling things. Consider the conversation the second years had about kissing when at Ogasawara's "cheer up" party - when Hirano realizes he's the only one in the room who isn't interested in kissing, the first thing he does is go home and Google the meaning of the word "normal". He wants to be normal. Why don't I want to kiss Kagiura? Why does Sasaki want to kiss Miyano? When he lies in Kagiura's lap, it feels awkward. When Kagiura insists on the daily touching, it doesn't mean anything one way or the other to Hirano - the first time they hold hands, his entire reaction is to comment on the shape of Kagiura's knuckles. It becomes a source of frustration that Kagiura has all of these intense feelings and reactions to touching Hirano, but none of that is returned.

And then, in chapter 28, Kagiura asks to hug Hirano - and while being hugged, Hirano feels repulsed. Which again, doesn't fit with his internal logic, which is that he likes Kagiura as a person and enjoys being around him, so he should like being hugged. He wants to like it so badly that he tries to solve the issue by initiating the hug himself, nevermind that he only feels comfortable with it in a way where Kagiura is absolutely on the receiving end and unable to actually hug Hirano back. Once again, the sense of control and of giving is where Hirano can be at peace, and the feeling of being aware of his body as something that receives input and sensation and feels things is so repulsive to him that he can't handle it.

Until, of course, he has angry outbursts, because all the frustration he represses gets the best of him. This is where he shouts, or either threatens or uses physical force. He gives Miyano quite a few 'noogies', after all, particularly when Miyano talks about him in a way that makes him feel uncomfortable (about his sexuality and especially a "receptive" sexual role). An inevitable part of emotional dysregulation is that the more you repress, the bigger the explosion will be.

All of this culminates into what I would consider to be an "avoidant attachment style." For those who aren't familiar with attachment theory, the tl;dr is that the way adults navigate relationships is often informed by the way their caregivers treated them. An avoidant attachment style is "characterized by withdrawal from emotional closeness, denial of emotions, independence, and self-sufficiency." Literally everything I've pointed out in Hirano thus far.

Hirano keeps people at arms' length. He avoids thinking about his feelings until he's pinned down, mainly by the guilt of causing Kagiura pain. He tries really, really hard to be self-sufficient and competent in all situations. He has trouble accepting kindness from others.

Why? What causes avoidant attachment?

Emotionally unavailable parents.

When you're a kid, and you go to your parents needing comfort, and you don't receive that comfort, it sends the message to your brain to stop seeking comfort from other people. This doesn't mean his parents weren't there for him; very likely all of his physical and academic needs were met, and his parents loved him and told him they were proud of him whenever the opportunity arose. When Taiga met their expectations, his parents showered him with love. When Taiga got sad, or stressed, or scared, he was left to handle those emotions on his own, perhaps told to be a "big boy". So now, the only way he knows how to relate to people is to earn their praise, and avoid disappointing them by showing "weakness" (negative emotions).

Why am I so convinced that Hirano doesn't have emotionally available parents? Aside from their lack of appearances in the main story, two things: Hirano chose to dorm, and he spends his 17th birthday apart from them. Both details come from the "Hirano and Kagiura" light novel. In the text, we're told that both Hirano and Kagiura technically live within commuting distance from school. Kagiura dorms because basketball practice is early in the morning, and commuting at that hour would be inconvenient (or maybe impossible, since Japanese trains don't run 24/7). Why does Hirano dorm? To have more time to study - that's it. That's the reason. Not that it isn't a noble reason, but he definitely could just study during a commute on the train. So the fact that as young as 15 he wanted to live separately from his parents makes me wonder what the environment at home was or wasn't providing for him, that he was happier without it.

Hirano's 17th birthday is also an event that occurs in the light novel; as an August 1st baby, Hirano's birthday falls during summer vacation. The plan originally was for him to be at home with his parents - but then Kagiura invites him to spend part of the summer with his family. Not even his immediate family, but extended family; aunts, cousins, grandparents. And Hirano agrees, even though he himself is an only child and not used to being around so many people, much less people he doesn't know and never met before. He agrees, and his parents give their blessing, even though it means Hirano will not be home for his birthday.

Now I get it; birthdays in Japan aren't as big of a deal as they are in the West, Hirano being 17 makes him practically an adult, etc. Except Kagiura and his family do make a big deal out of Hirano's birthday, with a cake and party. Even for a guy they don't know, they celebrate. So it's a bit weird that Hirano's parents have no issue missing this milestone... especially when he's an only child, and so it's not like their attention is divided on other kids. If Hirano gets more affection from Kagiura's family than his own, that definitely sheds a lot of light on why he is the way he is.

So far in the greater ssmyhrkg universe, the parents who know about their kids' relationships have been supportive - namely Miyano and Sasaki's moms, who immediately form a group chat to talk about their sons. Sasaki's sister doesn't take the news well at first, but that situation is resolved almost as quickly as it comes up, and she is also ultimately supportive of her brother's relationship. (In fact, it actually seems like Sasaki's sister is a big part of the reason why Sasaki is a little less avoidant than Hirano, given that he was also left to his own devices by their parents, but that's an essay for another day). Kagiura's parents and siblings don't know about his feelings for Hirano, but based on what we know about them (and his extended family), it doesn't seem like they'll be opposed when they see how happy Kagiura is. So, I'm kind of expecting that it will be Hirano's parents who carry the torch of homophobic, "why can't you be normal and marry a girl and have kids"? He's worked so hard to please them, and please them, and please everyone else so that they'll be proud..... only for him to have to cut that cord in the end, because he can't please them at the expense of his happiness with Kagiura...

Until Harusono-sensei proves me wrong and makes the Hirano parents sweet and loving people, I'm sure!

But yeah, Hirano is a traumatized little bean and in my mind his aversion to physical touch comes less from being aro/ace-spec (though I do see that side of things too) and more from simply having repressed his feelings for so long that any emotion now overwhelms him too much and makes him feel out of control and afraid. Thanks for coming to my TED talk, bye!

#hirano taiga #hirano to kagiura #sasaki to miyano #headcanon #meta #things I think about

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tomatorawr · 6 days ago

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The boredom today is crippling. Let me disassociate 😭😭😭 please

#i want to go home and play but need to study #i have committed a sin and I am using an AI for study/life planning and it is huge #when the fucking robots tell you to stop counting calories and have fun with life you really fucked up 😔 it even says it is a lot of stuff

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bengaligirl · 2 years ago

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motivating myself to write this exam by trying to think of all the good things that will happen if i just get through tomorrow

#i only need a 70 to pass this course and it shouldn't be too bad at allllll but god #i do not want to study #i'm seeing the boy and the heron on monday #and next week i'm going to dinner w all of my friends #and a pottery painting thing w another friend #and on sunday i'm finding out whether or not i can take home a CAT #and i have a few free days where i can just. play video games the entire day #aghhhhh #it's just one more test. one more ;-;

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mardmeehanabadi · 2 years ago

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I'm 167 days sober off alcohol, weed, and nicotine. some days are easier than others and this week has been especially hard. I am thinking a lot about my childhood traumas and how they followed me into adulthood and how angry I still am about it all.

#personal #shut up hili #I'm angry and it makes me tired and unfocused #and tired and depleted #I did the absolute best I could with the information and maturity I had at the time #I truly trusted my family and now have learned that everyone is just looking out for themselves in this world #How am I supposed to be motivated to study and work hard right now #I think I'm entering a make it through the days mode #I just want to be engrossed in my work again #it used to be a good coping mechanism #and now I barely want to stay here #maybe I just need to go for a long walk #but I didn't bring my hat inside #I want to go home and play with my pets #I'm very grateful for my mom these days

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lizardho · 3 months ago

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Before I knew I was bisexual I was just insanely dramatic and weird around guys I liked. I had a crush on this guy in my ward - he was older than me, he played bagpipes and had a cheerful dog and an old Volkswagen bus that he worked on all the time. He also had nice scruff and unnaturally attractive hands and a good sense of humor, so I was like FULLY smitten.

I talked about him a lot and about how he was just so dang COOL, dang it, because he was so frickin’ cool. And I really liked him. I thought he was funny and smart and interesting and cool and fascinating and a bunch of other weird feelings I barely had the attention span to think about (I think my ADHD may have prevented me from coming out for a while tbh).

One day, I’m like 14-15, his dad is called to be my Sunday School teacher. His dad is this ex-military hardass with a chip on his shoulder for absolutely no reason and unattainable standards for his children. He spent most of Sunday School talking shit about his eldest boy and how he was rebellious and didn’t listen to him and how that was going to make him a bad adult and a bad son forever. How his son was too lazy and unmotivated to be successful because he didn’t listen to his advice on how to read the scriptures. He complained about how our generation was too weak to do things right and that our generation would surely be the one that brought the world’s downfall because of our laziness and sin.

And like, first of all, that guy can already go fuck himself for that. To clarify, that’s already stupid. BUT. He was talking about the man I had uncomfortable dreams about at least once a month. I couldn’t stand it. I’d get so mad I’d go home shaking sometimes because how fucking DARE he insult his hardworking stunning son by calling him lazy? For not reading the Bible the way his dad wants? When he’s already spending his time learning bagpipes? And fixing cars? And being cool? And cute? Who the fuck even cares if he uses the footnotes in the Book of Mormon? Who gives a rotten rat’s ass if he doesn’t use the scripture study manual his dad uses? He’s so cool he doesn’t even need it? So fuck off?

And eventually I got fucking Sick Of It and decided to mutiny. And by mutiny, I mean skip class. I’d just not go. And after a bit, adults started noticing and bugging me about it. At first, this was put off by small talk and excuses, but as my absence from Sunday School became more well-known, my excuses began to be rejected.

“Oh, Lizard, why aren’t you in class?” Uhm idk because my Sunday School teacher is mean to his kid and that makes me so mad wtf do you want from me? 🫠🤔

“Where’s your class, I’ll go with you!” Oh no ty I’d rather peel my own eyes than have my taste in men critiqued tyty 🩷

“Lizard, you should go to class, I’m sure they miss you!” And I miss the innocent days where my stomach didn’t hurt when a cool boy I knew was being belittled but unfortunately for us both those days are LONG gone and all that’s left is a budding psychosexual clusterfuck that will render me almost fully incapable of functioning for the better part of a decade so Bye Bye, sister Smith 🙂‍↕️

It had gotten to the point that ward leadership was involved. I was being approached by members of the Young Men’s presidency and the Bishopric to try and make me to back to class. They were telling me God had told them to find me and instruct me on my rebelliousness. This is where I implemented my secret weapon - women. Mormons are weird as hell about a lot of things, but especially about women. And I was GREAT with women. So to combat the leadership’s attention, I started helping women.

Our ward had a lot of new moms with babies who were, as babies tend to be, fussy. But for Mormon women the church is often their only social outlet, so they try to power through as long as they can even if it means enduring the exhausting ordeal of taking care of a fussy baby at church.

For what it’s worth, I have a lot of sway with babies. I got baby street cred. Me and babies have a rapport. I have always known this. I have always loved this. And in this crucial gay time in my faggot life my baby mind powers came in clutch - Every time I saw a member of the bishopric getting close, or a young men’s leader giving me side-eye, I’d start walking slowly towards class, passing by relief society. I’d wait until a mom’s baby had gotten too fussy and needed to leave the room, and I’d swoop in like a knight. “Oh, don’t you worry sister, I’ll bounce him a bit. You go back and hang out with your friends in class. You deserve a break.”

If it was a diaper change or something they’d tell me no. But if it was just some good old-fashioned baby fusses, I mean, they’d be moved almost to tears. They just got their social time back AND a free babysitter who is renowned as the Baby Whisperer. And because I was holding a baby as a favor for someone else, I of course could not reasonably be bothered to return to class.

So just like that, I was out of everyone’s sights. This went on for about a month before the straw that broke the camel’s back, which was that without my class participation the classes were quiet and awkward. I’d often take the brunt of Sunday school lectures by answering questions impulsively and over explaining myself enough that the clock could run out without anyone needing to do or say much. My absence meant everyone else was getting hit with the full unpleasantness of this guy’s bullshit. And so slowly, one-by-one, I had a group of about 8 kids on baby-holding duty. These new moms were so overjoyed, they and their husbands were both so actively in our corner that now chastising us was untenable. Now we had bargaining power. So the Bishopric approached us, confused beyond confused and uncomfortable beyond uncomfortable, and said,

“What’s it gonna take to get you back to class?”

The POWER I possessed in that moment was addictive. By being kind to the women of the ward and ignoring the Mormon de facto Rule of Law of following rules en-masse so the rule breakers feel left out, there were now so many people breaking ranks that we had effectively enacted a church boy labor strike. And they crumbled so fast it was almost like we had swayed God himself to our cause.

“I want brother assholedad gone. He sucks at teaching.”

I didn’t even have to say it. One of my rebels said it for me. I just nodded sagely and said “Yes, his class is not edifying. It’s better to not go and hold babies.”

And just like that, with a snap of my limp-wristed, Christ-wounding, bottom-brained fingers my faggot will was enacted. God��s revelation that brother shitdad was his chosen Sunday school teacher flipped on a dime. Suddenly brother shitdad was asked to be an usher and the fun dad of another one of my crushes was called in to teach us. I still stayed to hold babies a lot, but the rest of the class returned and all was well again.

Although I didn’t recognize it then, I think that was a formative moment for me in a lot of ways. I learned that being really persistently annoying will get me what I want from authority eventually. I learned that God’s will can be swayed by going in strike. I learned that ignoring men’s made up authority forces them to level with you as a person. I learned that caring for women, especially vulnerable women, can make a whole world happier. I learned that letting women rest can help them feel more love for the things that matter in their life. I learned that social bonds make everyone stronger and happier. And I learned that loving others in a gay way can change the world.

Be gayer. Read Terry Pratchett. I love y’all 💕

#tgirl swag #mormon #ex mormon #exmormon #trans stuff #trans pride #gay

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chelliebelle · 5 months ago

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I DON'T SEE A RING ON YOUR FINGER | n. kento

꩜ SUMMARY . . having just finalized his divorce, a bitter kento tries to find the end to his sorrows in the bottom of a liquor bottle. but when a pretty young thing comes fluttering by his side, he decides there's no better time to get laid than now. ꩜ WORD COUNT . . 4.9k words of flith <333 ꩜ CONTAINS . . smut, divorcee!kento, reader is described as slutty, age gap (reader is in her early twenties and kento is in his late thirties), sexual frustration, oral (f receiving), overstimulation, pussy slapping, spanking, rough sex, biting, spitting, they're kind of drunk, choking, bruising, pussy drunk!kento ꩜ AUTHOR'S NOTE . . kento's balls practically shriveled during his sexless marriage so best believe he's gonna enjoy himself!!

Nanami Kento had it all.

A two-story house in the suburbs, a high-paying job, a beautiful wife—he had the perfect life. And damn did he hate every second of it. He hated waking up in that house to greet his nosy neighbors, hated driving to his soul sucking office job, and especially hated going home to his wife every night. She’d leave him leftovers in the fridge and kiss him goodnight before bed, and Kento would stay up every night wondering how to escape this limbo.

Tonight was the first time he felt free in years. Sitting at some shitty bar he can't remember the name of, he absentmindedly fiddled with his wedding band. Months ago, this little piece of metal meant everything. A loving marriage. A promise of a future. A sign of success. Now? It's just a worn-out ring that he can't throw out.

Kento sighed, setting it down on the table in favor of a glass of whiskey, letting it burn down his throat as he took a sip. He was never a drinker, but maybe it was something he repressed over the years. What else had he missed out on while trying to play Mr. Perfect?

Right, sex.

Kento was so obsessed with a picture perfect life that he even married someone he barely knew. She was pretty and nice enough—boring as fuck now that he thought about it—but that was enough for him to get down on one knee and take her down the aisle. What he didn't take into account was his own needs. All a man needed after a long day of work was some pussy, and he was no different. Mrs. Nanami was beautiful, sure, but one hell of a prude. If he was lucky, he got laid about once a month. Even then, she'd just lay stiff on the bed while he fucked her. If Kento didn't see the rise and fall of her chest, he'd assume he was sleeping with a corpse.

This meant that every night after his wife fell asleep, he'd go to his study to jack off to porn on his computer. It was enough for him to go to bed without a raging hard-on, but only having his hand to rub his cock raw all the time took a toll on him. Kento stopped initiating anything with Mrs. Nanami, opting to go straight online whenever he felt his dick twitch. For years, he lived like this.

Wake up, go to work, get home, say goodnight to wife, jack off.

Until a few months ago when his wife said she wanted a divorce. She must've been expecting him to start a fight, because her face fell when Kento nodded without a second thought. It was a long time coming. Sure, he believed he should've been the one to divorce her, but at least he was gonna be free. The days after she moved out was the happiest he had ever been. Waking up in an empty bed and coming home to an even colder bed filled him with a sense of contentment he thought he'd never feel again.

Cheers to being single, he thought to himself as he ordered another drink. As he waited, he couldn't help but sigh. The ink on his divorce papers hadn't even dried yet and he was already thinking of getting his dick wet. Kento hadn't had good pussy since he was twenty. The thought of cheating never even passed his mind during his marriage, opting the company of his own right hand over breaking the promise he made to his wife. Ex-wife.

He brought the rim of the glass to his lips, eager to drink himself to sleep, until the scraping of a barstool broke his concentration. "Drinking alone, handsome?"

The voice was soft and feminine, making him turn his head in curiosity. It came from a young girl, probably still in college but wearing a tight dress that looked like it came off a stripper. Kento wasn't a boomer by any means, but he still found himself disapproving how there was more skin than fabric on her body.

Kids these days.

Retrieving his gaze, he let out a quiet hmm before turning back to his drink. That didn't deter you, a girlish giggle leaving your lips as you leaned towards him.

"Seriously, there's no way you're here alone. Is this a set up? Where are the hidden cameras?"

College kids were so weird these days. With a scrunch between his brows, he shakes his head as he lets out a low rumble that makes your stomach twist. "Sorry to disappoint, kid. It's just me, no hidden cameras."

When he turns his head to face you, he's surprised at how close you were to him. Kento could smell the vodka shots off your breath. It reminded him of when he was as young as you were, getting drunk off cheap liquor. A soft pink dusted your cheeks, along with a tipsy smile that made his chest warm for some reason. You seemed to catch him staring, reaching out to rest your hand on his bicep.

"You look like...really put together. Like you do your taxes and sleep early or something."

The choked cough he lets out when you touch him makes the whiskey burn up his nose, hand coming up to cover half his face. Just a friendly gesture from a girl made him act like this? Get it together, Kento. Scoffing, he shrugged off your hand as he looked away. You pout as he does so and the sight fills him with regret immediately. Before he can apologize, you knock your head against his shoulder, nuzzling against him like a spoiled kitten. Guilt pools in the pit of Kento's stomach when his cock twitches in his slacks. Not now!

"Do you have a name, handsome mystery man?" you mumble against his shirt, the action making his loins burn. He seriously considers pushing you away but decides you're probably too drunk to function right now. After a few beats pass, he reluctantly grumbles a "Kento" in response. You're quiet save for a soft hum and Kento is left hating himself for getting hard at how clingy you're being.

Poor girl, you're clinging to someone who you think looks dependable in this shady ass bar. Or at least that's what he thinks until you grab his wrist and bring it up to your face. For a moment, he assumes you're trying to get a look at the Rolex around his wrist, the sleek gold glinting in the air. He has to repress a sigh—until he realizes your attention is actually on his hands. Kento's fingers are lengthy from years of typing at his desk everyday, the digits at least twice as thick as yours. Pretty veins run along his knuckles and up his forearms, disappearing under the fabric of his rolled sleeves. You can't help but sigh, eyes flickering up to his with admiration.

"Your hands are like, really...big."

He immediately pulls his hand away with a bewildered look, clicking his tongue as he adjusted the watch around his wrist, ignoring the whine you let out.

"What does that even mean?" he huffs, his fingers twitching at the traces of heat from your delicate hand grabbing his. You giggle at his reaction, slumping against him until your chest presses against his arm.

"I wonder what you can do with them, m'sure you'd know how to use them good."

Oh. Oh. When his gaze connects with your breasts that are almost spilling out the top of your dress and the sultry look in your eyes, only then does he realize that he's being hit on.

"Look, kid. I'm m—" he catches himself before he finishes his sentence. Fuck, was he going to say he was married? The wedding band in his other hand suddenly felt much heavier and he quickly shoves it in his pocket.

"...much older than you, I'm almost twice your age."

Another mellifluous giggle leaves your lips and Kento has to hold himself back from shutting you up so that blood stops rushing to his dick.

"I think you're flirting with me," you tease, rubbing your chest against his arm. If he focuses, he swears he can feel your hardened buds brushing against him through your dress. Not even wearing a bra, you're begging to be fucked. The thought of being the one to take you home tonight passes his mind but he shoves it away. You're drunk and almost half his age, it'd be wrong. All rational thought comes flying out the window when your hot breath fans against his ear.

"But, I also think you're really hot, Kento. So maybe we can..."

Your words fall on deaf ears as his eyes flutter shut and his head tilts back. Kento was never a religious man, but in this moment he prayed to the gods above for clarity. You were offering yourself up to him like a hog on a silver platter, tied up with an apple in your mouth for him to devour. He couldn't help but imagine your glassy eyes rolling into the back of your head, your sweet lips hanging open when he drives his cock deep into your tight and wet cunt—

Fuck it.

Will he ever get another chance to bring a pretty young thing like you home? The thought is what drives him as he grabs your wrist to drag you out the bar and into his car.

When you approached the hot stranger earlier, you sure didn't expect that it'd end with you moaning with his hand between your legs.

Drunk out of your mind, your gaze had fell onto the brooding man at the bar, eyeing his rippling muscles under his crisp blue shirt. Now that was a back you'd love to scratch up. It didn't take long for you to stumble on your too-high heels towards the blonde man. You were never this forward but something about him had you squeezing your thighs together. Maybe it was the silent classiness that screamed luxury, the heat in his eyes that burned every time his gaze lingered on you—or maybe it was how he practically flung you over his shoulder and ran all the red lights to take you home.

But never in a million years had you expected that man to be this nasty.

His lips tasted like heavy liquor, tongue sloppily tangling with yours as he slammed you against the door, one hand coming up to cup your jaw. You were used to bad french kisses from frat boys, all teeth and smelly breath, but the way Kento was devouring you made you lightheaded.

"What a dirty mouth, wonder if you pussy's even wetter."

He pushed your legs apart with his foot and let his hand wander up your inner thigh. You gasp when he finds your mound, panties thoroughly soaked. The scoff that leaves his lips makes your cheeks flush. He cooes as he drag a thick digit along the clothed slit of your cunt, swallowing up your weak moans with his mouth.

"I don't even need to prep you," he chuckles, shaking his head as his thumb prods at your bud hidden beneath your folds.

"You have such a smart cunt, s' already drooling for me."

Kento pulls his hand from between your legs and grabs the back of your thighs, wrapping your legs around his waist. Head still spinning from the alcohol, you lose your balance, but the death grip he has keeps you upright as he carries you to his bedroom.

It's scantily decorated and you note that the bed it a bit too big for someone living alone, but you forget all about it when your back hits the plush mattress.

His eyes are wide as if he's trying to commit the sight of you to memory, every exposed sliver of skin and plush flesh permanently burned into his mind. Before you know it, Kento's hands are everywhere—gripping your waist, squeezing your thighs, yanking your dress up like he's unwrapping the first real gift he's ever had. Your slutty dress is long forgotten on his bedroom floor, and fuck, he's hard. Painfully so.

How can't he be when your sweet body is all on display for him?

Kento can't find it in him to give a damn about some dress when all he can see are your perky tits, so soft and malleable. He doesn't spare a moment to admire the view, slapping your breasts till they jiggled deliciously. Before you can whine about how mean he's being, he attacks your tender chest, lips wrapping around the mounds of flesh. It catches you off-guard and you tug at his hair, but he only bites down around your nipple, flicking his tongue over the hardened bud.

"Don't."

His voice is a low growl you never heard before, and damn if it didn't make your clit throb with need. Right on cue, he pries your legs apart and gets on his knees between them, mouth never leaving your breast. The way his hips grind against you is vicious, as if he's been waiting years for this. Which, in a way, he has. Kento has spent too many nights in his cold bed, jerking off to the thought of someone warm beneath him. Now that he has it? Best believe he's not letting you go tonight.

Your heat seeps through the fabric of your underwear and he can tell that you're making a mess all over the front of his slacks, his bulge covered in your slick. Clicking his tongue, he pushes your knees against your chest to come face-to-face with your clothed core. His thumb tugs at the lace of your panties, lifting your hips to slide it over your ass and letting the flimsy fabric dangle on your ankle.

He intended to teach you a lesson, but his brain short-circuits when he sees your weeping cunt. Your chubby lips were glistening with slick from his teasing, that pretty clit hidden under your swollen folds. Kento hasn't had a taste of pussy in years, so he can't resist leaning forward to roll his tongue against your slit.

Immediately he's gone.

He laps at you like a man starved, locking his arms around your thighs to keep you spread open for him. Mrs. Nanami was never this wet for him and it had messed with his confidence for a while, but your sweetness was all it took to bring him back. His cock twitches at the sight of you writhing under him, the front of his slacks now completely stained with precum. Kento nearly forgot to breathe with how absorbed he was in your pussy.

“You're like a piece of candy,” he mouths against your sensitive cunt, pushing the tip of his tongue into your warm entrance. “So sweet, can eat you up all night.”

Your thighs tremble and clamp around his head, the action only pushing him closer against your waiting heat, nose bumping against your clit. Kento moaned as he flattened his warm tongue against you, making out with your cunt with more fervor than when he had kissed you. Eyes rolling into the back of his head, Kento completely forgets about his aching hard-on, hips instinctively rutting against the mattress with every swipe of his tongue. Your lips were so puffy that he couldn't resist biting down, latching his lips onto your neglected bud and sucking hard.

You almost cry out at the sensation, reaching your hand down to pull at his hair as you thrash under him, feeling your thighs quiver. "S'too much! Gonna make me come—"

SMACK.

His palm had landed flat on your cunt.

"None of that. You wanted my attention, now take it."

The mean rumble of his voice along with the harsh slap against your sensitive heat sent you over the edge, coming onto Kento's face as your back arched off the bed. He was more than eager, lips hanging open as he swallowed up every drop of your sweetness.

Like heaven on his tongue.

Your taste was addictive, making him groan with every bob of his Adam's apple. Kento slurps up all the wetness he can get, chin glistening with your essence once he pulls away. The sudden orgasm had you panting, only coming back to your senses when you heard the sound of a belt buckle hitting the floor, lifting your head up at the exact moment Kento tugged his ruined boxers down.

His heavy cock slapped against his sweaty washboard abs, leaking onto his abdomen. You had seen enough subpar dicks in your life to know that he was big, the idea of it stretching you open making your pussy drool. Pretty veins ran along the base, leading up to his thick tip that was already dribbling pearls. It was an angry red, sensitive from rubbing against the fabric of his slacks. You could've sworn his cock twitched when his eyes locked with yours.

He reluctantly rolls on a condom, mumbling something under his breath as he strains against the pink rubber. Should just fuck this pussy raw. Luckily, he still had enough common sense to stop him from begging you to let him go in without protection. Kento grabs your thighs, hefty length dragging down your slit as he positioned himself between your legs. With his cock resting on your mound, you can tell he's gonna be so deep in your tummy that you'll feel him tomorrow.

“I'll make sure of it, pretty girl,” he chuckles, slapping his member against your puffy clit.

Did you actually say that out loud—?

Your cheeks puffed up at his words, an embarassed flush on your face at your little slip-up. He's so heavy between your legs that you wonder how he'll even fit. Kento's hand reaches to pull you flush against him by the ankle, propping your leg up his shoulder, groaning as his cock dragged between your lips.

"You're so wet," he muses, pumping himself lazily before he lined himself up your entrance. "Bet you're gonna take me like a good girl, hmm?"

You gasp when he pushes his flushed cockhead between your swollen folds, struggling past tight rings of muscle. So tight. Fuck, he should've known—you were just a little brat who thought she could handle him. He hisses as your walls clamp down around his tip, nails digging into your hips as he tries to catch his breath.

"Loosen up, sweetheart. You're gonna snap off my dick."

Kento stayed like that, tip twitching inside your warm pussy, before he pushes forward once more. He's bigger than any cock you've taken before. Unprepared for the stretch, your brows knit together when he bullies his way into your cunt. He barely makes it a few inches in before your eyes start to water. Your insides were being stuffed to the brim. You take a deep breath, weakly shaking your head as your thighs tremble.

"K-Kento, please—" Please?

You didn't even know what you were begging for, did you? How cute. With a sigh, he pulls out from the comfort of your pussy. You let out a sigh of relief, before a warm liquid hit your bare lips. With the viscosity dribbling between your folds, you realized that was Kento's spit. Your gaze flickered up towards him but he focused on other things—like the way your clit twitched when his saliva hit the neglected bud. Eyes dark and brows knitted, he reached down to thumb at your sensitive nub, a choked moan leaving your lips.

"Ease up, that's right," he praised, using the wetness to roll his hips forward.

Your walls fluttered around him, your moans egging him on as he continued to feed you more of his monster cock. Kento never needed this amount of prep with Mrs. Nanami, considering she always seemed so...bored. He was even beginning to think he was bad at sex! But the way your eyes rolled into the back of your head told him all he needed to know. A low groan rumbled in his chest when he finally bottomed out, his tip kissing your cervix. After so long with only his hand as company, he worried he'd come the second he was inside you. The way you were squeezing his dick didn't help either. Kento swallowed hard, trying to take deep breaths as he let you adjust to his size.

"How are you so tight?"

When his panting reached your ears, you let out a slurred mumble, eyes unfocused as you tried to look up. He leaned down, forehead resting against yours to regain his composure. Body covering yours, he only buried himself deeper all the way to the hilt. It was like your mind went blank.

"Ngh—you're just too big!" you managed to shout, eyes glassy from how he kept nudging against your womb.

That was all it took for Kento to lose his mind.

Locking an arm around your leg, he fucked into you, heavy balls slapping against your ass as his hips snapped forward. His pace was merciless, knocking the breath out of your lungs with every mean thrust.

"Yeah? How deep am I?" he growled, his grip on your waist bruising.

All the way in my tummy, you try to say, but you were too fucked out to answer. Just a few thrusts had you dumb on his cock, glossy lips hanging open weakly. The sight makes Kento chuckle, holding onto your thighs as his skin smacked against yours.

It had been years since he had been in a pussy this wet and eager for him. He was in love with your cunt. The slickness as he slid past your folds, the way your walls tried to milk him—but the cock drunk look in your eyes was the cherry on top. Kento turns his head to the side, pressing kisses onto your calf as he fucked you.

Come back, pretty girl.

When he notices your lack of response, he sinks his teeth into the soft flesh, emphasized with a harsh thrust that made you scream. "Kento, slow down," you cry out, heat churning in your belly from the cruel pistoning of his hips.

He only chuckles, shaking his head before he sped up his pace. The shocked look in your eyes made him reach down to rub tight circles on your clit for relief. Loud squelches and the slapping of skin-on-skin filled the air, the room reeking of sweat and sex. Kento's eyes locked on the way your ass bounced back against his pelvis with every thrust, cock twitching as he thought of taking you from behind. He continued to jackhammer into you, strings of profanities leaving his lips. You had no idea what you were getting yourself into. As you mumbled incoherently on the verge of tears, a hand wrapped around your throat.

"Shh. Your sweet pussy's talkin' to me," he tuts, squeezing your throat to shut you up.

His hand completely engulfed your neck, rough palm pressed tightly against your pulse. Gasping for breath, you could feel your head spin from the lack of air. You rake your nails along his back, digging crescents into his skin to try and make him let go. Kento hissed at the sensation, cockhead slamming hard against your g-spot. It was too much—the delicious stretch of his cock, the way his tip kissed your gummy insides with every thrust, his hand around your throat—the knot in your stomach snapped. Even when you tried to push the heat down, your climax ripped through you like white lightning.

Your back arched off the bed, cursing out Kento's name as your orgasm shook through your body. The man nearly collapsed on top of you, a sharp groan leaving his lips as your walls clamped down and milked his cock so suddenly. His grip on your throat loosens and you thrash under him.

You might die from how good he's dicking you down.

Rolling onto your stomach, you stumble as you get on your hands and knees to try and crawl off the bed. A pair of rough hands grab onto your waist, followed by heavy panting that makes your blood run cold.

"Where the fuck do you think you're going?" Kento spits, dragging you back against him.

He'd be damned if he let the first good pussy he's had in years get away. Even when you try to thrash and break free, your body is too weak from coming so hard! His palm lands a harsh smack against your ass, your arms collapsing under your body as you cried out. Kento pushed your head down into the pillows, propping you up by the back of your knees. Face down, ass up. The sight of you so vulnerable with your glistening pussy on display made him lick his lips, quickly positioning himself behind you.

"Naughty girl, trying to run away from me," he tuts, swiping his tip up and down your creamy folds.

As punishment, he reached down to pinch your clit, earning a choked sob from you. He rolled the bud between his fingers, resting his free hand on the plush of your ass. Cock throbbing for release, he buried himself to the hilt in one thrust, setting up a mean pace immediately.

Yep, might die from this dick.

Every slam of his hips against yours had you sobbing into the pillows, the fabric damp with your salty tears. Your body was still reeling from your multiple orgasms, cunt fluttering around him. Even if it was too much, Kento was fucking you so good your insides had molded to every ridge and vein of his cock. Your tits jiggled with every thrust and he wasted no time in grabbing your hefty breasts, playing with your soft nipples. He buried his head in the tender area where your neck and shoulders connected, groaning against you.

Kento was getting close, you could tell from how frantically he rutted into you. His cock throbbed inside you, pulsing against your gummy walls. You couldn't resist the urge to push your ass back into him, making his dick hit even deeper inside you. You were half sure he was bulging through your tummy at this point. The action made him suck in shallow breaths through his teeth, keeping a death grip on your ass as he bulllied your cunt.

"Fuuuck, I'm gonna come," he groans into your shoulder.

His face scrunched up in pleasure, panting heavily into your skin as he buried his cock deeper and deeper. Seeing such a composed man this broken made your cheeks flush. Your walls were heavenly, every clench pushing him closer to the edge.

Screw his hand. Coming from your pussy squeezing him was better that jacking off to any porno he could watch online.

With a strangled moan, Kento shot thick spurts of cum into the condom, as if he hadn't finished in years. He collapsed on top of you, the orgasm rendering him unable to even hold himself up anymore. It was like losing his virginity all over again. You whine as the rubber began to fill up with his load, heavy in your pussy. After a few moments to catch your breath, you tried to push yourself off him, worried he'd spill into you.

"We should probably take that off—"

Kento shut you up immediately, grabbing your waist to drag your hips back on top of him. Now straddling his lap, his still hard cock prodded new places you had never even touched before, a pathetic moan leaving your lips. His blonde hair was messy and dripping with sweat, eyes glazed over as his cheeks flushed. You felt him twitch inside you when he met your gaze, the same fucked-out look in both your eyes. He definitely wasn't done with you yet.

"It's only midnight, sweetheart."

You'd be lucky to come out of here alive.

You spent the rest of the night going several rounds, trying every position possible before collapsing from exhaustion. What's for sure—sex would never be the same ever again. How could you go back to one night stands with shitty frat bros when an older man just gave you the dicking down of your life?

The next morning, you roll on your side to see Kento sitting at the edge of the bed. His bare back was wrecked, littered with vicious nail marks and lipstick stains. You chew on your bottom lip, pulling the duvet over your chest.

"Are we gonna see each other again?" you croak, voice hoarse from last night.

The muscles in his back tensed at your words. Kento didn't want to see the hickeys and bruises on your skin, undeniable marks of the years of frustration he took out on you. He actually slept with a girl almost half his age right after getting divorced.

Talk about issues.

Though his stomach churned with guilt, the memories of last night flashed through his mind. How eager you were for him, your sopping cunt, your sweet whines. He was even starting to imagine what it'd be like to sink into you raw.

He couldn't deny how addicted he was to your body. Doing this once was one thing, but agreeing to meet you again? Kento let out a deep sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. After a few moments, he spoke up.

"Let me check my schedule, pretty girl."

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#chelle's fics #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk #jjk smut #nanami smut #nanami kento #kento nanami #kento smut #nanami kento smut #nanami x reader #jjk nanami #jujutsu nanami #jjk x reader

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sttoru · 7 months ago

Note

pls pls pls 🥹 older bf! gojo fucking the attitude out of his gf

𝝑𝑒 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. satoru picks you up after your lecture to spend quality time with you, only to realise you got an attitude that needs some fixing.

tags. dom older bf!gojo x female reader. smut, pwp but also with plot. age gap (reader early 20’s, satoru early 30’s). rough. hints of degradation. p in v -> unprotected. standing doggy. semi-public. spanking. hair pulling. name calling. creampīe. nicknames ‘princess, baby’. wc: 3.2k

“mind telling me who that was, baby?” satoru asks while he fixes his sunglasses. he pushes his hair back a little, walking beside you through campus. you had just finished your study session with a boy who’s in your statistics class. your lovely boyfriend offered to pick you up and take you back home after that.

though, despite the kind gesture, you’re still visibly stressed after revising the material. your mind is occupied with all sorts of stuff you need to know before your exam on thursday.

“just a classmate,” you respond curtly, not even looking at satoru. you’re speeding ahead of him, wanting to rush home already. you nibble on your bottom lip and your brows are furrowed due to the distress, “why do you care?”

that sentence came out harsher than you had expected it to. you don’t mean to be bitchy, but you’re under too much stress at the moment. your body reacts before you can withstand it.

satoru is silent for a few seconds. he’s surprised by the tone of voice you used. he keeps on following you, however, not letting your little comment ruin the conversation. he’s there to help you, not to make you even more upset.

which is why he tries to lighten the mood.

“oh?” satoru chuckles, his dimples showing. he easily keeps up with you, his long legs carrying him around quite fast. the white haired man pushes a strand of your hair behind your ear ever so gently, “did someone upset my little princess today?”

you don’t answer him. you’re focused on your phone, hurriedly texting your friend back while speeding past all the other students. you don’t even notice how the girls are gawking at your man—whispering about how handsome he is and who he might be.

satoru doesn’t pay them any mind. his sole goal is to gain your attention back. he frowns after his question is met with silence. the clicking of his dress shoes increases as he tries to get you to stop and face him.

“c’mon,” your boyfriend sighs and stands in front of you, stopping you to an abrupt halt. he holds your wrist tenderly yet firmly, letting you know that he wants to properly communicate with you, “y’ can’t ignore me.”

you yank your hand back, your irritated attitude visible in your actions. you look up at satoru, not caring about what he thinks or wants at the moment. you just want to go home and relax. everything is overstimulating you.

“i can and i will,” you huff before stepping aside to continue your journey out of the university’s terrain. your boyfriend’s frown only deepens. you’re not the only one who’s currently getting agitated. you push past a group of students who stood in your way, “let’s just go home.”

satoru’s eyes narrow. he doesn’t get upset fast—he rarely feels any kind of anger—but right now he can feel something itching inside of his chest. he’s tried not to let the jealousy get the best of him at first, but now with all the other emotions coming into play, it’s nearly impossible to hold himself back.

satoru considers himself a fairly mature man. he’s always been one, yet when it comes to you he can’t help but feel like he doesn’t have any control over his emotions. his body and mind act on their own.

“aht aht. not so fast, little lady.”

you suddenly feel yourself being dragged to the side. satoru’s grip around your arm isn’t harsh, but it sure is enough to make you stumble along with him. you click your teeth in slight annoyance after the initial shock settles in. you know there’s no fighting it; you don’t want others to witness your little squabble.

“hey, where are we going?” you ask, a slight whine leaving your throat. you simply want to go lay in your bed and avoid everything and everyone else. your eyes are focused on the back of satoru’s head as he guides you along. he doesn’t bother to face nor answer you.

you sigh and simply allow yourself to be dragged away. if you’re going to get a scolding, you don’t mind. you’re just going to hear him out and nod along so you can go back home faster.

you raise an eyebrow when satoru arrives at the bathroom on the second floor. “what the—” you’re confused as to what your boyfriend is trying to achieve. you quickly look around to see if anyone has seen you.

no one seems to be close. this part of the building has always been empty around this time frame anyway.

you’re pulled into the men’s bathroom after satoru made sure that the coast was clear. he gently pushes you into an empty stall and locks the door. “satoru, what’s up with you?” you sigh as you stumble back against the bathroom wall. it’s a hypocritical comment considering your own nasty attitude.

you try to push him aside, only for your boyfriend to force your arms around his neck, pulling you flush against him. your eyes lock into his and that’s when you notice how . . dark they are. the usual playful look is nowhere to be found.

“i’m just thinkin’ that y’r attitude needs some fixing, hm?” satoru whispers. a ghost of a smirk appears on his face—it’s a twisted one. wicked, with the thoughts of what he’ll do to punish you for your actions. he rarely has that expression when he’s with you.

he tips your chin up with quite some force, “i can help with that.”

everything else happens at a blink of an eye. one of satoru’s large hands slithers up your back to tangle in your hair and yank it back, exposing the column of your throat for his hickeys to take shape on. his other hand swiftly makes work of your pants and undergarments.

his jaw is clenched—the usual hint of gentle love in his eyes is replaced by lust fuelled by jealousy and frustration. satoru is not playing around either. instead of taking his time like he usually does when it comes to intimacy, he’s quick to discard both your clothing.

“fuckin’ tease,” the white-haired man mutters under his breath, panting with desire. he zips down his pants and frees his big cock from his boxers. “always pushing my buttons. isn’t that right, baby?”

satoru lets out a breathy, mocking chuckle. he fists the shaft slowly while his blue eyes roam over your body caged against him and the wall, “but i guess tha’s part of the reason why i love you—hah.”

you’re basically in shock at the sudden switch. your jaw is slack and your eyes are wide, but there’s an undeniable feeling in your chest that tells you you’re loving this change. you can’t deny the fact that you’re turned on. extremely turned on.

“‘toru, i don’t think it’s smart to do this here,” you murmur in a small voice. you’re trying to have some dignity, even now, when your panties are soaked and the scent of your obvious arousal is driving your man crazy.

“don’t care,” satoru shakes his head with a smug grin. his long fingers hook around the waistband of your underwear before flimsily tugging them down to your ankles. his eyes darken the second he sees the webs of sticky, translucent slick clinging from your panties to your puffy folds.

he grunts, his cock twitching painfully in his hand. he’s thinking of simply jerking off to the sight of you in front of him, but he decided otherwise. satoru smacks your clit with his fat tip, “should’ve thought about that before catchin’ an attitude with me.”

suddenly, he turns you around so you’re facing the wall. your nails dig into the flat surface of the tiles, catching onto nothing. you’re hoping that no one will walk into the bathroom. last thing you need is everyone knowing that you were getting your back blown out by your boyfriend on campus.

not that satoru would mind those rumors. it’d only fuel his (already) huge ego.

“oh, yeah— shit. you need this ‘s much as i do,” satoru groans as sinks his cock into your pussy, agonisingly slow, inch by inch. you shudder and hold in your moans as your velvety walls make part for him.

his hands spread your pert asscheeks, smacking the full globes before kneading them to soothe the pain. he continues in a low, dangerous voice, “you wouldn’t be so stuck up if y’ didn’t need this fuckin’ dick to shut you up.”

satoru doesn’t stop pushing in until his heavy balls are resting snugly against your bottom, warming his sack full of cum that’s aching to be released in your dripping cunt.

“ngh, ‘toru,” you bite your lip and try not to orgasm just from the feeling of being full— so full of cock that it makes you see stars, “just like that.”

the white-haired man responds with a satisfied grunt, sweat forming on his forehead from how hot and wet it is inside of you.

“oh, there she is,” satoru coos once he hears your whiny voice, that sweet voice he cherishes and loves. it isn’t cold nor avoidant anymore like before and that’s really all he wanted to acquire. he licks a stripe from the tip of your ear to the lobe, voice husky, “there’s the girlfriend i know. moan some more f’ me.”

you shiver as satoru’s lips connect with the back of your neck. after wetting the skin with his saliva, he bites. not hard enough to draw blood, but hard enough to leave a mark. you clamp around his dick in response and he curses under his breath.

“please, fuck me,” you breathe. you need more stimulation, need him to absolutely ruin you. the shallow and slow thrusts he’s giving are nothing but torturous.

satoru grins and rests his chin on top of your shoulder, large hands rubbing around your hips and lower abdomen, teasing your clit every now and then to get you even more pent up.

“fuck you?” he tilts his head, as if contemplating. he clicks his tongue and gives your ass a firm slap that nearly sends you over the edge. “hah, you should be grateful for what i’m givin’ you.”

but satoru’s weak for you. even if he’s trying to be the ‘mean’ and ‘cold’ dominant guy. his cock is aching to plunge in and out of your wet hole, to see you come undone and feel your juices coat his balls and thighs.

“fine. i’ll fuck you,” satoru relents with a roll of his eyes, acting like he isn’t desperate for you too. he grips your hips in a bruising manner and bites your shoulder, “—fuck you like the brat you are.”

your hands save your face from making contact with the wall as your body suddenly jostles back and forth in a speed you can’t even process.

“satoru!” you nearly scream his name out of pure surprise. the pleasure comes crashing down in waves, your pussy uncontrollably spasming around his girthy cock.

satoru grumbles something incoherent as he pistons his hips, ramming in your sloppy cunt while his eyes are fixated on your bouncing ass. white locks of hair stick to his forehead as he splits you open on his dick.

“so pretty,” the older man sighs. he turns your head sideways so you can look him in the eyes while he fucks you silly. he caresses your cheek gently, a contrast to the mocking grin on his lips and the rough thrusts against your ass, “too bad y’ got such a potty mouth on you.”

satoru pushes his index and middle finger between your lips to muffle your noises, “…but don’t worry, i’ll fix that for you. gladly.”

you eagerly suck on them between quick gasps of air, saliva trickling down his hand. your boyfriend redoubles his efforts, the fat tip of his dick hitting that special spot deep inside you.

his free hand reaches down to circle your clit. the double stimulation sends you into a state of pure bliss. your pupils are dilated as you struggle to find satoru’s gaze, head lolling back and forth with each powerful stroke.

perhaps this really was all you needed to help destress and forget all about your responsibilities. it feels good to not think about anything at all— your head empty except for the feeling of your cunt being filled.

satoru’s cock twitches inside of you with the urge to release a load in your womb. “give me it, please,” your voice is muffled as you plead with him. your hand sneaks downwards, trying to find his balls, “w-want your cum.”

your fingers toy with his sack once you find it. his pre-cum and your own juices now coat your skin as well, your hand enclosing around his balls, massaging them. it’s like you’re trying to coax his potent semen out of them and that alone makes satoru throw his head back in ecstasy.

“little cumslut. . .” satoru growls, brows furrowing as he tries not to shoot his cum inside of your greedy cunt right that second. the hand that was keeping you quiet quickly snatches your wrist and pins it against the bathroom wall.

“are you that desperate to get filled? yeah?” your boyfriend huffs, not stopping to catch his breath at all. his hips pound faster against your ass with renewed passion.

your lips are parted and they move, but not a single answer comes out of your mouth. you’re unable to think or talk because of the pleasure.

satoru takes that as a yes. the erotic sight of you being so lost in sin is enough to fuel his desire to fuck you harder. his hips never falter as he scoffs at your pathetic self, “tch, so addicted to my cock y’ can’t even answer me.”

you shake your head and search for your words. however, you fail, and all that you’re capable of communicating is what you need, “fuuuuck, yes i am—‘toru, need your cock ‘n cum— more.”

satoru lets go of your wrist to grab your jaw. he forces your head back again before he captures your lips in a bruising kiss. his tongue plunders inside your mouth, exploring every inch.

he pulls back to gasp for air and releases your jaw with a slight shove to grab your hips again. “more? hah,” the white-haired man lets out a haughty chuckle. he gives a particular hard thrust against your butt, tip kissing your cervix painfully yet deliciously, “y’ think you deserve more after that shit you pulled?”

satoru yanks your head back by your hair. the stinging sensation makes your scalp itchy, but it also increases your pleasure. he lowers his lips to your ear, his voice dangerously low, “nah, you gotta make this work.”

you could. you can make it work and that’s the truth. he could fuck you with just his tip and you’d be able to cum a couple times in a row.

jolts of pleasure run down your spine as satoru drives into you harder, the force of his thrusts rocking your entire body. you’re seeing stars and the words roll off your tongue, “please, mhh, almost there!”

satoru groans. he can feel the delicious fluttering of your cunt around his cock, the telltale signs of an orgasm building. he has half a mind to pull out completely and let you writhe and beg him some more.

he contemplates it for a few seconds. the second your eyes start to roll back, signaling your impending climax, his cock slips out of your pussy. you whine and push your hips back in search for his dick- to fill the void he left.

satoru jerks himself off at the pitiful sight. he rubs his veiny shaft between your slick folds before slapping the tip against your cunt, letting it catch onto your entrance for a few times.

“begging like that isn’t going to get you anywhere. y’ can do better,” your boyfriend encourages in a sultry tone. one of his hands rest on your tummy, fingers splaying over your clothed skin. another filthy smack of his tip against your slit makes you shiver, “come on.”

you bite your lip out of frustration. you arch your back each time the fat head of his cock catches onto your gaping hole, hoping to slip it in, but you can't. you tilt your head back and lock eyes with satoru close up behind you.

“please let me cum, 'toru. i'll be good, i promise,” you beg with a lewd pleading expression. one that make satoru's balls tighten with the urge to cum as well.

with a low groan, satoru snaps his hips forward, burying his dick inside of you once more, “there ya go. good girl, knew y’ had it in you.”

the praise and familiar feeling of his dick stretching you open is enough to push you over the edge. you nearly black out as your cunt spasms around him, your juices gushing out to coat his length and balls.

satoru grits his teeth once he feels your tight cunt clench viciously around his throbbing cock. your orgasm has a domino effect on your lover, causing him to hastily chase his own release. “shit! take it, princess. take it all inside this greedy fuckin' cunt,” he hisses and grinds his pelvis against the fat of your ass.

satoru buries himself to the hilt before his cock jerks and pulses, emptying his balls deep inside of you. his fingers dig into the meat of your butt, holding you in place as he grinds against you, making sure every last drop of his seed is nestled into your waiting womb.

“there y’ go, mhm—taking my load so deep,” your lover sighs and lowers his head, resting against your back. he hugs you tightly to his chest while you both catch your breath. he rides out his orgasm slowly, still grinding against you while he leaves lazy kisses on your nape.

a minute passes before you've regained your composure, somewhat. you smile as satoru kisses your temple lovingly, praising you for taking him so well. the switch back to his usual gentleman personality is much needed after such an intense moment.

“thank you, babe. i needed that,” you giggle as you rest back against his chest. thick, pearly globs of cum escape your pussy, dripping around his cock and onto your thighs, but neither of you could care less. the clean up is a problem for later.

satoru chuckles back at you as he leaves another loving kiss against your cheek. “i knew you did,” he murmurs and pets your head, “my poor girl has been working so hard on her assignments, hm? poor, poor baby.”

you playfully roll your eyes at the overexaggerated concern in your lover's voice, however you appreciate it.

satoru doesn't bother to pull out. first things first; he needs to get you all comfortable again and give you the aftercare you deserve. his hands massage your hips as he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, acting all lovey-dovey like he hasn't just shown you a more dominant side of him.

“how ‘bout we go home and order some food? we can cuddle and watch a movie together, ‘kay? i’ll take care of you, princess.”

#sttoru writes.#jjk smut #jjk x reader #gojo smut #gojo x reader #satoru gojo smut #satoru smut #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #satoru gojo x reader #jjk fic #gojo fic #jjk x female reader

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aleksatia · 1 month ago

Text

Possession, Obsession, Devotion: A Study in Five Men

Nope, I haven’t vanished. Super grateful for all your messages and the sweet support — seriously, thank you. Just swamped with work right now, so writing’s slowed down a bit. Still working on your requests, I promise! And I’m knee-deep in a pretty massive, emotionally wrecking angst based on a Songfic prompt. While that one’s cooking, I thought I’d drop another batch of my random writer notes — all bundled up in one chaotic little post.

CW/TW: Headcanons, Possessive Behavior, Obsessive Love, Jealousy, Power Imbalance, Toxic Romance, Red Flags Treated as Romance, Intimacy with Control Undertones, Emotional Manipulation (Mild), Dubious Coping Mechanisms, Intense Emotional Dependency, Suggestive Themes, Mild Sexual Content, Unhealthy Attachment Framed as Devotion Genre: Romance-Infused, Erotically-Charged Drabbles with a Generous Side of Fluff Words Count: 8.6K

5 Petty Jealousies That Reveal Just How Much Caleb’s Obsessed With You

1. You call another man “handsome” — even as a joke. You were teasing. Flirting, in that harmless, breezy way of yours. Caleb laughed. Then immediately kissed you like he needed to reassert territorial dominance with tongue and body weight. Funny how your jokes always end with your back against the wall and his hand on your throat. Lovingly.

2. You go to someone else for help instead of him. You needed tech support. A charger. Help moving the couch. And instead of calling your six-foot-two, military-trained, emotionally unstable boyfriend — you asked Xavier. Caleb didn’t say anything. Just stood in the doorway, watching, calculating how long it would take to move the entire solar system to make sure you never do that again.

3. You don’t sit on his lap when there’s clearly space.You chose the chair. Next to him. Not on him. He’s not mad. No, no. He's just questioning the entire fabric of your connection and whether you’ve lost all sense of instinct. And when you finally realize and climb into his lap? He sighs like a man being restored to life.

4. You post a photo where you're not touching him.Nice shot. Great lighting. Cute outfit. But why is he two feet away and not glued to your side like a shadow with military clearance? His arm belongs around your waist. His hand belongs on your thigh. And your caption? Should’ve been his name, followed by a possessive noun.

5. You forget to wear his dog tags. He left them for you. Carefully. On your nightstand. The same tags he’s worn through hell. And you? Walked out the door wearing a cute sweater and nothing that says “belonging to Colonel Caleb.” He’ll never say a word. He’ll just strip you slow the second you get home and fasten them back around your neck himself. With teeth.

5 Lies Caleb Tells Himself About You

1. “I don’t care that she uses my toothbrush.”You could take a fresh one. You don’t. You reach for his, same as always — like that handle belongs to you more than to him. He mutters something about germs. Then watches you rinse with that smug little smile. And later, when you're asleep, he moves it back to your side of the sink. Right where you like it.

2. “She can wear whatever she wants.”And you do. His shirt. His flight jacket. That tiny black top you swear is “practical.” He acts unbothered. Says nothing. But the second someone else looks too long? He stands behind you. One hand on your waist. That casual kind of possessive that feels like a warning wrapped in warmth.

3. “I don’t need her to text me when she gets home.”You’re a grown woman. A Hunter. You’ve neutralized things with more teeth than common sense. You say “Don’t wait up.” He says “Sure.” Then checks his phone every ten minutes like it's a heartbeat monitor and he's waiting to hear yours again.

4. “It’s fine if she flirts. I know it’s harmless.”You’re charming. It’s part of who you are. You wink. Smile. Lean in a little too close. Caleb plays it cool. Says, “She’s always like that.” Then grabs your waist in front of everyone and whispers: “Try that again, and I’ll fuck you so hard next time you won’t remember anyone else’s name.”

5. “She doesn’t need to say she loves me every day.”You say it once. In passing. A low little “love you” as you walk away, like it’s nothing. But he hears it like an oath. And that night? He holds your hand a little tighter. Pulls your body a little closer. Not because he needs to hear it again. But because if he doesn’t touch you, he might forget how to breathe.

5 Things That Make Him Go Completely Feral (In Lust, Not Rage)

1. Your hair falls in his face. Leaning over him. Stretching across the couch. Just close enough that it brushes his cheek like it has rights. You don’t even notice. But he does. Every time. He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t move. Just breathes in and lets the world narrow to that one soft, smug part of you.

2. You chew on your thumb when you’re thinking. Not seductively. Not even consciously. Just a tiny bite to the edge of your nail while you’re mid-rant about your latest recon or trying to remember the name of a street vendor. It’s nothing. Stupid. Barely a gesture. And yet — he stares. Tracks it like a countdown. Fists flexing slow. Jaw tight. Because that mouth should never look that innocent.

3. You interrupt him when he’s cooking. He’s focused. Knife in hand. Half-distracted by heat and oil. And then you slide in behind him. Touch his lower back. Squeeze something you shouldn’t. Say “Smells good, chef,” with a grin that makes his whole spine forget how to hold. He curses. Tries to shoo you off. You lick something off his finger. And now dinner’s going to burn.

4. You try on his Fleet cap like it’s a joke. You lift it off the rack. Set it crooked on your head. Salute with two fingers and that smile that once made him fall off a training tower. “Colonel,” you say. And he’s gone. He should laugh. He doesn’t. He walks over, takes it off you slow, and kisses your temple like he’s reassigning you to a very different kind of mission.

5. You say “I’m yours”. Not in bed. Not in public. Just… casually. In passing. In that low voice you only use when something’s real. “I’m yours.”He looks at you like you just disarmed a bomb with your bare hands. And then he ruins you for saying it so lightly.

5 Power Couple Moments That Made Everyone Else Jealous (And a Little Scared)

1. You’re the only one allowed to fly with him in his military jet.Clearance denied. Protocol says no. Regulations triple-confirm it. And yet — you’re in the co-pilot seat, boots up, fingers tracing buttons you’re not supposed to touch. He doesn’t stop you. Someone once asked why you get to ride with him when no one else does. He looked up from the cockpit and said, “She’s my gravity.” End of discussion.

2. You only need to place your hand on his to calm him down.No words. No pleading. No strategic de-escalation. Just your fingers, settling lightly over his, when something in him starts to coil too tight. And just like that — his spine eases. The heat in his eyes lowers by a degree. People have seen him end arguments with three words. They’ve never seen him go silent for anyone but you.

3. You’re the only person he’ll interrupt a briefing for.He’s mid-sentence. Room full of officers. Tactical projections glowing on the wall. His phone buzzes. He glances down, sees your name — and pauses. “Give me five,” he says. And walks out without waiting for permission. Someone once asked who it was. He said, “The only priority higher than this fleet.” No one asked again.

4. You walk in on his arm at the Farspace Fleet annual gala.He’s in dress whites. You’re in black. And the room — full of admirals, envoys, diplomats — parts like mist when you enter. He doesn’t introduce you. He doesn’t need to. You’re not just his date. You’re the one who makes him dangerous in silence. And everyone knows it.

5. You don’t need words to communicate.One glance. A tilt of your head. A tiny shift in posture across the room. He’s already moving. Already reading you like mission data. To others, it looks like magic. Intuition. Maybe telepathy. But for you two? It’s just muscle memory — built from years of almosts, nevers, and finallys.

5 Times Caleb Was a Walking Red Flag But You Loved Him Anyway

1. He pulled the full personnel file on a man you once smiled at.You were being polite. Friendly. The guy asked something harmless, you laughed. By morning, Caleb had his record open on a secure datapad, scrolling like he wasn’t reading a life — just calculating the risk factor. You asked what he was doing. He said, “I like knowing who wants what’s mine.” And then kissed you like he hoped you never asked him to stop.

2. He showed up at your door at 02:03 AM. Soaking wet. Furious. Silent.You missed one message. One. He waited. Thirty minutes. An hour. And then something in him snapped. No threats. No drama. Just the sound of his knock like a warning shot. You opened the door. He didn’t speak. Just stared. And then pulled you in with a grip like survival wasn’t optional anymore.

3. He scared the hell out of a junior pilot for asking your name.The kid was fresh. Eager. Smiled a little too long. Said, “Hey, what should I call you?” You started to answer. Then turned — and saw Caleb across the room. Expression calm. Stance neutral. Eyes loaded. The pilot apologized before you even said a word.

4. He slammed his hand on the table when you joked about breaking up.Just a joke. A throwaway line. Something stupid like “Guess I’ll go find someone less intense.” And his hand hit the surface before the words fully left your mouth. Not loud. Not violent. Just final. He didn’t yell. Didn’t argue. Just looked at you like you’d put a knife in his ribs and smiled about it. You never made that joke again.

5. He called you “dangerous” — and meant it like a vow.It was late. You were arguing. You said something sharp. He caught your wrist and said it low, almost reverent: “You’re dangerous.” But not like an accusation. Like awe. Like worship. Like he’d already decided to stay, even if you wrecked him completely. Even if he’d have to protect the world from you. Or protect you from himself.

5 Petty Jealousies That Reveal Just How Much Zayne’s Obsessed With You

1. Someone else bandaged your scratch. Just a graze. A stupid piece of shrapnel across your forearm. A colleague wrapped it up. No big deal. You came home smiling. Told him it barely hurt. He nodded. Quiet. Then excused himself to the kitchen. Five minutes later, he returned with antiseptic, clean gauze, and the words: “Take it off. I’m doing it properly.” You didn’t argue. Neither did he. 2. Someone at work lent you their umbrella. A man. It was raining. You forgot yours. He offered. You accepted. Zayne didn’t say a thing when you mentioned it over dinner. Just hummed. Neutral. The next morning, you found a new umbrella in your bag. Carbon fiber. Windproof. Labeled discreetly with your initials. You didn’t ask how he knew the exact weight your bag could carry without straining your shoulder. 3. You asked the waiter to recommend a wine. It was harmless. Polite. You were curious. But Zayne was sitting right there. He didn’t blink. Just looked at the waiter, then at you. Then took the list back. “Actually,” he said, calm as glass, “she prefers reds with less acidity. I’ll order.” You nodded. The waiter nodded. And somewhere between the clink of glasses, you realized that wasn't about wine at all. 4. You didn’t invite him to your morning training. He’d had a night shift. Surgery ran late. You wanted him to rest. So you left quietly. He woke up to an empty bed, your gym bag missing, and a silence that felt like a closed door. You came back to find his routine disrupted, his pulse still too fast — and a protein shake mixed just how you like it, chilled and waiting on the table. He never mentioned it. But now, if you decide to “let him rest” again… your training starts later. And doesn’t involve clothes. 5. You called another man “smart.” It was a game show. Trivia night. Some stranger on-screen made a clever move. You smiled. “Wow. That was actually really smart.” Zayne didn’t look up from his tablet. Didn’t even shift. But ten minutes later, you found yourself in a very precise debate about probability, strategy, and why that move wasn’t that brilliant after all. You didn’t argue. You just leaned closer. He didn’t smirk, but you felt it anyway.

5 Lies Zayne Tells Himself About You

1. "I’m just your cardiologist during exams." It’s clinical. Professional. Necessary. He listens to your heartbeat, takes your vitals, asks you to breathe deeper — deeper. You unbutton your shirt. He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t look. Doesn’t feel anything. Except for the part where he adjusts his gloves a little too tightly. And maybe takes one extra second to remove the stethoscope from your skin. 2. "Lunch tastes the same without you." He orders the same thing. Same café. Same tea. But the pastry tastes off. The space feels louder. The table — emptier. He tells himself it’s fine. Then brings the leftovers back to his office. Doesn’t touch them. Just leaves the box where your hand might find it later. 3. "I don’t need to pick you up." It’s logical. You’re a professional. Your job runs over sometimes. So does his. But your message was short. The streetlights are on. The buses are unreliable. He checks traffic cams. Weather. Public transit delays. Then sits very still, staring at his phone, wondering how to offer you a ride without making it sound like panic. 4. "I’m not checking. I’m sleeping." You once left while he was asleep. You thought it was kinder. Quieter. Now he says he “needed water” or “had a dream.” But every night, at 3 AM, his hand reaches. Just to feel your back. Your wrist. The smallest proof that you haven’t disappeared again. 5. "Short skirts are inefficient." He says they’re impractical. Not suited for cold weather. Definitely not for terrain with hostile wanderer activity. You raise a brow. He adds, “You’re not seventeen. Dress like it.” But the second no one’s watching, his hand is already sliding up your thigh under the table. And when you raise a brow at him, he just says, flat: “Checking for circulation.” You’re not fooled. He’s already failed the mission.

5 Things That Make Zayne Go Completely Feral (In Lust, Not Rage)

1. You straighten his tie. You’re not thinking about it. Just reaching out, adjusting the knot, smoothing the line down his chest like it’s second nature. He stays still. Breath held. Eyes on your face. You step back. He doesn’t. Because now all he can think about is using that same tie to bind your wrists to the chair in his office — and how many minutes he can steal between appointments without compromising your breathing. 2. You dip your finger into the frosting of his pastry. You don’t ask. Just lean in, collect a bit of cream with your fingertip — and taste it. Oblivious. Innocent. Distracted by something else. He watches. Silently. And now the fork in his hand feels criminally unnecessary, because his mouth is dry, his mind’s gone blank, and he’s halfway to pulling you into his lap just to return the favor — with interest. 3. You take off your bra without removing your shirt. It’s casual. Automatic. You’re talking about your day, laughing, and then — One arm out. Then the other. The strap slides through the sleeve and vanishes into your laundry bag like it never existed. His brain glitches. His hands twitch. And he will absolutely spend the rest of the evening pretending to listen while picturing every technical step of reversing that maneuver with his teeth. 4. You imitate him. Badly. You’re wearing his lab coat. His glasses. Sitting at his desk, brows drawn, lips pressed tight. Your impression is awful. He should be annoyed. But instead — he watches. Sharp. Quiet. And when you finally laugh and start to take it off, he gets up. Takes the coat from your shoulders himself. And tells you, too evenly, “You forgot the gloves.” 5. You trace lazy shapes on his wrist while talking about something unrelated. You’re saying something about your neighbor’s cat. Something trivial. But your fingers are moving in a slow, absent pattern across his skin. And Zayne — who has operated on live hearts under pressure, who has held lives in one hand and death in the other — is currently struggling not to grab your wrist and drag you onto the desk. Because apparently, nothing in this galaxy has the precision impact of your fingertip.

5 Power Couple Moments That Made Everyone Else Jealous (And a Little Scared)

1. You have a keycard to his office.Not a guest pass. Not a shared access code. A permanent, personalized, high-level card to a room most staff can’t even knock on without permission. You walked in one day mid-shift, casual, spinning the card between your fingers like it was a hairpin. Three nurses saw. One dropped her tablet. Rumors started before you even closed the door. Zayne didn’t correct them.

2. When he received a prestigious award, the first person he thanked was you.Best cardiothoracic surgeon of the year. Cameras flashing. Applause rising. Everyone expected a speech about innovation and responsibility. Instead, he said: “I’d like to thank the one person who keeps me alive enough to do this work. My partner. My favorite interruption.”Then he looked straight at you. The auditorium melted.

3. You’re both dressed like weapons. And everyone notices.He wears tailored coats, precision-cut collars, charcoal palettes like a tactical signature.You? Heels like blades. A suit that redefines “combat-ready.” And when you walk together — sharp, silent, side by side — people stop talking. Someone once tried to photograph you. The headline read: Unknown dignitaries arrive. Security does not comment.

4. You don’t argue. You duet.Someone crossed a line. Loud, drunk, smug. Zayne responded first — clean, cold, just one sentence long. The man blinked. Started to retort. You finished it for him. Elegant, sharp, no profanity required. He left. Fast. And you turned back to Zayne like nothing happened — while everyone else tried to recover from what could only be described as a linguistic orgasm.

5. He opens doors, buttons coats, and moves chairs like it’s instinct.Not performative. Not flashy. Just… precise. He adjusts your sleeve without thinking. Helps you into the car like it’s always been his hand. You barely register it. But the woman across the street? The one who saw it all from behind her coffee cup? She’s still texting her group chat about “the man in the long coat and the woman who ruined my standards.”

5 Times Zayne Was a Walking Red Flag But You Loved Him Anyway

1. He gets live data from your heart monitor.Your Hunter’s Watch sends updates to the cloud. Zayne rerouted the feed to his private tablet. “Just in case,” he said. Now he knows when your pulse spikes. When you’re injured. When you don’t sleep. You never gave him access. You never had to. The first time he called mid-mission to say “slow your breathing” — you realized he wasn’t tracking. He was watching over.

2. He absolutely hates when you drive. Always.You're capable. Fast. Efficient. And yet — every time you take the wheel, something in him shuts down. He doesn’t argue. Doesn’t protest. Just goes silent. And stares at the road like it personally offended him. He says, “It’s fine.” But he holds the dashboard too tightly for that to be true.

3. He freezes every time you say “I can handle it.”You mean well. You’re strong. You are capable. But when you brush him off with a casual “I’ve got this,” he doesn’t nod. Doesn’t smile. He just stops. Eyes unreadable. Hands still. And when you come back later — even fine — there’s already a backup plan on your datapad. Three versions. In color.

4. He never replies to emotional messages right away.You send: “I miss you. A lot.” His read receipt appears. Then… nothing. For two hours. And just when you start to spiral — he sends a photo. Of your favorite pastry. Waiting on his table. With one word: “Soon.” You hate how well it works.

5. He spoke to the man flirting with you like he was reviewing his autopsy.It was harmless. A drink. A joke. A compliment. You laughed. Zayne didn’t. He stepped in, shook the man’s hand, and said: "Tell me, has anyone ever checked your prefrontal lobe for impulse control irregularities?"The man left. Quickly. You rolled your eyes. Zayne didn’t apologize. He just took your hand. And changed the subject. Completely calm. Fully satisfied.

5 Petty Jealousies That Reveal Just How Much Rafayel’s Obsessed With You

1. Someone comments “🔥” under your photo — and you like it.He sees it. Of course he does. He sees everything. You think it’s harmless. He thinks it’s appalling that someone dared mark your beauty with an emoji better suited to grilled meat. He says nothing. But that night, you get a charcoal sketch of yourself in your favorite pose, signed with a tiny flame in the corner. When you ask about it, he hums. “Oh, just honoring your admirers’ creative input.”

2. You linger too long in front of another artist’s painting.Not just glance. Linger. Eyes soft. Head tilted. That thoughtful little breath you take when something moves you. He stands beside you, perfectly still. Smiling. Then leans in and whispers, “Cutie, if you start weeping, I may need to challenge the gallery owner to a duel.” You're not sure if he’s joking. You’re also not sure you want him to be.

3. You talk about a beautiful place you visited… without him.You’re glowing. Describing the light, the air, the view. He listens, nods, even asks questions. Then: “And did the sun taste the same without me there?” You pause. He smiles, all charm and cheekbones. “I’m just wondering how it dared rise, knowing we weren’t together.”

4. You send him a photo — and there’s someone else’s hand in the frame.You didn’t notice it. He did. He stares at the image like it’s a crime scene. Zooms in. Later, he replies: “Beautiful composition. Fascinating use of background tension. Would love to discuss the symbolism of that wrist — whose is it?” You laugh. He doesn’t.

5. You say some actor is “exactly your type.”He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t blink. Just goes very still, then casually asks, “Before or after makeup?” Later, you find your datapad background changed. It’s him. In perfect lighting. Shirt unbuttoned just so. The caption reads: “Still unsure who your type is? Look into my eyes. You’ll remember.”

5 Lies Rafayel Tells Himself About You

1. “I didn’t paint you. It’s just resemblance.”He insists it’s a study of emotion. A symbol. A face from memory. But the tilt of the head, the mouth, the birthmark near the collarbone — they’re all yours. You ask, teasing: “Is that me?” He blinks. Smiles slowly. “Cutie,” he says, “I wouldn’t paint you without permission.” And then changes the subject. Very deliberately.

2. “I don't reread your old messages.”He’s far too elegant for that. Far too composed. Except on quiet nights. On long flights. In museums where the silence scratches at his skin. Then he opens the archive. Just for the rhythm of your words. The accidental poetry. The way you once wrote “come home soon” like it meant more than time and place. He says it’s for “emotional reference.” He lies beautifully.

3. “I don't watch your mouth when you talk.”He’s an artist. A visual thinker. Of course he looks at faces. But not like that. Not at yours. Not like he’s memorizing the shape of every syllable just to feel them later against his throat. Not like he’s fantasizing mid-conversation about shutting you up with his tongue and tasting the sentence off your lips. No. Never. He’s listening.

4. “I haven’t memorized your scent through every season.”He claims not to notice. But he knows the spring version of you — soft rain, citrus skin, the aftershock of lilac. He knows the winter version — leather gloves, cinnamon breath, quiet wool. He doesn’t name them. Doesn’t chase the memory. But when you walk past — his eyes close. Briefly. Automatically. Like he’s gathering air before going under.

5. “I don't imagine your name with mine.”He’s not that romantic. Puh-lease. Marriage is a construct, surnames are politics, and love is beyond paperwork. He says all that with a flourish. And yet — there’s a notebook. Tucked under his mattress. Full of signatures. Yours. His. Just to see how it would look. Just in case.

5 Things That Make Rafayel Go Completely Feral (In Lust, Not Rage)

1. When you eat something juicy. Fruit. Fingers. With zero awareness.You bite into it slowly, distracted. Something sweet. Ripe. Juice glides over your lower lip, and your tongue follows without thinking. He watches, motionless. Not breathing. Not blinking. You glance at him. He tilts his head. Smiles. Says lightly: "That peach is about to become my personal enemy." You laugh. He doesn’t. He’s too busy wondering how it’s possible to be jealous of the fruit.

2. When you kiss his hand instead of his mouth. He leans in, expecting lips. Contact. Heat. And instead — you take his hand. Press a kiss into his palm. Soft. Deliberate. His breath catches. His throat tightens. Because that wasn’t affection. That was submission. And now he’s wondering just how far you’d let him take it. 3. When you tease him with your voice. Not the words. The tone. The whisper. You say his name like silk sliding over glass. You ask “You think so?” like it means “prove it.” You laugh — not loudly, but just enough to make his chest hurt. He could diagram it, break it into sound waves, prove the seduction in math. But instead, he just steps closer. And says, low: "Say that again. Slower." 4. When you sit on the floor, barefoot, flipping through his sketches — looking like you belong there. You’re humming something. Knees tucked up. No shoes. No guard. You tilt your head, study a piece, murmur: “I like this one.” He doesn’t even remember drawing it. He just remembers the way your hair spills over your shoulder and how the studio feels suddenly too small for how much he wants you. He doesn’t touch you. Not yet. He just watches like a starving thing. Memorizing the moment in case he dies of it later. 5. When you say “more.” In any context. “More sugar.” “More time.” “More.” That’s all it takes. One syllable. One open door. You never mean it the way he hears it — but he takes it as a promise. Like permission. Like a match tossed onto something already too dry to survive. And the next time he touches you? He makes damn sure you say it again.

5 Power Couple Moments That Made Everyone Else Jealous (And a Little Scared)

1. He painted a self-portrait — with you reflected in his pupils. Not your full form. Not a shared composition. Just his face. Direct gaze. And in both eyes: you. Looking at him. Always. When the painting debuted in the gallery’s main hall, critics called it “a study in obsession.” He called it accurate. 2. In an interview, he said you’re the only one who gets his sketches. The host asked who his work goes to first — gallery, agent, press. He smiled lazily and answered, “Her.” The room stilled. “The raw ones. The incomplete. The brutal drafts no one else deserves to see.” He didn’t say your name. He didn’t have to. The moment he said it, you were already trending. 3. He delayed his own exhibition opening because you weren’t there yet. The venue was full. Lights ready. Guests murmuring. But he stood at the entrance, fingers laced behind his back, perfectly calm. “She’s on the way,” he said. “She had a prior engagement.” No one questioned him. Later, when you finally arrived — graceful, composed, in a deep sapphire gown that matched the evening — only he noticed the tiny scratch on your knuckle. The faintest shadow of something darker, just beneath the perfume. You smiled. He took your hand. And the doors opened like they’d been waiting for you all along. 4. Someone flirted with him. He looked at you. Then said: “I’m already spoken for. Permanently.” It was charming. Playful. Someone touched his wrist, laughed softly, leaned a little too close. He didn’t pull away. Didn’t react. Just turned his head toward you. Found your eyes. Then said it — quietly, cleanly, like a closing signature on a finished masterpiece. 5. At a charity auction, he sold a painting titled: “Painted Between Her Breathing and Mine.” The crowd didn’t know what to do with that. Some laughed nervously. Some applauded. The bidding started high and ended astronomical. But as the winning guest walked past you, holding the canvas with reverent hands — he still glanced back. At you. As if to say: That canvas holds the image. But I keep the original.

5 Times Rafayel Was a Walking Red Flag But You Loved Him Anyway

1. He can disappear for three days and return with, “I just needed to stop being jealous.” No warning. No calls. Just silence, like he fell off the planet. You panic. Rage. Rehearse five speeches. And then he walks in — composed, scented like night air and oil paint. “Sorry,” he says softly. “I was being irrational. Had to… recalibrate.” You want to scream. Instead, you breathe him in like he’s home. 2. He destroyed the career of a critic who called your photo “poorly lit.” It wasn’t even a real insult. Just a throwaway line in a blog. But Raf read it. Once. And within a week, that critic was blacklisted from three galleries, publicly corrected by five curators, and accidentally misquoted in a viral controversy. You found out much later. He just looked at you and said, “No one calls shadow a flaw when it falls across you.” 3. He faked an illness so you wouldn’t leave for a mission. Nothing dramatic. Just a cough. A warm forehead. You hesitated. Postponed. Stayed. The next morning, he was radiant. Healthy. Annoyingly smug. You narrowed your eyes. He only shrugged, kissed your wrist, and whispered, “I needed one more night. Forgive the performance.” You did. Of course you did. The guilt felt almost like foreplay. 4. He left your clothes wet in the wash so you’d wear his shirt instead. Accident, he claimed. Timing. Cycles. But somehow, your entire outfit was still in the machine — cold, damp, and useless — while his favorite linen shirt lay folded neatly on the bed. You put it on. He watched you button it. And smiled like he'd won a silent war no one else even knew was happening. 5. He reads your messages without asking. Calmly. You know it. He knows you know. He doesn’t deny it. Just traces your jaw one evening and says, “You don’t hide anything from me. That’s why it doesn’t count as intrusion.” And the worst part? He’s right. You stopped hiding a long time ago.

5 Petty Jealousies That Reveal Just How Much Xavier’s Obsessed With You

1. You nap on the wrong side of the bed.You nap on the wrong side of the bed. Not wrong, exactly. Just… not his. You’re curled up in the late-afternoon light, peaceful, quiet, unaware. He doesn’t wake you. Doesn’t move you. But when you stir, there’s a weight in the silence. His side of the bed is untouched. Pillow perfectly aligned. No warmth. No scent. And your blanket — tucked just a little tighter — like a quiet reminder that even when you’re here, something’s missing. Something he’s not sure how to ask for without sounding ridiculous. Like: your perfume. On his pillow. Where it should be.

2. You tell him about a dream. Someone else was in it.You describe it absently. A mission. A flash of danger. And a man — not him — at your side. He listens. Nods. Doesn’t blink. But that night, when he kisses you, his hand stays on the back of your neck longer than usual. And his mouth says I want you, but his grip says: you don’t forget me, even in sleep.

3. You keep something old, worn, unnamed.A keychain. A patch. A folded slip of paper. Nothing dramatic. But it’s always near. He asks, once: “What is that?” You smile. “Just something from a long time ago.” He nods. Never brings it up again. But two days later, he leaves something else beside it. Not to replace. Just to match the weight.

4. You let the barista choose your drink instead of him.You smiled. Said “sure, why not.” Took the new coffee without hesitation. He was beside you. Holding your usual. You didn’t notice. But when you left the café, his own drink sat untouched. And he walked a little faster. A little quieter. As if recalibrating the fact that maybe someone else knows your taste. Even if it’s just in coffee.

5. You close your laptop too fast when he walks in.“Just a movie,” you say. Too quickly. He doesn’t ask. Doesn’t tilt his head. Just nods and sets his gloves on the table like he didn’t notice the flicker in your tone. Later, while checking your tabs, he sees the paused frame — teeth on skin, hands holding wrists, someone begging. Silently. His breath doesn’t change. His expression stays neutral. But when he finds you, hours later, he doesn’t speak. Just pins your arms above your head and kisses you until you can’t remember what the scene looked like — only what it felt like when it became real.

5 Lies Xavier Tells Himself About You

1. “I’m not jealous of whoever taught you how to fight like that.”He knows it doesn’t matter. It’s skill. It’s history. Efficiency passed from one warrior to another. He tells himself it’s irrelevant. But when he watches you move — precise, lethal, beautiful — something coils in his chest. Not because of the technique. But because someone else saw you become this version of yourself. And he didn’t.

2. “It’s logical to sleep apart sometimes.” You need rest. Space. Post-mission decompression. He understands. It’s healthy. Statistically sound. But the first night you say “I’ll sleep in my own apartment,” the bed feels wrong. His internal balance off by degrees he can’t quantify. He tells himself it’s fine. Then stares at the ceiling for hours, heart syncing to a rhythm that isn’t there.

3. “It doesn’t bother me when you keep things to yourself.” You’re independent. He respects that. Boundaries are natural. But you say “I’m fine” with a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes, and he catalogs ten micro-expressions that say otherwise. Still, he nods. Doesn’t push. Then replays your words in his head for the next three days, trying to solve you like a puzzle that refuses to open.

4. "I could walk away, if it ever came to that." He tells himself he’s rational. Detached. If you chose something else — someone else — he would adapt. But deep down, he knows: he’s already memorized your weight in his arms, the way your name fits inside his silence. If it ever came to leaving… he wouldn’t walk. He’d stay exactly where you left him. Quiet. Waiting. Ruined.

5. "You wouldn’t lie to protect me. Would you?" You say “it was nothing,” “I’m just tired,” “I handled it.” And he accepts it. On the surface. But his mind starts building alternate versions. Safer ones. Worse ones. Ones where you bled and said nothing. He tells himself you’d never hide real danger. But he still checks your vitals in the logs. Every time.

5 Things That Make Xavier Go Completely Feral (In Lust, Not Rage)

1. You walk in wearing a bright yellow duck kigurumi. Absurd. Fuzzy. Zipped up wrong. You yawn, mumble something about tea, and pad across the room like comfort incarnate. He looks up. Blinks once. And forgets what he was doing. The beak hood. The bare ankles. The way you scratch your neck, half-asleep. None of it should be seductive. But now he can’t look away. His gaze tracks you like threat assessment — only it's not danger he’s calculating. It’s proximity. Access. How long he can pretend he's unaffected… before you end up against the wall. Still wearing the duck. For now.

2. You adjust the chest plate of his armor. No rush. Just fingertips over matte metal, sliding a buckle, pressing a clasp. Your hands linger longer than they need to. You don’t even realize you’re doing it. But he does. He’s counting your seconds, your pressure, the exact placement of your thumb. If anyone asks why his next shot missed the center by half an inch, it’s because you touched him like a secret no one else was allowed to see. 3. You peel off your combat gloves with your teeth. It’s efficient. Quick. Practical. But the way your mouth closes around the strap and your fingers flex once, twice, before they’re bare — He’s staring before he knows he is. Processing nothing but the curve of your jaw and the memory of that same mouth around his length. The second glove doesn’t stand a chance. Neither does he, honestly. 4. You wear a thin black choker. No explanation. No warning. It’s not part of your gear. Has no field utility. But it’s there, snug against your throat like a promise no one else knows about. He sees it once and looks away. Sees it again and swallows too hard. The third time, he doesn’t look at all — he just shifts in his seat like everything in his world needs immediate recalibration. 5. You say “later” when he leans in. Just a little. Enough to feel the pull. And you smile, soft, apologetic, not teasing — just... not now. He nods, like he understands. He always does. But from that second forward, every calculation, every breath, every cell in his body becomes attuned to the moment you say now. And when you finally do — he doesn’t wait. He doesn’t ask. He just takes, like patience was never part of the equation to begin with.

5 Power Couple Moments That Made Everyone Else Jealous (And a Little Scared)

1. You moved in perfect sync — without saying a single word. In the training hall, you didn’t say a word — but moved like a mirrored code. You shifted, he adjusted. You reached, he passed. No signals, no commands. Just two bodies in absolute sync. Someone watching whispered, “Do they rehearse this?” Someone else muttered, “No. That’s just them.” And suddenly, no one wanted to spar with either of you. 2. Someone called him “too quiet.” You didn’t let it slide. It was a throwaway comment —“He’s so silent, it’s weird.” You didn’t even look up from your drink. “Then you’ve never heard him breathe next to you.” The room went still. Xavier didn’t react. But you felt it — how he went still too, the way his attention locked fully on you. As if your words changed the temperature. 3. He braided your hair for three weeks while your wrist healed. At your desk. Between reports. No comments. No hesitation. Just practiced hands and quiet efficiency, like it belonged in the schedule. And maybe it wasn’t romantic. Or loud. But after that, no one ever looked at you the same way — because somehow, without trying, the two of you had redefined what closeness looked like. 4. You didn’t ask for his jacket. You didn’t have to. A shift in the wind. Goosebumps on your arms. No complaint, no drama. He just stepped behind you, slid his cardigan onto your shoulders like it belonged there, and said nothing. The couple walking by paused. Stared. You didn’t. You were already reaching for his hand. 5. There’s a photo of you on his desk. Just you, caught mid-laugh, in natural light. Among tactical reports and encrypted drives. He never explains it. Never acknowledges it. But everyone who enters that room sees it. And no one ever asks if he's serious about you. They already know.

5 Times Xavier Was a Walking Red Flag But You Loved Him Anyway

1. He monitors your meals like it’s a clinical trial. “You didn’t eat enough protein today.” “That pastry had no nutritional value.” “Are you hydrating?” He says it softly. Calmly. Like a doctor. Like someone who cares. And yet — you’ve seen him survive three days on black coffee and whatever snack bar was closest to his hand. You mention this once. He pauses. Then says, “That’s different. I’m used to operating under stress. You’re not.” End of discussion.

2. He didn’t argue. He made the argument disappear. You disagreed about something small. Nothing dramatic. Just opposing views. He didn’t push back. Just nodded, quiet. Said, “If that’s what you think.” Later, you realized the entire issue — schedule, person, condition — was gone. Resolved. Removed. Replaced. No apology. No discussion. Just silence... and a solution that left you with nothing to win.

3. He never asked where you’d been.Not once. Not even after you were late. Not even when your message came hours too late. He didn’t accuse. Didn’t guess. He already knew. Tracked your path, logged your signal drift, checked your pulse history. All without a word. And still held the door open when you arrived.

4. He always calls via video when you’re in another city.He never misses a day. Never just texts. Always video. He says he likes seeing your face. That it “grounds him.” And maybe that’s true. Maybe. But every time the screen lights up, you notice how carefully his eyes scan the room behind you. How his voice sounds different if there’s movement. How he never quite hangs up until you say, “I’m alone. It’s quiet here.” Only then does he relax. A little. Maybe.

5. You told him, “Sometimes, you scare me.” He said, “Good.”It slipped out. Low. Uncertain. Not a joke, not an accusation — just the truth. He didn’t deny it. Didn’t soften. Just met your eyes and said, calm as ever, “Good. Then you’ll stay alert.” And for a moment, you weren’t sure if he was warning you… or protecting you from something only he could see coming.

5 Petty Jealousies That Reveal Just How Much Sylus’s Obsessed With You

1. You didn’t tag him. He made sure the world knew anyway.You posted a photo. Cute. Stylish. Perfect lighting. But no mention of him. No tag. No trace. He reposted it within minutes. Same photo. New caption: “Correction: mine.” It got five times the reach. And suddenly, everyone knew better.

2. Someone else made you laugh. Sylus didn’t.The waiter was charming. A little too witty. You laughed — loud, unfiltered. Sylus just raised a brow, pulled out his wallet, and handed the man $2000. “For your last night in customer service,” he said. He smiled. You choked on your wine. The waiter never came back.

3. You called some man a friend. Sylus ran a background check.“He’s just a friend,” you said. Lightly. Barely thinking. Sylus smiled. Tilted his head. “I’m just a man with access to his tax history.”And that was the end of that conversation.

4. You said another man had a nice voice. Sylus gave you no air.It was innocent. Harmless. “His voice is kind of nice.” Sylus said nothing. Just waited. That night, he read you poetry in three languages, one line at a time — mouth against your neck, breasts, stomach, thighs — until you begged him to stop. Not because you wanted him to. Because you physically couldn’t take more.

5. You forgot to wear his ring. He didn’t forget anything.It wasn’t intentional. You were rushing. Distracted. But he noticed. Of course he did. He said nothing all day. Then, that night — when you were breathless, undone, on your knees — he took your hand, kissed your finger, and slid the ring back into place. Slowly. Deliberately. Like sealing a deal you forgot you signed.

5 Lies Sylus Tells Himself About You

1. “I didn’t pick your outfit to match mine. Must’ve been the stylist.”It was just coincidence. That your lipstick matched his cufflinks. That your dress followed the same line as his collarbones. That when you walked in together, people paused — like royalty had arrived. He didn’t say a word. Just looked at you once. And didn’t look away for the rest of the night.

2. “I’m not furious that I wasn’t your first.”He says it doesn’t matter. Shrugs. “I’m not a teenager.” And yet, the thought of someone else touching you before him? It coils in his chest like smoke that won’t clear. He tells himself you chose him now — and that’s what counts. But the next time you moan his name, he fucks you hard enough to make sure no one else’s ever mattered.

3. “I don’t answer your messages instantly. I’m just always holding the phone.”He just… saw it. Right away. Just happened to be holding his phone. Just happened to pause mid-meeting, mid-deal, mid-war — to write: “Be safe.” You tease him for how fast he replies. He teases back. And never mentions the part where your name makes him drop everything.

4. “I’m not obsessed with the way you say my name when you’re annoyed.”You do it without thinking. That exact tone. That breath. That syllable dipped in heat. He rolls his eyes. Says, “What now, kitten?” But every time it happens — he shifts closer. Hears it again later in his head. And stores it next to the version you whisper when you want him most.

5. “I wouldn’t beg. If it came to that. …But only for you. And only once.”He’s not that man. He doesn’t plead. Doesn’t bend. But when he thinks of you leaving — really leaving — something dark and fragile coils behind his ribs. He tells himself he’d let you go. That he wouldn’t chase. But even in the lie… he’s already halfway down the hallway.

5 Things That Make Sylus Go Completely Feral (In Lust, Not Rage)

1. You ask him to zip your dress. Then don’t wear anything underneath. It’s casual. Innocent. “Help me?” You turn your back, lift your hair, and wait. He moves slow — almost reverent. But when his fingers meet bare skin where silk should be… he doesn’t finish the zip. He turns you around, steps in close, and says, “You came dressed for trouble. Good. So did I.” 2. You say “don’t be gentle” with a smile that promises you’ll say it again, louder. He always controls the pace. The heat. The rhythm. But when you lean in, lips brushing his ear, and whisper those words — something in him fractures. He doesn’t ask if you’re sure. He doesn’t give you time to change your mind. He just obeys. And makes sure you feel the echo for days. 3. You use his tie to pull him into a kiss. He likes power. Centered, composed. Collar straight, voice cool. But when you grab that perfect silk tie, wrap it around your fingers, and yank — he stumbles into you like a man starved. You kiss him once. He kisses you back like vengeance. 4. You say “yes, sir” in a tone that means the opposite. You drawl it. Sweet. Defiant. Like you know exactly what it does to him. He doesn’t argue. Doesn’t smile. Just leans in, voice low against your throat, and says, “Keep using that tone, kitten. Let’s see how long you last when I take it seriously.” You don’t last long. Not that night. 5. You put on his ring and ask, “So what does this buy me?” It’s a joke. Almost. You twirl it on your finger, playful, reckless. He watches. Then smiles slow, wicked. “That?” he says, stepping closer. “That buys you a night where I don’t stop until you forget your own name.” And just like that, you do.

5 Power Couple Moments That Made Everyone Else Jealous (And a Little Scared)

1. The earring incident at the casino. You dropped it. Somewhere between the blackjack table and the bar. Nothing dramatic — until your face shifted. That quiet flicker of loss. Sylus didn’t sigh. Didn’t scold. Just raised a brow. And a dozen seasoned criminals began crawling across the velvet floor. They found it in twenty minutes. You wore it for the rest of the night. He wore the look of a man who’d moved the world back into place. 2. The arrivals are always his favorite part. You come back from missions — tired, sore, alive. And there it is: his sportscar. Engine humming. He’s waiting with a bouquet of roses so rare you don’t recognize half the species. The entire terminal watches. You don’t. You’re too busy smiling. He says, “Welcome home.” And just like that, the war disappears from your shoulders. 3. The seat at the head of the table. It was a high-stakes meeting. Old money. Dangerous names. Sylus led you in by the hand — then pulled out his chair. You blinked. He said nothing. And while you sat at the head, calm and poised, he stood behind you like a king who knows exactly where real power sits. No one even dared raise a brow. 4. The auction. Your hand. His silence. He gave you the paddle. Not instructions. You bid on instinct — numbers rising, tension thick. The item? A rare protocore with blackout-level clearance. Sylus didn’t flinch. Not once. And when the gavel dropped — he leaned in, lips brushing your ear, and said, “You can spend my money however you want, kitten. Just make sure they see you doing it.” 5. The moment the room lost him to you. It was mid-negotiation. Tense. Crucial. Every word counted. But across the table, your fingers tapped. Your eyes glazed. You were bored. Sylus watched. Then stood. “Deal’s done,” he said. “You’ll take our terms.” And somehow, they did. Because the only person in the room whose attention he wanted — was already drifting.

5 Times Sylus Was a Walking Red Flag But You Loved Him Anyway

1. He knows what’s in your delivery before you do. No one told him. But every time you order something — clothes, tech, vitamins — it’s re-screened. Not stopped. Not blocked. Just… “verified.” You only noticed when your favorite moisturizer showed up improved. New formula. Better scent. Hand-selected. Of course. 2. He said he’d put you on IV if you skip another meal. You were busy. Distracted. He asked what you’d eaten. You said, “Does coffee count?” He laughed. Once. And muttered something about installing a medical station in your apartment. He was “joking.” Until you saw the discreet courier bring an IV stand the next day. Just in case. 3. He took you to dinner at a place you hadn’t been since Academy. You didn’t realize where you were — until you saw your ex across the room. The one who cheated. Sylus just smiled. You were in a dress that made people stop breathing. He ordered champagne. Lobster. Left a four-digit tip. And made sure your ex saw everything. Including the way you kissed Sylus on the way out. 4. He froze your accounts. Just to prove a point. You said you didn’t need his money. You insisted on “independence.” So he waited until your card declined at the pharmacy. Then texted: “You have my black card. Use it. Or stay home.” You gave in. He sent flowers. 5. He apologized like a storm front. You fought. It was ugly. The next day, a gift arrived at HQ. Then another. Then six more. By day four, your car was full. You marched to his door, furious. He opened it, leaned against the frame, and said, “Took you long enough. Come yell at me. I’ll pour the wine.”

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atlabeth · 3 months ago

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bend an ear

pairing: peter parker x fem reader

summary: your boyfriend doesn't listen to you. good thing your friendly neighborhood spider-man does.

a/n: there's just something about him idk. andrew garfield spidey bc of course! look at him! this came from me playing the spider-man game after it went on sale and yearning for peter parker (will prob have to rewatch the movies bc of this) anyways hope you like it

wc: 3.6k

warning(s): reader's bf is shitty -- they argue for a while and he lowkey slut shames her. but this is basically all fluff otherwise bc childhood best friends to lovers babby!!! real yearning loverboy hours!!!

Peter just wants to go home.

It’s been… a day. He got his ass kicked by an English test (he doesn’t have time to do the readings when he’s fighting crime), got his ass kicked by Flash Thompson (it’s not like he can fight back with his super strength and pulverize his ribs), and has spent every second since his final class ended fighting petty crimes around the city.

Stopping ATM thefts and minor muggings feels good, sure, but on days like these, it doesn’t really make up for failing intro literature classes and getting absolutely zero sleep. He’s just thankful May is still letting him live with her while he studies at ESU—if he had to do all of this in addition to trying to make his rent? He doesn’t really want to think about it.

So he swung his way to the roof of some random building, and he’s taking a break. Sue him, but Peter thinks he deserves it. What’s the point of living in a city like New York if you can’t have a second to yourself every once in a while?

He’ll go home soon. Grab a bodega sandwich, maybe stop another crime, and then get home for some much needed rest. But for now, he’s just going to sit on this rooftop and relax for a second. Even Spider-man needs some peace and—

“Babe—”

“Why are you following me?”

Peter winces as the door slams open, an argument following close after as a girl storms out onto the roof followed by a guy speeding to keep up with her. His first instinct is to swing away as soon as possible, but for some reason, he stays.

“Because I want to talk!”

“God, do you even hear yourself?”

“You keep talking over me, so I really—”

“You don’t get to babe me right now!”

As if his day hadn’t been bad enough, now he’s accidentally made himself privy to some couple’s dispute. He’s about to web himself out of this third wheeling nightmare when the girl turns around with a groan, revealing her face, and Peter realizes who it is.

It’s you.

This is your apartment complex. Peter came here without even realizing it, but can he really be surprised? Your name is synonymous with peace in his brain. Comes with the territory of being friends for so long—it still calms him, even when you’re being the opposite of peaceful.

“I don’t get why you’re acting like this!” the guy exclaims, frustration clear in his voice.

Of course. Why wouldn’t your shitty boyfriend be here too? The only reason you live here is because you scored this place together; said he didn’t want you living on campus anymore. Ethan Frey might be the bane of Peter’s existence after two and a half years of him being your boyfriend.

“Because you and your posse are acting like complete jags in front of all my friends!” you shout back.

He laughs in disbelief. “I’m just being myself, babe. Besides, you’re the one who said I could invite them!”

“Because you complained about it just being my friends,” you grind out. “You weren’t even supposed to be here, Ethan! You just can’t handle the thought of me being around guys that aren’t you!”

“Well, what the hell am I supposed to think, huh?” He gestures wildly. “You spend every second with that geek and I’m supposed to believe you’re not into him?”

And now he’s eavesdropping on a conversation between you and your boyfriend about him. How could this get worse?

“God, it isn’t like that at all!” you exclaim with a mirthless laugh. “Peter is my friend— my best friend since elementary school. You knew when we got together that wasn’t going to change.”

“Yeah,” he says, nodding lazily, “but that was before I knew how obvious his hard-on for you was.”

Peter feels his face heat beneath the mask, wants to wipe the sweat off his palms. That’s how it could get worse.

Your nostrils flare as you turn away, your hands flexing while you shake your head. “Get out of here, Ethan.”

“Oh, of course that’s where you draw the line,” Ethan mocks. “When I bring up fuckin’ Peter Parker.” He pauses then chuckles. “You’d love that, wouldn’t you?”

Peter nearly intervenes right then and there, wanting to stop this mess before Ethan does anything to hurt you. But revealing himself sounds like the worst possible thing to do, so for once he listens to the rational part of his brain over the emotional.

“He’s not even here!” you retort. “I live with you, not him. I’m dating you, not him. Why are you bringing him up?”

“Because I’m not blind.” Ethan crosses his arms. “Y’know, I thought you’d get over this little thing after you let me take you out, but for some reason, it’s exactly the same. I swear you spend more time with him than me.”

Your hands clench into fists. “Get out of here.”

He scoffs. “You want me to leave you up here?”

“Yes,” you nod.

“God, you’ve been acting crazy this whole night!” he complains. “You’ll freeze up here. Just get over it—we’ll go back down, I’ll get you a beer—”

“I hate beer.”

“Then I’ll get you a fucking apple juice,” he spits. “Just stop being so dramatic.”

“You’re not listening to me!” you shout. “I want you to leave me alone!”

This time he says your name, and you shake your head.

“Go back to the apartment,” you interrupt. “Because if I have to spend another second with you, our relationship might not make it through the night.”

For once, Ethan is silent as he stares at you. You stare back with no sign of giving up. Eventually, he just huffs and shakes his head.

“Whatever.” He starts walking towards the door. “You better cool off up here, because I’m not dealing with this shit when you come back down.”

You stare at the door for a good twenty seconds once he closes the door—slams it, rather—before you angrily kick a stray soda can. Your childhood days of rec soccer must still be in you, because you get an arc on it. Just before it can go over the side of the building, Peter shoots a web to catch it wholly on instinct.

Your eyes widen as you dart around, and Peter is finally spotted from his place on top of the roof door building thing. What is that even called? He doesn’t really have time to think about it. The aluminum can crunches as it flies into his hand, and you stare at him in complete shock.

“Uh,” his mouth suddenly feels very dry, but he has to make some excuse for why he’s up here, “littering is bad.”

Good one, Parker.

“You’re Spider-man,” you say, eyes still wide.

“The one and only,” he nods.

“Oh my god,” you mumble, finally seeming to break out of your shock as you cover your mouth and turn away. “Oh my god, Spider-man just heard my relationship falling apart.”

“I didn’t hear anything!” Peter exclaims. “I—”

You shoot him the withering look he loves so much, that was able to get his bullies to shrink on the spot in high school—it feels weird being on the receiving end of it.

“I’m not stupid,” you say.

“I kn—” He has to stop himself from saying I know, because realistically Spider-man has no idea who you are. “I’m sorry.”

You huff and cross your arms. “Do your superhero duties include eavesdropping on failing couples?”

“It was an accident,” Peter says. “I was up here before you were. So technically, you were eavesdropping on my actual superhero duties.”

You laugh, and he smiles just at the sound of it. One benefit to wearing the mask, because it would expose him right on the spot. “Oh yeah? And what are those?”

“Patrolling the streets,” he says. “I’ve got a very good vantage point from up here.”

You hum, your mood turning a bit more morose as you glance away. “Well, I’m sorry you had to hear all that during your patrol.”

“I’m sorry you had to go through it,” he says. “Your boyfriend sounds like an asshole.”

You roll your eyes. “He’s fine, most of the time. Just had a little bit too much to drink.”

Peter will never understand why you defend Ethan so much. You’ve been together since freshman year and he’s only gotten worse since then—maybe he hides how he is around you, because he hasn’t really shied away from showing Peter how much he hates him this past year.

“He looked pretty sober to me,” Peter says. “And trust me, I have plenty of experience fighting guys that have had too much to drink.”

You huff. “What are you, a spider-therapist?”

“I’m good at a lot of things,” he says. “And I’m always good for bending an ear.”

“Surely you have better things to do than listen to me complain.”

Peter shakes his head. “My schedule’s pretty clear right now, actually.”

“Really?” you marvel. “There’s no crime in New York City at,” you check your watch, “11:37 pm?”

“Absolutely none,” he says. “I solved it all. At least for now.”

You laugh again at that and gesture with your head as you walk over to the edge of the roof. “Then I guess I’ll take you up on that offer.”

Peter jumps down and follows you over. You hoist yourself on top of the wall, legs dangling over the edge, and he feels himself frown as he leans his back against the wall and looks up at you.

“Isn’t that a little dangerous?”

“You’ll catch me if I fall,” you say.

“Obviously,” Peter says. “I’m supposed to encourage safe behavior in New Yorkers, though.”

You laugh and tilt your head up towards the night sky. The moonlight reflects in your eyes and Peter knows he could get lost in them forever. “Just this once, then.”

“I think I can let it slide.”

“Good.”

A comfortable beat of silence passes between the two of you, and Peter finds himself smiling. No wonder he ended up at your place out of instinct. There’s nothing else like your company.

“I always think it’ll be different,” you murmur. Peter glances up at you, your expression shifted to something more melancholic. “We’ll have a good day, which’ll turn into a good week and a good month, but he always does something to mess it up. It’s like it’s in his DNA.”

He stays silent as you think. Most of the time when you rant to Peter, you just want to be heard, not given advice. At this point, he’s an expert at listening to you. It’s not like he minds.

“I want things to work out. I— I still love him. I mean, I think I do. But everything is a fucking struggle with him. If I don’t do things the exact way he wants, if I try to do something for me instead of him, if I can’t read his fucking mind, then he loses it and we argue. And I’m so fucking tired of arguing!”

Your voice has risen by now, and you bite down hard on your cheek. Peter doesn’t realize he’s started reaching towards you to comfort you until you look back down at him, and he runs his hand over his head in an effort to cover it up.

“I’m sorry,” you sigh. “I promise, I’m a much nicer person than this. You just caught me at the worst time.”

“Don’t worry,” he says. “I know.”

Your brows rise. “Spider-man knows I’m a nice person?”

“I can just tell,” he rushes, trying to save himself. He’s doing a real good job at not revealing his identity. “I’m good at reading people.”

You chuckle and shake your head, then adjust your position so your back is towards the open air. It makes Peter nervous, he can’t lie, but it’s not like he’s not a superhero.

“So, spider-therapist,” you say. “Any advice?”

So this is one of the rare times you do want answers. Peter wonders if you’ll leave your boyfriend if Spider-man tells you to.

“He doesn’t sound great,” Peter says, inclining his head. “How many times have you argued this week?”

“Four,” you say. “Five, if you include tonight.”

He whistles. “And it’s only Wednesday.”

You tip your shoulder. “We’re efficient.”

“And unhappy, it sounds like.”

“We’re not unhappy,” you defend. “We’re just…”

“You’re up here talking to me instead of down there with him,” Peter says wryly. “That doesn’t exactly scream ‘happy couple’.”

You shake your head with another sigh. “It’s because he can’t get over Peter.”

He tries to act as nonchalant as possible when you bring him up. Is this an invasion of privacy? Letting you talk to him about all this when you have no idea who Spider-man actually is?

Instead of floundering over moral qualms, he just clears his throat. “And who’s he?”

“My best friend,” you say. “The one person who’s been by my side since the second I moved to New York. He means everything to me.”

Peter feels his heart skip a beat. “Yeah?”

“He’s like— like the opposite of Ethan, and it’s wonderful. I guess that’s why Pete irks him so much. Y’know,” you pull out your phone and start typing in your password, “maybe I should call him. He always knows what to say.”

“No!” Peter exclaims with a bit too much force, causing you to give him a look. “No— I mean, it’s late. He’s probably asleep. And— and it’s a school night?”

You tilt your head, and Peter exhales when it seems to work. “True. He’s probably studying for that biochem test.” You grimace. “I should be doing that too.”

He watches you type out a few texts and send them, and Peter’s never been more thankful to have his phone on silent. What a way that would be to blow his cover.

You shove your phone back in your pocket with another sigh. “I just hate that my boyfriend and my best friend don’t get along. I love them both—why can’t they like each other?”

“I mean…” Peter trails off when you look at him, and he gestures with his head. “It seems pretty obvious why they don’t get along.”

“Yeah,” you say dryly. “Because Ethan thinks Peter likes me, and he probably thinks I have some secret crush on him too. I swear, he’s always looking for a reason to fight.”

God, could the universe be calling him out any more? It’s honestly ridiculous how this is going.

“Do you?” Peter asks, because he can’t help himself. “Like him, I mean.”

“I don’t know,” you murmur. “I love Pete, I do. It’s always been the two of us no matter what. But I…”

He holds his breath as he tries not to look at you, tries not to make it too obvious that he might have stumbled his way into his simultaneous dream and nightmare scenario.

He’s had a crush on you for what feels like forever. Since you stood up for him against his bullies in elementary school, honestly, and it’s only grown over the years as the two of you have grown. From recesses spent together and bike rides through the city; spending the night in Peter’s apartment because it was easier for your sister to let it happen than try and drag you back home; endless nights with heads bent over textbooks trying to study for tests, over college applications trying to get into the same place, and now studying and researching near every damn weekend together because you’re both unfortunate enough to try for ESU STEM degrees.

You were there when Ben died. He’s there on every anniversary of your parents’ accident. Without knowing it, you were there when he got bit and his whole life turned upside down.

You and Peter have been there every step of the way for each other, and it’s why he’s content with just friendship—Peter wants you in his life no matter what. But he can’t lie and say he doesn’t hope.

No, actually. He yearns. He’s doomed to be a yearner for the rest of his life because he’ll never stop loving you. How could he?

“I’m not sure,” you finally say with a sigh. “All I know is that I’d rather be with Pete tonight than Ethan.”

Peter wonders if your chest compressions are still as good as they were in high school, because he feels like he’s about to have a heart attack.

You’d rather be spending tonight with him than your boyfriend of two years and seven months, and Peter isn’t even supposed to know.

You mistake his silent freakout for nonchalance, and you clear your throat as you jump back onto solid ground.

“Well, I’ve spilled my soul to you,” you say wryly, crossing your arms. “Anything a superhero can spill in return?”

Peter thinks for a good, long second. His hands itch to take off his mask, to do what he’s wanted to do since he got bitten by that stupid spider and show you who he really is.

How many times has he been a total asshole, canceling plans on you because he had to go stop some supervillain from wreaking havoc in Times Square? How many times has he been late to something important to you because he was caught up stopping dime a dozen muggings? He still remembers the look on your face when he showed up just in time to miss the entirety of Les Mis’s opening night with your first lead role.

You were a better best friend to Peter than he was to you because of this stupid mask. If he took it off, it wouldn’t make every mistake fade away, but it would sure help explain some of it.

But Peter has been doing this since high school, and he has seen far too many times what happens to the loved ones of heroes. They’re used as leverage, used for ransom, sometimes just straight up killed.

You’ve been friends with Peter since you and your sister moved into the apartment next to May’s thirteen years ago. It doesn’t matter if you never share Peter’s feelings. You’re one of the only constants in his life, and he’s not going to lose you because he’s too selfish to keep a secret.

Losing you would be the last straw. He couldn’t take it.

So Peter pushes all thoughts of secret identities revealed out of his mind and tries to chuckle convincingly.

“I’m allergic to peppermint, believe it or not.”

You stare at him, deadpan. “That’s nowhere close to all the shit I just gave you.”

“It’s true!” he exclaims, holding up his hands. “Happened after I got bit by the spider. They’re repelled by peppermint oil, and I guess I am too.”

You shake your head in disbelief. “I can’t believe Spider-man is a coward.”

“A superhero’s gotta have some secrets,” he says, and he taps the side of his head. “Otherwise this thing doesn’t do much good.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you say. “Whatever.”

A chill suddenly goes up Peter’s spine and he whips around—he can hear a distant scream followed by a distant gunshot, and he mentally curses.

“Duty calls?” you ask, drawing his attention back to you.

“Yeah,” he says. “I’m sorry—”

“Don’t be.” You smile, and it’s genuine. A nice change from the state Ethan effortlessly puts you in. “You went out of your way to cheer me up. Pretty super of you.”

“I hope it makes up for the eavesdropping,” he says.

“More than,” you nod. “Now get out of here. Your city needs you.”

Peter nods too, and he backflips onto his original spot. “Have a good night. You’re real special to somebody.”

He’s gone before you can say anything else, already zipping across the rooftops to get to the scene of the crime. Peter can only think of your face as he swings through the air—all the things he’s too scared to say to you.

The crime, which turns out to be yet another petty theft, is resolved easily enough with some punches, kicks, and a snappy one-liner. Once he’s retrieved the woman’s purse and alerted the police, he’s back in the sky.

Peter only stops once he’s swung a couple miles away, perching on the edge of some rooftop for some actual peace and quiet. He checks around once or twice to make sure he’s not somehow back at your place, and when he’s sure it’s all clear, he pulls his phone out. He swipes past all the notifications he’s racked up until he finds the one he’s looking for: the texts from you.

hey pete, I know you’re prob asleep rn but you were right. I really need to study for that test lol

wanna meet me at the library tomorrow after QM? I’ll buy the coffee this time i promise <3

as long as you use your roomie’s dining dollars to get me a croissant lol

Peter can’t help but smile, larger than anything tonight. This is why he’s okay with being nothing but your friend for the rest of his life.

Deal. Anything to get you an A

lol

asshole

Never

Try to get some sleep. No good studying on a tired brain

Three dots appear for a good long second, enough to constitute a decent paragraph—then they disappear. In its place:

I’ll try just for you

night boy genius

(How could he not love you?)

Night, girl wonder

#peter parker x reader #tasm!peter x reader #tasm!peter parker x reader #spiderman x reader #spider-man x reader #spider man x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker fanfiction #tasm x reader

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ahmedfamily32 · 4 months ago

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Please don't skip it !!🇵🇸🍉

My little son Bahaa I can't believe what happened How will I tell him that he lost his room, his toys and his new bag.. How will I tell him that I tried to search under the rubble for the remains of his toys that he dreams of returning home to play with... Bahaa is 5 years old How will he understand all this.. He loves playing, writing and drawing Now he has no home, no playroom, no writing, no drawing, no education... I want to register Bahaa in a kindergarten so that he can write, draw and play again... He needs new clothes and a bag, notebooks, pens and drawings for the kindergarten in order to register him Help Bahaa

Here is my campaign link:

Any small donation can make a difference 🍉

If you can't donate, sharing our story will help us

Thank you so much for any support you can provide 💖.🌹

✅ Verified in the official list by @gaza-evacuation-funds

✅ Verified in the official list by @90-ghost

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Kindergarten fees are very expensive and I have even more expenses because my house was completely destroyed and I don't have anything and we don't have anything... I can't make up for all of this at once.

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Kindergarten fees $600

Books $100

Kindergarten clothes $150

Shoes $50

Car $200

Table and chair $100

Food allowance $300

Transportation $500

Help Baha achieve his goal and buy what he needs to complete his studies.🙏😭

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Oh my God..there are no donations ,🥺🥺

My dear child, what misery this is ,😭😭

He asks me all the time what we are going to do, dad

I'm sad for you, baby

3K notes · View notes

hoshigray · 1 year ago

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𝐅𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐌𝐞 𝐎𝐯𝐞𝐫, 𝐒𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫! | t. fushiguro + k. nanami

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: Taking your daughter to a sleepover with her best buds is easy peasy; ending up staying over at said sleepover to have some fun of your own with the two single dads you're crushing on? Not so much...

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: dilfs! Toji + Nanami x fem! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - modern setting; single parents au - implied you + Nanami are in early 30s; Toji is in late 30s - Tsumiki (age 10), Megumi, Yuuji and Nobara (8) - mutual pining/crushing - fluff then SMUT then fluff - kissing/making out - mutual masturbation (m! + f! receiving) - breast fondling + nipple play + sucking - Daddy kink - threesome - double penetration; anal and vaginal - spoon/sidesaddle dp + reverse cowgirl dp positions - clitoral play (swiping) - praise - breeding kink - cervix fucking - unprotected sex (psa: wrap the willy; don't be silly) - pet names (angel, baby, good girl, love, mama, sweetheart, sweetie) - Nobara is your daughter; Yuuji is Nanami's - mention of drool/spit and tears.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 9.8k (Christ almighty...)

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: based on this ask from one of my anons; so happy to be writing an actual fic after a month, yippeee!! and tysm for 7.7k, my loveliesss!!

“Hahah, I win again!”

“No fair, I used the aerials like you taught me, what!?

“Yeah, but there’s no point using them if you’re just gonna let Itadori counter.”

“Shut up, Megumi! Hey, Yuuji, one more time!”

“Hey, keep it down, you three.” You warn the children who cause a ruckus in the living room from the dining table.

There’s nothing wrong with hanging with friends or going to someone’s house to play. Children are highly encouraged to do so to form deeper relationships! It’s what you’d want for your child, your sweet daughter poking out of her public shyness now that she’s playing video games with two of her best friends at a playdate.

Your daughter, Nobara, heard your warning and swerved her head back to apologize. “Sorry, momma! Itadori’s just cheating!”

“No, I’m not!” The pink-haired boy sitting next to your brunette daughter on the living room floor retorts. “She just sucks at playing!”

“Why you…” The two kids glare and argue to themselves while another sits on the living room couch and sighs at the interaction before him. Megumi was his name, the raven-haired boy putting his attention back on the animal encyclopedia he was reading.

You chuckle before speaking again, “Well, cheating or not, keep your voices down, okay? Tsumiki is trying to do her homework.”The kids nod and return to their fun on the television; the sounds of controller buttons mashing and clicking fill the absence of their voices, and you go back to what you were primarily doing. “Need any help there, Tsumiki?”

The fourth grader perks up from using her name, flashing a weary smile in your direction. “I’m trying to find these countries for my quiz on Monday, but where are Colombia and Guyana…?” The paper before the little girl exhibited a blank sheet with a map of the North and Southern American continents; a word bank is provided to the side with a list of countries.

Getting up from your chair, you walk to the vacant side where Tsumiki is and sit alongside her. “Hmm, let’s look at this together…”

This wasn’t your home; it belonged to the father of Yuuji Itadori. Staying during your daughter’s playdates was a rarity, particularly in another parent’s house. Yet today is a Friday, and you didn’t really have much to do other than clean the apartment and maybe catch up on a show or two. Besides, it didn’t hurt to watch the kids play and laugh now and then.

Luckily, you aren’t the only parent here; two other parents are taking out of their day to monitor the kids with you! The only problem is that…they make your stay a bit difficult.

Footsteps are heard descending the hall from the bedrooms, and your eyes peer to find a man walking into the kitchen area. “How’s studying going?” Golden blonde hair was the first you see, followed by the pleasant look of his chocolate brown eyes. A slim-fit grey long-sleeved shirt hugs his frame well, accompanied by dark-fitted jeans and dress socks. Kento Nanami, Yuuji’s adoptive father, has entered the scene and has made your heart skip to an irregular tune.

Thankfully, saving you from making a fool, Tsumiki answers the man. “Good, Auntie Y/n is helping me remember countries of South America!” She says with a blinding smile.

“Is that so?” Nanami opens a cupboard to pull out a glass to pour water. “You think you’ll be okay for the quiz?”

“Mmmm, if I remember five countries out of ten, I should be fine. I know more, thanks to Y/n!”

“Good,” your breath hitches when he walks to stand behind the chair you were sitting on. “And how are those three?”

You cough before averting your gaze to the living room. “They’re fine,” you watch your daughter exclaim in glory after finally beating Yuuji in the video game. The salmon-haired child groans in defeat, standing up to switch with Megumi so the other can play. “Nobara loves playing with the boys; they make her competitive spirit wild. It’s funny because she’s usually quiet and soft-spoken around me and others. However, that doesn’t explain her track record with terrorizing the boys of the school…”

Nanami chortles at your observation, the sound almost hypnotizing you. “Children bring out a different side in each other, helps them grow.”

“Wise words—“

Grrooorrr!

You both stop at the sound of a rumble, glancing at Tsumiki to see that it is her grumbling stomach. The child chews her quivering lip and hides her face by looking back at her homework. You giggle, “You hungry?” She nods slowly. “Me too, sweetie; the pizza should be here any minute.”

“That’s odd,” Nanami takes a sip from his glass. “He said the food would be done by the time he’s off work. It’s almost 7 o’clock, is there traffic on—“

KA-CHA! CLACK-CLINK!

“Yo, I’m here with the pizzas,” another voice, a lot lower and gruff than the blonde’s, enters the space. Your heart skips again, and you instinctively turn to find the source — you know who the source is.

Giant steps draw near the kitchen area, keys rustle as he stuffs them inside his jeans pocket, and the other hand holds three pizza boxes. After putting the food on the kitchen island, the man scratches his onyx head and stretches. His loose-fit cotton sweatshirt slips for a peak of his abs to be seen, and your eyes pull back before they hook onto the tanned skin for too long. Green eyes capture yours, and a smirk uproots the scar on the right of his lips. “Hey, Y/n,” the way he says your name pulls you in. “Good thing I caught ya before you could leave.”

You gulp to wet a dry throat. “It’s good to see you, too, Toji.”

Toji Fushiguro, the father of Tsumiki and Megumi, strides from the island down to where you three are, ruffling his daughter’s brown hair as a greeting. “How’s homework goin’?”

She swats her father’s hand away, fixing her ponytail. “It’s okay, I’m just hungry now.”

On that note, you decided it was time for everyone to take a break and eat. “All right, kids, the pizza’s here; come over and eat!” Nobara wastes no time springing out of the couch and sprints for the dining chair next to Tsumiki after you stand to grab the paper plates.

The boys don’t move, eyes glued to the screen and fingers moving across the controllers. Nanami tries to get their attention again, only for Yuuji to excuse themselves for a few minutes. The golden-haired father looks to the other before giving him a curt nod, a signal for Toji to walk to where the boys were sitting and turn off the television. They groan in unison before the black-haired man picks them up effortlessly and waltzs back to the dining table. “Time to eat, squirts.”

You have known Nanami for a long time, meeting him around when Nobara was still aged by months and could barely walk. Being a first-time parent is no easy task, especially since the man took Yuuji as his own after the death of the baby’s parents and grandfather when he was just a newborn. The transition from sober salaryman to committed fatherhood wasn’t an gradual one. But you know what they say: it takes a village, no matter how big or small. You found Nanami at the perfect time while you took care of Nobara, lending a helping hand to the single guardian whenever he needed advice or help looking after the pink-haired babe. He’d return the favor, of course, having you two spending and getting to know more about each other throughout the years. So, as the babies grew and became friends, so did you and him.

Toji entered your life around the same time as well; a single father of two was just as [if not more] challenging as your scenario. Not to mention – the poor man had to work ungodly hours, sometimes calling up a friend to look after his kids. You felt for him, even Nanami, so you’d help him out as well whenever he needed it, whether it be picking up Tsumiki and dropping her off at daycare or rocking three-month-old Megumi to sleep and waiting for the father to return home safely deep in the night.

Without the hood of parenthood, you three wouldn’t have become such good friends. Although there have been rough moments, at least you had the two to share and relate with if necessary. You’re so thankful for both fathers being in your life, serving as dependable outlets as you three grow along with your children. And it’s an even bigger blessing watching the kids have become great friends — practically inseparable! Words cannot express the gratitude for Nanami and Toji, treasuring the men so much that you’d love to maintain this mutual relationship with them as long as possible.

Being friends is more than enough; however, a tiny piece of yourself wishes something more to come out of this friendship. Admitting that to yourself is enough to have your ears heat up in shame. Crushing on the two fathers like some school girl, how embarrassing…

But can you blame yourself? As you all sit down and eat around the dinner table, you find it hard to restrict your eyes from wandering to either side of the table where the men sit.

Don’t get it twisted; you’ve always thought of the dads to be attractive men. However, the more time you’ve spent visiting and getting to know them, you’ve found that they’ve become more and more charming as the years go by. Now, it has gotten a lot worse.

Nanami is so entrancing to the eye — damn near looks as if he walked out of a movie set. His mocha eyes were so soft and perfect with his mellow tone. The charismatic blonde easily played with your heart with how attentive he was, making sure if you and Nobara ever needed anything or ever wanted someone to voice with. God, he was too good to be true, it was hard not to fall in love with him — you were honestly mesmerized the moment he first said your name. Now, solely seeing him is enough to make your ears hot and your heart race. Your admiration for him threatens to dwell into that of a childish crush — how mortifying!

And Toji — fuck, that man. Aside from having a body literally sculpted like an Olympic athlete, the dark-haired man was somebody who knew how to wind you down. Maybe it was the baritone voice that always captured your attention or the mischievous jokes and flirts he’d throw your way; whatever it was, Toji knew how to draw you in. Sure, you were a little intimidated by him at the start, but that’s long been substituted with feelings of trust and mutual respect from seeing how much of a good father he tries to be for his children. Although, the more you hear his gruff laugh, see his smile pull the scar, or forest green eyes drilling holes into your very being, the more you want to slap yourself for thinking about him day by day!

Goddamn it! As you sit at this table chewing on your pizza slice with the others, all you can think about is how pathetic you must be for falling for the two heartthrobs of your life. It’s appalling how these two fathers have yet to snatch up somebody, knowing there would be lines of people wanting a piece of them. And you sigh heavily, thinking if there’s ever a possibility you’d be lucky enough to be on the receiving end with either.

Probably not…

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“Annnnd BAM! UNO!”

“What?? You’re cheating!”

“Am not! You can put draw twos on plus fours!”

“Hah!? That’s not in the rules!”

“So? That’s how my mom plays.”

Why am I being brought into this… You shake your head as you observe the kids play their final card game before bed. All the children are dressed in their respective pajamas, sitting in a circle around couch pillows as they draw and place cards down. The sunset has long been set as the hour hand touches the eleventh number; the kids usually go to bed at eight or nine. But it’s the weekend and meant to be a sleepover, so one or two more hours of fun shouldn’t hurt anyone.

“UNO Out!!” Except for the heavy groans shared with Megumi and Yuuji as Nobara finishes the card game with an enthusiastic slam, turning around to give the older brunette a high five. “See, Tsumiki? I told you I can handle it!”

“Man, that’s not fair,” Yuuji throws his card pile to the floor in exasperation. “Wish I knew about that rule beforehand.”

Megumi does the same, “You should’ve made the rules clear before we played the game.”

“Wahh, keep complaining, loser,” Your daughter annoys the boy with a blown raspberry. “Fine, we can try again; if I win, I’ll have Yuuji's bed to myself and Tsumiki.”

“Not happening!” You and the salmon-haired child deny the winner’s request, and the girl only snickers mischievously while Tsumiki deals the cards.

Saved by the sound of footsteps approaching from the hall, Nanami is now here to dismiss the bunch. “All right, kids, time for bed.” Every one of them mourned at the statement; Yuuji quickly requested five more minutes, only to be shut down by his father. “Nope. I’m done with my shower, so you four must get to bed — that was the deal.”

“Aww man…” The four begrudgingly get up from the living room floor after putting the cards away and setting the pillows back on the couches. Before they leave, they wish you a good night. “Goodnight, Mom!” Nobara comes rushing to you for you to kiss her cheek.

“Goodnight, sweetpea,” you let go of her so she could run back. “And you three — where are my kisses?” Yuuji and Tsumiki happily come for you to place a goodnight kiss on their cheek. All that’s left is the silent child of the bunch who, unfortunately, doesn’t slip past your eyes. “That means you too, Megumi. Or else I’ll chase you down and kiss you up a storm like last time, you hear?”

The black-haired one fights a smile creeping his face, slowly taking steps to where you sat and fidgets as you kiss his cheek. You wish the boy goodnight, and he follows the others down the hall to the bedroom after doing the same.

“Fushiguro’s in the shower now.” Now that the children are gone, Nanami sits on the left side of the couch before dimming the ceiling lights. He turns on the television, “Seems like they’re having fun.”

“Mmm, they are,” you settle by the middle to be close to him. “I can’t believe they’re all so big now. Didn’t Yuuji just turn eight years old last month?”

“Mhmm, he’s now the same age as Nobara and Megumi,” he says with a smile. “For a little while, that is. He is the youngest, after all.”

“You’re right, poor thing.” You giggle with a stretch. “Nobara’s gonna be nine this August, and Megumi at the end of the year…”

“Hmm. We are old.”

That made you laugh hysterically as the delivery of the comment sounded so defeated yet true. It’s okay, though, since Nanami was laughing himself with a shaken head. “Don’t say it like that! They say you get sexier during your thirties.”

“Are you sure about that? My grandfather had photos from his thirties, and he was balding and getting chunkier before turning thirty-five.” More laughter seeps through your lips. “I don’t know, Y/n; not all of us can keep fit like Fushiguro; he still works out while halfway approaching forty.”

“Now, hold on, Nanamin,” you grin while pointing to Nanami, and you can see him try to fight a smile after using the nickname he supposedly doesn’t like. “You can’t say shit, either; you still look like a model coming straight out of a Men’s Vogue magazine!” That made him laugh more, the sound warming your heart. "You still got it, Kento; a real prince charming."

“Why thank you, Y/n,” he appreciates the compliment.

“Of course.”

The silence following that felt unsettling and had you fidgeting with the bottom of your halter top. Five uncomfortable minutes of nothing but the lowered volume of the television to fill the space. Come on, Y/n, keep the conversation going. “So, almost ten years, huh? A whole decade.” You watch Nanami nod along through your peripheral. “I remember the first time I met you; you looked like you barely got any sleep for the past month.”

“Because I didn’t. I was hassling with back-to-back meetings, on the cusp of finding another job to take outside of being a salaryman, and then had little newborn Yuuji to come home and put to sleep after feeding. Thank God you could babysit for him with Nobara; I’m forever grateful.”

“Oh God, I remember when you came home so tired while I was rocking both to sleep. I think that was the first and only time I’ve ever seen you fall asleep on the couch; so tired you forgot to greet me!”

“We don’t talk about that,” he scratches his ear. “That wasn’t so bad when we promised to watch over Megumi and Tsumiki during the weekend while Fushiguro went to take up so many jobs. He fell to his knees once he passed the threshold, and I had to walk him to his bed.”

You tittered at the recollection — all the memories mentioned made you feel warm and glad, all the years coming back to you with a happy memory. “We’ve done good, though. We managed, and the kids are growing to be good friends.”

“Before you know it, maybe Nobara will come to you about liking the boys—“

“That isn’t happening; I asked her the question like three weeks ago, and she said if she and the boys were the last people on Earth, she’d kill herself.” Nanami gasped and stifled a laugh, but you could see his shoulders bounce. “A third grader — an eight-year-old – telling me she’d off herself rather than be with one of the boys. Talk about radical...At least she loves to hang with them; she loves those boys like they’re her little brothers.”

The blonde hums to your words. “Them being close is a blessing. I guess that’s thanks to us, having each other’s backs all these years.”

It’s your turn to nod to him. “True, and I’m just glad they like being with each other.”

“Same here; Yuuji likes being with you guys,” he throws his head back. “…Just like I do.”

You blink. “What do you mean?” Suddenly, you feel as though you shouldn’t have asked that question because the way Nanami turns his head to look at you nearly paralyzes you. Oh my God…

“I like being with you.” He says it tenderly, only for your ears to pick up. “You make me feel at peace when you’re around, and I’m not as close to anyone as I am with you. A decade of you being in my life has made it more serene and…fun. So, I like it when you’re with me.”

You didn’t breathe a single puff of air during his speech. The worst part was that these were Nanami’s words — they were genuine. You could feel it in his bronze gaze, your heart unable to control itself.

And it doesn’t help that your eyes took in every detail of him; his hair, usually neat and styled, is now down and damp from the shower, strands of hair sticking to his forehead. His home wear comprised a loose sweatshirt and dark grey sweats, but you snuck a glance of his collarbone that peaks from the opening collar of his shirt. You move your gaze to the floor to stop yourself from looking any further, or else more fuel for indecent fantasies will be stored for later!

Fingers fiddle with each other as you chew on your lip. God, Y/n, just fucking say it! “I, uhh…I like being with you, too, Nanami.”

“Do you really have to go?” He scoots in. “You know I don’t mind you staying over.”

“I—ahem—I think, yeah…I wouldn’t want to intrude on you and Toji; I’m sure you two would wanna catch up on stuff. I’ll just come back and pick Nobara up in the morning before—”

You stop uttering more once you feel a sudden hand on your right shoulder. Turning to your left, you didn’t even realize Nanami scooting to be so close to you, his face a hand’s length away from yours. Once again, you have forgotten how to breathe. And when he places his left hand on your right that lies on your lap? You don’t move a centimeter.

“I want you to stay,” his tone low and sincere. “I wasn’t kidding when I said I like you being around me. I…” He brings your hand to his lips, and a soft kiss makes you gasp faintly. “I love it, actually.”

You gulped. There’s no way this is happening right now. There’s just no way! “Kento—“

“I mean it.” He kisses your knuckles again, his eyes locked in with yours. He chuckles, “You were right.”

“About…what?”

“As you grew older, you have changed quite a lot. You’re…Well, no, you’ve always been pretty. But, all these years, you’ve become a lot more beautiful,” he draws his face in closer. “Breathtaking,” you instinctively close your eyes when his nose brushes yours. “Sexier.”

Nanami’s lips land on yours on the final word, and you don’t move a muscle when he does so. They felt soft against yours, perfect for the mellow kiss. It doesn’t last long, only a few seconds. Yet you quivered as he withdrew, placing his forehead against yours as his hand weaved with your fingers.

“Ken…” Fuck, this is too much. The hand on your shoulder exhibits no interest in getting off. “I can’t, I have to—“ he shushes you with another kiss.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” What the fuck!? Did he just use a pet name on you? “You know I can take care of you, right? Even for one night,” you tremble when he licks your bottom lip. “Stay for tonight, okay?”

“Kento..” He pauses when you hesitantly remove your right hand from his grasp, thinking you’d push him off. But then you bring both hands to cup his sunken cheeks, caressing him with your thumbs. “…More.”

He doesn’t wait a second, accepting your request and bringing his back on yours. Small pecks to the lips gradually become more arousing and tilted heads to achieve a better angle for entry. You moan to his mouth, and so does he. Tongues slowly become adventurous, twirling with each other and exploring the other’s mouth. It feels so good; you lean into Nanami’s hold with every kiss. And he happily accepts you as he gives you more.

Jesus Christ, something straight out of a dream. And if it was, you only hope to indulge in it for a little longer. More, more—

“What do we have here?”

However, you can’t indulge if another person comes into the frey unsuspectedly.

Two bodies retreat from each other, sitting awkwardly on the couch appropriately as Toji walks into the living room. Your lips shook with anxiousness, stealing a glimpse of Toji’s smirk as he walked to your right. You sneak a glance at Nanami, seeing the shade of pink rise on his skin lightly, and you cover your face to shield yourself. Fucking fuck, this is embarrassing!

“Don’t act all shy on me now, you two.” Toji’s weight dents the right side of the couch, extending his arm to be behind you. “Don’t be scared, I won’t tell anyone.”

“Did you check the kids?” Nanami fakes a cough.

“Out like a light,” he answers, creeping his hand from behind onto your shoulder. You shudder at his calloused touch and gruff laugh. “What’s goin’ on, Y/n?” You meekly turned to look at him. Same with Nanami, Toji’s dark hair was damp from the shower, substituting his day outfit with a blank tank top and grey sweatpants. It took everything in your power not to peek at his pecs or exposed biceps.

You avert your eyes from his. “Nothing…” You saw his chest jerk from a scoff.

“Wow, you two are really gonna act like some kids, huh.” His snark remark has you both flattening your lips in shame. “Act all quiet when somethin’ happened.”

He prompted you to question. “How much…did you see?”

“I saw the kiss — you looked like you were enjoyin’ it.” He purposely said that to make your cheeks hot, the brazen bastard. “But I heard Kent here say he means it when he likes havin’ ya ‘round.”

Nanami speaks up while scratching his brow. “Y/n was, uhh, just about to leave.”

Toji lifts a brow. “Leave? When the night is still young?” He subtly shakes you. “Why so soon, hmm? It’s the weekend; I just got outta the shower an’ hoped you’d be here a lil' while.” He spoke to you slowly. It was a dangerous approach with that husky voice. He squeezes your shoulder when you’re not answering.

“I just….You and Nanami probably have some ‘guy stuff’ you wanna catch up on, and I don’t want to come in between that, you know?” It’s here you muster the courage to look at the raven-haired man. Big mistake; now he has your attention where he wants it.

“So considerate, huh,” his free hand comes to your cheek, and you’re frozen as he plays with the flesh of it. “I think you should stay, Y/n. What kind of friends would we be if we let you drive out late."

It’s hard to remind your body to breathe when Toji is surveying you intimately. What the fuck—why is this happening all of a sudden!?? “You–Toji, it’s okay, I’ll—“

“Besides,” he teases you by rubbing your earlobe with his thumb and forefinger. “I like you bein’ here, too.” You’re too distracted from him bringing his face to your neck to kiss, evoking an unstable gasp. “Lookin’ all pretty fr’ me…”

“Toji…—Ahh!” You didn’t notice him slide his hands down to the chest area of your halter top, his large palms groping your breasts affectionately. His kneads are rough yet pleasing, having you whimpering for him. “Don’t touch so…Hahhh…”

“Bad girl,” he chuckles to your ear after placing a kiss on your cheek. “Over here lettin' Kent touch you and think you can leave without me havin’ you for a bit, especially when you were eyein' us up earlier today...” He kisses your lips to take in your silent squeaks from fondling your chest, and you mewl for him. “Daddy wants you, too, baby…Heh, so does Kent.”

You peer to your left to see the mentioned man, and you’re taken aback to see him close to your side again. Holy shit. You literally questioned about this earlier, wondering if you’d ever be on the receiving side of these two. You did NOT expect this answer to come out of the blue within a few hours! And now that it’s here, how could you leave now?! This is what you wanted. And – to your surprise – so did they.

You swallow spit and lift your left leg to the couch. And Nanami notices the initiative, coming between your legs to kiss your lips again. Your back pressed against Toji’s chest, you’re caged between the two men who seek to pleasure you in this proximity. You moan to Nanami sucking on your tongue, coinciding with the satisfying kneads of your breasts.

Suddenly, Nanami breaks the kiss with a groan, and Toji chortles close to your ear. Curious, your eyes venture down to find that Toji’s hand grasps the tent of the blonde’s sweatpants. “Enjoyin’ y’rself, huh, Kent?” Toji strokes his hand on the boner, evident through the clothes.

“Toji, st—Hnnn…!” You watch this, eyeing Nanami’s composure slip away as his cock is being touched. The older man willingly massages his friend’s dick, and you observe how he effortlessly makes the sand-headed man hornier with his hand alone. It makes you feel hot, sensing a throbbing sensation in between your thighs. So, you silently bring a hand to sneak inside the hem of your wide-leg jeans.

But you don’t go unnoticed because Toji kisses your cheek. “Like what ya see, sweetie?” He rests his chin on your shoulder. “Want me to take care of you? Here,” he then takes your hand to swap with his, your fingers feeling the rough skin of Nanami’s cock as you hold it. “Make him feel good, ‘kay?”

You couldn’t believe it — Nanami’s hot, living cock was in your grasp. And as you have begun to stroke him, the noises he made turned you on even more. His veins are felt in your very palm, and precum exuding from his urethra lubricates the pretty fingers around his length. You can’t help but imagine how it would feel to have him ease the aching pulses between your legs, how good it would feel to have his girth massage your insides.

But your crude thoughts are interrupted by Toji’s left hand skillfully unbuttoning and unzipping your jeans, slithering inside your panties, and meeting your wet cunt with his fingers. You jolt, but he’s right there to coo, “Relax, mama,” his free hand squeezes your chin to turn and face him. “Daddy’s gotcha…So fuckin’ beautiful,” Toji slams his lips into you for a steamier kiss, and you lose yourself.

Your hand on Nanami goes faster, eliciting extra precum to escape and stain the material of his sweats. Nanami leans forward to lick and suck the skin of your neck, forcing you to break the kiss with Toji to wail inaudibly while his fingers brush up on your soaked folds with unforgiving speed. Not to mention his bulge grinding against your back…

“Ahhnn, wait, guyss, we can’t—Mmmm…!” Toji kisses you again, grinning at your expression as he sucks and nibbles on your tongue. “We can’t do this…Not here…”

“Why?“ Nanami blows on your ear. “What’s wrong, love?”

CREEAAKK!!

That’s what’s wrong!

Like a flipped switch, all three adults unscrew themselves away from each other and sit back into their original positions. Nanami immediately pulls his pants back up, using a couch pillow to hide the situation that shouldn’t be present as he’s sitting in the living room. Toji follows suit, leaning on the couch arm.

Sounds of tiny footsteps draw near, and they belong to none other than your daughter, who sleepily rubs her eyes coming into the space. You are the first thing she sees, “Momma? You’re still here?”

“Mhmm,” you hoped you didn’t sound too off. “I’m just watching a movie with Uncle Toji and Kento. What are you doing up?”

“I thought I heard your voice,” Nobara walks to you and puts her head on your shoulder, and you voluntarily pick her up to have her sit on your lap. You smile; even though she’s growing day by day, she’s still your baby at heart. “Didn’t you say you’d leave after I go to bed?”

“Yeah, I was supposed to,” the two men sitting on either side of the couch say nothing. “And I can’t go now, seeing you’re still up.”

Nobara nuzzles into your neck. “Does that mean you’ll spend the night, too?”

“Mmm, I wish I could, sweetpea,” you kiss her forehead. “But I didn’t bring any change of clothes or pajamas. I don’t even have my toothbrush – I’d be walking around with stinky breath.” You hear the girl giggle at your words.

What you just said gave the two fathers an idea, the men giving each other a look before saying anything. “I have some unused travel-size toothbrushes and toothpaste I’ve kept from business trips.” Nanami inquires; you put your foot in your mouth on that one.

Toji adds, “You can use the sweatshirt I wore today as PJs. I don’t mind.”

Of course, you don’t. Shaking your head, you knew what the two were insinuating. The adult language is too nuanced for your daughter to pick up on. It’s not like you’ve never slept over Nanami’s place before; you’ve done it dozens of times — even Toji’s! However, this time was different; you three have crossed a line you didn’t think was possible. What happened minutes ago was a mere taste of what could happen if you three decided to change this relationship into something more intimate. And now, after revealing the curiosity, the men were all in to see it through.

…And yet, you can’t say you don’t feel the same either. Are you kidding? You have goosebumps just thinking back on how close you three were, how their hands and lips felt on your skin, and their attention placed on nothing – on no one else – but you. It made your heart beat uncontrollably, knowing that your decade-long crush on them was being favored in more ways than one — like a dream come true!

“Mom?” Snapping back to reality, you peer to Nobara, who awaits your answer. With a smile, you boop her nose with a finger.

“Only if you go back to sleep, sweetpea.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The hour hand had finally met the twelfth number, the midnight hour designating the quiet neighborhood into a calm slumber. Light posts automatically turn on to display the sidewalk, yet the darkness of the night serves as a blanket to cover the silent homes.

Nanami’s home was simple — a one-floor house perfect for the blonde man and his son. Aside from the living room and kitchen, it had a hall that harbored the bedrooms, Yuuji’s guest bathroom, and closet. The children were all resting in Yuuji’s room, the first door to the left you’d meet when entering the hallway. Other than the master bedroom, there was no other room besides the living room couch for you to sleep in.

Being by yourself is something Nanami wouldn’t want, and Toji would’ve primarily taken the couch since you had no plans of staying. But since that’s been changed, the two men took this opportunity to enjoy their sleepover with your company, using the master bedroom at the end of the hall to further themselves from the ears of the snoring kids. Tonight, you’d finally have your answer by being spoiled by your crushes all night.

“Dahhh, Toji, yer tongue…fingers…Ohhh!”

“Fuck, Y/n, you look so gorgeous…Here, kiss me, angel.”

“Mmmm, fuckin’ shit, y’ taste so good…Waited so long fr' this..."

You were practically stuck with them the moment they locked the door. After borrowing Nanami’s shower, your nude body was met with hungry hands and hot kisses, drowning your senses with their overwhelming presence. Three naked bodies lie on the bed, you with your back to the sheets and legs spread. To your right was Nanami, making out with you lovingly while a hand cups and massages a breast. Toji had his face nestled between your thighs, his tongue licking around your labia and fucking your vagina, inspiring you to cry for the blonde next to you. The older man also pleases you by fingering your asshole with lube, conditioning it for future use.

You melt into Nanami’s kiss, and soft tweaks on your nipple make you mewl into his lips more. But you withdraw to scream, “Ahhaaa! Kentoo, touch me more…”

“Hmm? What, baby?” He presses his lips to your cheek, kissing your chin to the outlet between your neck and shoulders. “You like it when I play with your chest?” A low snicker humors him from watching you nod, and he brings his mouth to your nipple to suck on.

You grip the sheets, “Ohhh, hooo…! Tojiii, y’re gonna make me c—Uuuhh!”

He separates his mouth from your soapy folds, and your liquids stick to his chin. What an obscene sight with the grin he has on his face. “Yeah? Ya wanna cum on my mouth, mama?” Unlike Nanami, Toji doesn’t take a nod; he’s a bit of an asshat, so he licks your clitoris to tease. “Use them words, baby; wanna hear you say it fr’ me.”

“Y–Yesss, yes, I do,” a hushed howl after Toji sucks on your pearl and the other rubbing on your nipple to the roof of his mouth. “Pleaseee, I wanna cum…!”

“Heh, well, don’t go cummin’ on me just yet,” he kisses your slit before straightening up and pats your inner thigh. “All ready fr’ ya, Kent.”

Nanami then releases your nipple with a ‘pop’ and maneuvers to lay on his side. “Come here,” he asks, resting your head on his arm and lifting your leg. You hum at the contact of his glans meeting your cunt, “So wet for me, huh?” He pushes his cock to the entrance, and you gasp at the tip inserted into your vagina. “Relax, angel,” he coos to you with a kiss on your nose, gauging your reaction as he slowly snugs your vagina with every inch of his cock.

Your mouth goes agape at the stretch of you taking him in; the feeling of his cock feels too good and surreal. And the brush of his dick on your sweet spots has you squeak, same with him poking on your cervix. He throws in a few thrusts to start, but you didn’t expect that. No, fuck! He rubs on your walls at a precise angle, prompting your orgasm to come a bit too quickly to comprehend. So, you have to bite your lip to keep your scream hushed, letting the flutter of your cunt speak for you.

And Nanami notices it, hissing at the contraction. “—Hnnm! Shit…Did you cum, sweetheart?”

“Oh, did they?” And here comes Toji, straddling both the bodies below him. He leans into your face, licking your ear. “Felt that good, huh, baby? We haven’t even started.” He kisses your forehead before uncurling back up and aligning his dick to your lubed anus. Then, he pushes the tip to be swallowed by your puckered hole, and you mumble small prayers as his fat length is pushed inside. “Shit, this tight ass…”

The older man begins to move into you, his shaft churning the inside of your ass. Nanami does the same, his cock scraping your insides synched with Toji’s rhythm. The movement has you immediately making noise beyond your control, wails bouncing around the space between you and the men.

It isn’t long before the two find a groove; Toji pistons his cock with every pull of Nanami’s, and sounds of skin slapping lasciviously against each other are picked up by your ears. How could you not tighten more around the limbs inside you, especially when they scrape on against your tender wails so accurately? Especially after coming, your nerves have not yet recovered from the wave earlier.

“Ohh! Hoooh fuuuck,” your back arches a bit, helping the sand-haired man to find a better angle to scratch the upper wall of your vagina. Your vision is screwed shut, making it easier to indulge in the sensation of their cocks ravaging your insides.

Toji sees you from up top, his eyes traveling down to your ass and whistling at the sight of you taking his and the other’s dick. “Damn, ya feel so good, Y/n. Ass so tight, act like ya don’t wanna let go.”

God, why’d he have to say it like that? Your face was hot enough; did he want to make you melt on this bed? And Nanami doesn’t make it any better. “Heheh, they twitched,” he says matter-of-factly.

“Yeah, felt it, too…What’s goin’ on, sweetie?” Toji pulls his cock until his cockhead is on the verge of coming out, and he slams it back down to have you moan aloud. “Ya like bein’ fucked like this? Takin’ Daddy’s cock like a good girl…?”

“They’re gripping me again.”

“Ken, stoop!!” The fair-headed man laughs at your protest, your resilience still present even if it’s wiped away in seconds when Toji quickens his pace. “Nnhhh…! N-Not too fast, I’m sensit’veee—Ahhh!”

“You say that, but your body says otherwise, love,” Kento brings a hand to your hip to massage. “—Nnnn! Jesus…wanna cum so bad…”

Oh, fuck, imagine: being filled to the brim by Nanami’s come? Being stuffed by both of them? It turned you on so bad. “—OhhhGod, please, cum inside me!”

Gold eyebrows furrow. “I can’t, baby; don’t got a condom on—“

“It’s okay, I want it…!” The thought of getting pregnant again should be the very last thing that should pop into your mind right now. And yet, being knocked up by these two has you craving Nanami’s release even more. “Pleaseeplease, I want you to fill me up…! Don’t hold back for me, Ken.” You can tell he’s still on the fence about it. But with a kiss on his nose and a soft hand on his cheek, you convince him otherwise.

“Wanna be the mother of my child so bad, huh?” He says with a chortle, “So beautiful…” Before he snaps his hips into you, Nanami brings you in for one more kiss and wraps his hand on your shoulder to keep you close. He ruts into you with purpose, making sure he’s balls-deep with every push and reaching the deepest he can. You howl at the brush of your cervix again, allowing him to use you to chase his climax.

“Oh? You got him going, now,” Toji comments from above with a smirk, still maintaining the pace with Nanami despite the younger male going erratic. Your screams go higher and higher, so you bring in a hand to cover up the noise. This was not the time to test how thick the bedroom walls were, despite the kids sleeping a closet and office away.

Nanami groans into your lips; his length relentlessly rubs your silky texture. And when his orgasm does reach him, he grinds his pelvis, stirring his length so deep that you can’t help but writhe with him. You can feel his penis pulsate with every pump of his load inside you, satisfying your excitement as your hand massages his skull. He keeps you like this until his body has calmed down, sluggishly removing his pillowy lips from yours with a sigh.

Chocolate brown orbs are fixated on yours, the hand on your hip coming up to wipe spit from your face. “God, you drive me crazy. Making me cum inside, one child’s not enough?”

You titter, “Well, wouldn’t hurt to have another, you think?…Mmmm,” you almost forget about Toji. The raven-haired man removes himself from your ass, his shaft still standing.

“Don’t forget ‘bout me, now,” he reminds you two of his presence, getting his frame off you both so you can move around.

You stand with your knees between Nanami’s legs while he sits upright. “Come here,” he places his hands on your hips and leads you back onto his cock. This time, he’s the one entering your asshole, and you both moan at the union of your sexes. Once your ass meets the base of his pelvis, his arms wrap around your waist and carefully bring you down with him. Your back to his chest, his lips to your ear. “So tight and warm…Hmmm.”

This position is new to you – in fact, this was all new! You can’t remember the last time you had your body this close and intimate with another figure. It’s been so long – damn near bizarre - especially when your heat is transferring with the gold-haired man behind you. The aroused hums to your ears have you throb involuntarily; you could melt into his arms right about now.

That thought goes out the window when Toji’s weight has you looking in front of you, and your brain nearly shuts down at the sight of the older man coming in between your legs to lift them, his emerald eyes locked on yours. Jesus, fuck! You had to turn away – it was all too much!

“Ah ahh, don’t go turnin’ ‘way from me,” he gives your legs for Nanami to hold from the back of your knees, and then he cups your cheeks and moves your face back to him. “Waited almost ten years to have you like this, so I wanna see all of you, mama.” Just when your face couldn’t get any more unreasonably hot, this handsome bastard just had to say that while fondling your chest! And it doesn’t help the other charming face is placing kisses on your neck.

Toji uses this position to spread your folds; he can’t suppress the ardent smirk lifting his scar. “Kent did his thing on you, and ya still want more, huh?” You press your lips together when he slaps his glans on your leaky chasm. “Watch...” Your eyes follow down to the tip of his dick, vulgarly using the come seeping out of you as lube. You gasp sharply at the insertion, “Breathe fr’ me, baby,” he coaxes you through every inch of him, burrowing inside your inner channel that you almost forget to blink from the display. The girth of him has you wail beneath him, and you cry at the poke of your cervix again! Christ, you don’t know how long you can do this.

“—Hnngh…! Fuck, good girl,” the dark-haired one praises, grinding his pelvis down to churn more friction inside you. “So good fr’ Daddy...”

Slow ruts to your chasm begin the second round, three bodies rocking within a mutual cadence. You throw your head back with shut eyelids concentrating on the two dicks that push to and fro from your holes and scrape your walls. And a choked scream leaves your frame at the jab of your cervix again.

“Ohhhshiit,” eyebrows furrow with a chewed lip, and the two men begin to quicken the pace. “HooohGod! F’eel so good…Ahahhn!”

Toji puts his hands on the headboard as leverage, using his hips and the flex of his abdomen to take control. Fuck, seeing his nude physique so up close was too marvelous; it couldn’t be true — it shouldn’t be!

And Nanami is no better while whispering to your ear. “Feeling good, Y/n?” He teases your lobe with a lick, “Gripping on us like crazy as if you’ve been waiting for this, hmm?” You try to protest, but all that comes out are sobs when he jerks his hips unexpectedly. He chuckles, “So cute…Hmm? Heh, you are feeling good, huh, love.”

Can you believe it? Being fucked by these two attractive men, and you’re fingering your clit in the midst of it all? Embarrassment rings your ears as your fingers swipe and grind around the neglected pearl. Toji and Nanami share a look for a split second, and then Nanami switches his hands with the other. Instead, an arm snakes around your waist to keep you on him, and the other silently moves yours aside to play with your clit.

That only has you crying even harder. Pinches to your clit and kisses to your leg accompany the increased speed of their thrusts. Tears well up at every jolt of your body from the frequent jabs to your vaginal walls, scraping your G-spot so precisely. And the length in your butt keeps feeling so fucking good! Grazing your velvet texture that you can’t think straight.

“—Gaahhh! Mmmph!” Your hand finds Nanami’s wrist to hold on to as his middle and ring fingers swipe on your clitoris. You scream his name when he pitches it softly, “Kent—Ohhh! Shhtop, ish too much!!”

“Yeah, too much?” He toys with it gently. “But I don’t hear you telling me to stop…”

The two of them go at a sporadic pace, skin slapping onto yours harshly in sync. They nearly take your breath away, thanking God they have a hold on you before the momentum steers you away. “Hahah, ohhh, ohmyGod, guys,” Toji bends down to add more of his weight, making you howl from the angle of his fat cock. “I cannn’t; again, I’m about to cuuhmm agaiinn!!!”

“Really? You wanna cum, baby? Mmph! Fuck, this pussy…” He groans. “Gonna be a good girl and let Daddy finish here, yeah?” You nod, and Nanami pinches your clit again on Toji’s behalf. “Words, sweetie, words.”

“Yesss, Daddyyy!”

“Gonna lay there and look cute while I knock ya up, right?” Again, the thought of having another baby should not have you excited. But again, there’s no way your head could be right during all of this. “Hmm? Want Daddy to give ya a baby?”

“Mmmm! Please, Daddyyy, fill me up…!” You were spouting out nonsense, but who cares? “Make me a mama again…Ohhh!”

And he does just that, pounding his shaft at you so harshly that it rocks your entire body, especially with how he brings your legs up to your chest to have your slit fully exposed for him. “Holy shit,” he bites his lip as he eyes your nude frame before him. “Look so fuckin’ sexy like this, Y/n.”

You couldn’t thank him for the compliment, your lips busy with Nanami’s as he takes you in for a steamy kiss. Both men drill their members into you in erratic unison, leaving you a squealing mess for the fair-headed one to deal with. His hands continue to tweak and grind on your clitoris, and your orgasm hits you before you can prepare yourself with a tear trickling down.

And the flutter of your walls around their cocks eggs them onto waves of their own, groaning along with your cries as they piston you with the final ruts of their hips. Their pulsating lengths exert their loads inside your holes simultaneously, filling you up with their essence as their sweaty bodies heave and shudder. Nanami releases your clit from his grasp, the same with your lips.

He hums pleasantly, his brown orbs hooded yet comforting. “Told you I love having you around me.”

“Bet y’re glad you stayed over,” Toji’s hand finds its way to your chin after putting your legs down. He scoffs when you bashfully nod, bringing you in for a kiss. “Did so well, mama…”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Mornings are typically a thing you share with your daughter in the comfort of your home. From the moment she came into your world to having her own room and bed, Nobara would always be the first thing you’d see when waking up. Coming into your room to greet you, pulling you out for something, or get dressed and ready for the day with you – it was a routine the two of you shared, a sacred thing to enjoy between parent and daughter. So, to wake up in a room different from yours or see a different face has been a rarity ever since she became your top priority.

This morning, though, was one of those rarities.

“Good morning, Y/n.”

Your eyes flickered open from birds chirping and the sun peaking from the bedroom curtains. Drowsy eyes scan around to see that you are not in your room, already being alerted that something had happened last night of the change of scenery. And when you look to see who lies beside you, it all hits you like a slap.

It was like a scene from a romance movie, waking up to Nanami’s stunning face that was highlighted by the sunlight. Fair blonde hair that matched the softness of his russet eyes and a kind smile to match. And your breath hitches when he brings a hand to caress your cheek.

“Mornin’, Y/n.”

And, of course, he wasn’t the only one who’d be greeting you. You sheepishly turn around to see the other man looking at you, viridian orbs ready to meet your pretty face. The smile on his face pulls the scar on his lips, the man effortlessly shooting an arrow into your heart.

Everything that occurred the night before flashes, and the heat returns to dance on your cheeks and ears. Waking up in a different bed with two handsome men is one thing. To wake up to your crushes greeting you good morning, all three of you nude and comfortable after a night of mutual passion? Oh, you had to be dreaming still.

And yet, you couldn’t look at either of them in the eyes, averting your gaze modestly. “…Good morning,” you say quietly, almost squeaking your heart out when they both move to be closer. They kiss you, embrace you, and give you attention as if your decade-long crush has finally been lifted for them to spoil you. It’s kind of suffocating in a way. But, God, it felt so good.

Eventually, you got up and threw on some clothes to make food for everyone, Nanami joining you after putting his sleepwear back on. Toji had to leave for a moment to grab stuff from the store, his daughter waking up to the sound of him slamming the front door close. Then came Megumi, then Yuuji, who greeted Nanami with a hug, and now Nobara. The children sit around the table and mingle while you and the blonde fix some blueberry waffles, eggs, and bacon.

“Isn’t that my dad’s shirt?” Megumi was the first to notice it, pointing to the sweatshirt that went with your loose jeans — the same sweatshirt that Toji wore yesterday.

You flatten your lips before coming up with an answer. “Yes…I had nothing to wear for sleeping over, so he gave me his shirt. He didn’t mind; he brought an extra one.”

“You stayed over, Auntie?” Yuuji inquired after taking a sip of his apple juice. “Where did you sleep?”

“On the couch.”

Brown brows scrunch together before Nobara asks, “But wasn’t Uncle Toji the one who’d sleep on the couch?”

You open your mouth, but words fail to exit out. Sharing a glance with Nanami, who coughs while putting waffles on plates, he covers for you. “He slept in my bed with me.”

“You slept with my father?” Tsumiki interrogates, trying to stifle a laugh. “He snores a lot, so I’m sorry if you couldn’t sleep, Uncle Nanami.”

As if on cue, the front door opens and closes with the arrival of her father, walking to kiss Tsumiki’s cheek and ruffle Megumi’s hair before entering the kitchen. He pulls something out of the plastic grocery bag and hands it to you. Putting the mixing bowl down, you take what seems to be a box, and your eyes widen to Toji’s amusement. “I’d take those before leaving if I were you.”

“Jesus Christ,” you put the box of birth control to the side with a flustered face. “Thank you…” And before you can process it, Toji sneaks a kiss on your cheek with you distracted. The older man cackles to himself when you slap his arm and push him off. Thankfully, none of the kids notice.

“Uncle Toji,” Nobara grabs the man’s attention. “Is it true you slept with Uncle Nanami?”

The question takes him aback, but Toji’s quick on his feet to reply. “Yeah, I did. Your dad looks like a dead man when asleep, Yuyu.”

The pink-haired child nods along to the nickname. “Mhmm! Even when he comes home from work, he looks like he hasn’t slept in weeks, like some kind of vampire.” You snuck a glimpse at the sand-haired man, who rolled his eyes before bringing plates to put on the table.

“Anyways,” he diverts the conversation to a different subject, placing a plate full of food in front of the boys. “Be ready for the zoo after breakfast, Yuuji. Didn’t you say you wanted to see the new tiger cubs?”

The Fushiguro siblings brighten with interest at the mention of the zoo, turning to their father, who instantly shuts them down with crossed arms. “Don’t even think about it. I’m already takin’ you two to the aquarium tomorrow; you want me to pay for more tickets for some animals?”

The joy in their eyes diminishes in seconds. “Cheapskate,” Megumi mumbled under his breath, earning a blueberry to be thrown at him by Toji. But the siblings smile when Nanami says that they can come along.

“Momma,” you dreaded hearing your daughter’s voice during this conversation, hesitantly peering at the dark-haired girl after being given her breakfast. “Can I go, too?”

Oh, goddamn it. “I’m sorry, baby, but I can’t keep going back and forth from the house and wherever. Besides, you have karate today.”

“I can skip!” Your mouth drops at her enthusiasm. “Besides, we can just sleep over again!”

This girl! “Nobara, you can’t just go making those decisions like this is your home. Did you ask Yuuji’s father if it was okay to stay another night?” You probably shouldn’t have said that, as the girl immediately asks the blonde father the exact question. And to your shock, he says they’re free to stay another night. You’re not helping! “You don’t even have an extra pair of clothes!”

And to make it worse, the onyx-haired man beside you says this, which makes you facepalm with a groan. “I can drive you two home and back. Saves ya some gas.” You’re not helping either, and you’re just losing gas for my sake!

Mornings were supposed to be an easy thing to deal with. And yet here you are, dealing with a predicament. Shit like this is precisely why you don’t stay for too long during Nobara’s playdates and sleepovers; now you’re backed into a position where saying no seems futile. Nothing wrong with the children wanting to hang out more, but fuck does it throw the routine off. However, it wasn’t all bad. Because the whole point of this was for the little girl to have fun with her friends, who are you to be a Debby downer on her parade?

Plus…you’d get to hang out with Toji and Nanami for another day; that alone has your stomach running laps right now. Not only did you have your feelings reciprocated by the two men within a single night and then some, but you’re now invited to stay another day and enjoy the weekend in their company. You can sense their gazes on you, awaiting your answer – your approval to spoil and please you for one more night. And what makes your heart skip into flips is that there would probably be more days and nights to deepen this relationship between you three…

So, with a heavy sigh, you slide your hand down your face.

“…Can we at least go get some spare clothes first?”

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